“You don’t know my sound” — the rumoured blank-disc message that became shorthand for how stubbornly Prince protected his creative space

In the deep lore of 1980s music mythology, few stories have been repeated — and contested — as much as the one involving Prince, Quincy Jones and a package that allegedly contained a blank disc with a short, biting message attached.

There is no public record confirming that the incident happened exactly the way fan retellings describe it.
But the anecdote has endured because it distills something that was fully documented about Prince: his insistence on total creative control, and his fierce belief that no producer — no matter how successful — should define his sound.

the alleged moment, in summary form

According to the most circulated version of the rumour:

• Prince reached out with a proposal of collaboration
• Quincy Jones, then deep in his post-Thriller era workload, declined
• Prince is said to have responded by mailing a disc with a note attached — short, sharp, and personal

The line that fans quote most often is:

“You don’t know my sound, so I can’t work with you.”

Whether those exact words were ever physically written down is unclear — but the sentiment aligns with the public Prince profile of the time.

why the story stuck, even without receipts

Prince repeatedly demonstrated — in ways that are verified — that he would rather work alone than compromise, including:

• skipping the all-star “We Are the World” session and submitting music separately
• declining Michael Jackson’s invitation to duet on “Bad” because he didn’t like the opening lyric structure

Jones, meanwhile, was the most commercially successful producer in the world — and was strongly linked to Michael Jackson’s rise.
That alone created a natural contrast point.

the takeaway is cultural, not provable

The blank-disc story survives because it captures a truth about Prince’s philosophy, not because the physical package is documented:

Prince believed that if someone could not fully understand — or surrender to — his musical language, the collaboration was already broken before the first note.

That idea, not the envelope, is what made the anecdote endure.