When Quincy Jones made Walking in Space in 1969, he was just 10 years’ striking distance from producing Off the Wall and ushering Michael Jackson’s historic pop ascent. Already by then his reputation—indispensable arranger for Count Basie, Sinatra, Ray Charles and many more—was ironclad. He did superb, forward-thinking work as a leader, on 1959’s The Birth of a Band! and other releases, his ensembles thick with stone jazz legends. On Walking in Space, Jones entered the fusion era on his own terms, embracing the electric jazz of the day but applying essentially unchanged principles: Pick great songs; write deep, insightful, groove-rich arrangements; get phenomenal talents to bring them to life. It was the first of Q’s efforts for A&M, commercially aimed but artistically genuine—a Creed Taylor production, as was Gula Matari one year later. (Smackwater Jack from 1971 had Phil Ramone behind the boards.) With his finger uncannily on the pulse of jazz, soul and pop, Jones brought out the full epic goosebump potential of “Walking in Space” from Hair, enlisting Valerie Simpson of Ashford & Simpson fame to bring it off. Just to name the album’s soloists is to conjure the sound of an epoch. There’s the effervescent flute of Hubert Laws and the bracing multi-sax work of the great Roland Kirk; the bluesy assurance of Eric Gale on guitar and the velvety, harmonically savvy Fender Rhodes of Bob James. There’s the sheer elegance and pathos of Toots Thielemans and Jerome Richardson, on harmonica and soprano sax respectively, rendering Johnny Mandel’s “I Never Told You”. Bassist Chuck Rainey and drummer Bernard Purdie crush the gospel finale “Oh Happy Day”, with a rapport they captured on record with everyone from Aretha Franklin to Steely Dan. And at the heart of it, in the conductor/arranger chair, was Jones guiding the way with his ear for texture and irresistible emotion.