Sixteen tracks from a singer who spent years as a session musician before anyone heard his name, and then won Grammys with almost every record he made. James Ingram died in January 2019, aged sixty-six.

James Ingram (1952–2019)
James Ingram had one of the great male voices of his era and one of the more unusual routes into using it. He worked for years as a session keyboard player and demo singer in Los Angeles, and it was a demo recording that reached Quincy Jones — who put him on The Dude in 1981 and effectively launched him at the age of twenty-nine.
What he had was a combination almost nobody else managed: a gospel-derived rasp with genuine grit in it, and the technical control to sing extremely quietly. That range made him the ideal duet partner, which is why so much of his catalogue is shared.
He was also a songwriter, and co-wrote "P.Y.T." for Michael Jackson with Quincy Jones, which is not a bad line to have on a biography.
What to listen for
"Just Once" and "One Hundred Ways" are the two Quincy Jones recordings that made him, and the second won him a Grammy before he had released an album of his own.
"Yah Mo B There" with Michael McDonald is the joyful one, and it won another Grammy.
"Baby, Come To Me" with Patti Austin went to number one after being used on a soap opera, which is one of the odder routes to a chart-topper.
"I Don't Have the Heart" is his solo number one and the most straightforwardly beautiful thing here.
"Someday We'll All Be Free" is the Donny Hathaway reading, and taking on that song requires real nerve.
"The Secret Garden" is the four-singer showcase with Barry White, Al B. Sure! and El DeBarge.
"When Was the Last Time the Music Made You Cry" and "Blessed Assurance" are the deep cuts, and the second is the hymn.
Go deeper
It's Your Night (1983) is the essential solo album, produced by Quincy Jones.
His work sits inside the Quincy Jones story, so The Dude (1981) and Back on the Block (1989) are the other two records to hear. For the wider tradition of great male singers who came up through session work: Luther Vandross, Michael McDonald and Peabo Bryson.
Listening note: the combination is what made him the era's ideal duet partner — a gospel rasp with real grit, and the technical control to sing extremely quietly. Almost nobody else had both, which is why so much of the catalogue is shared and why he never once gets overpowered on it.

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