It's great to see a film tribute to your father.
Thanks. He was such a behind-the-scenes guy for most of his career. He became a little bit more interested in the later years, in terms of doing photo ops and such, but he generally wasn't concerned with keeping a public profile. Luckily there's an amazing amount of goodwill in the industry from people who do know. I walk up to people at AES and give them the flyer about this film, and they're so happy that it's happening. They're happy not only because they knew and loved Arif, but also because they know that it's important — for music and the concept of record making — to share with a younger audience how records were made by producers who were first and foremost advocates for the artists.
I think one of the other key points that comes up is arranging and how important it is.
That's where he started. He grew up in Istanbul, Turkey, where both my parents are from. He became not just a jazz fanatic, but also a bebop fanatic in the mid '50s when he was a teenager. He was into Dizzy [Gillespie], Bird [Charlie Parker], and Duke [Ellington]. He'd also tell me stories about the first time he'd listened to Alban Berg's Lyric Suite for string quartet.
I want to connect our readers with films like this, as well as the history of our field.
Yes, I'm very proud of the film, for many reasons, but we're so lucky and honored to have interviews with Sir George Martin, Phil Ramone [Tape Op #50], Quincy Jones, Russ Titelman, Hugh Padgham [#55], and my dad. They kind of form a symposium or summit of record production.
I love that the documentary has so much footage of Arif's final record, All My Friends Are Here, and that we get to watch him interact with the artists.
People work so differently. It's unfortunate that people say, "Oh, that's this way of making a record," or "That's that way of making a record." Arif produced [Chaka Khan's] "I Feel For You," and he cut the half-inch, 2-track tape and created all of those wildly creative edits himself. He had measurements of what a quarter note and an eighth note was on the wall. The man who could sit there with the score and an orchestra and conduct, or could collaborate with Bette Midler on the interpretation of a lyric, could also sit there and cut tape.
Your father had gone to Berklee College of Music at Quincy Jones' suggestion, right?
Yeah, Quincy came through the Middle East, parts of Europe, and northern Africa on a State Department sponsored tour with Dizzy Gillespie. He was playing trumpet and writing charts. When they came to Turkey, Quincy said they met in Ankara. My dad must have traveled there, because he lived in Istanbul. They struck up a friendship very quickly. My father said, "I have a score I could show you." Quincy asked to see it. He took a look at it and thought, "Wow, this young man has some talent for writing for big bands, as well as with harmonies." Dad was totally self-taught. Somehow in 1957 my dad got commissioned to write three or four themes and orchestrations for a small jazz ensemble for Voice of America. He wrote and orchestrated the compositions and sent the charts to Quincy, who put together a little Who's Who of jazz musicians of the day to record these arrangements. Then Berklee School of Music was looking for the first recipient of Quincy's scholarship, and he sent them a tape and said, "I think we've got our guy!" Dad was still in Istanbul, and not even married to my mother yet. He got the letter, and my grandfather didn't want him to go. My father was being groomed for the family business [Turkish Petroleum]. He ended up marrying my mom in September of 1957. In January '58, in the middle of the school year, he landed in Boston and started his studies at Berklee.
When you were growing up, your dad was making records and producing. What did you know about his career and what did you think of it? Did it seem unusual?
I was born in 1963, so I was just starting to come of age as my dad was making Aretha Franklin records. Can you imagine going to the studio at Atlantic Records with your dad as a little brat and watching him work with Aretha, The Bee Gees, Average White Band, Roberta Flack, and Donny Hathaway? I don't know how I could have chosen to do anything else in life. I was too young and naive to think that it would be hard. It was an amazing way to grow up, with all of these extraordinary people. My parents were so down-to-earth. For all of my dad's success, they kept a normal home life.
They both talk in the movie about the long hours.
There was certainly that. He'd keep my mother waiting sometimes, and he couldn't be there all the time. But when something was important, he'd be there.
Do you remember your first time going into a studio?
I remember going to Atlantic in the late '60s, probably when I was five or six years old. It was either Tom Dowd working with my dad, or maybe an Aretha session. Those are the first vague memories I have. Certainly in the early '70s, I remember being there for the session for Aretha's "Until You Come Back to Me." I was nine or ten years old. I remember the 16-track days of Atlantic Studios very well. By the time I was in high school I was spending all my free time there. I was kind of a brat hanging out, and they would let me mix. I'd go into the tape library, find safeties of multitracks, and, if there was a free room, they'd allow me to practice mixing. Whatever I did at that point was lousy, but it was incredible to be in that environment. To be in a studio as a teenager in 1978 when the [Rolling] Stones are coming in and working on live albums... not that I was hanging with them, but they were around in the halls.
I can't believe you got to hang out and play with mixes.
It was unbelievable. Around that time, Gene Paul was doing a solo project with Hamish Stuart from Average White Band. I was getting a little older, like 16 maybe. Gene said, "I'm going to give you these tracks, and I'd like you to do rough mixes for us." It was like a little assignment. I think he told me to make sure that the kick peaked at -3 and that the bass peaked at 0. It might have been the other way around. I followed that, and I managed to make acceptable rough mixes for them. I had wonderful experiences like that with these people who really accepted me, nurtured me, and were kind to me at Atlantic. Nobody called me Joe — I was Joey to everybody.
You could have been seen as a nuisance.
I probably was, to a certain extent. At the end of the day my father wouldn't have allowed me to be around much if I were being a brat. My parents were very good parents, and they would put us in our place if we needed to be. I certainly was put in my place enough times!
Were you learning instruments?
My first and main instrument, oddly enough, is drums. I really should have become a piano player, but I didn't have the patience for it around that age. But I'd still be at the piano learning chords and writing songs.
Did you take drum lessons early on?
I studied very little. I had one lesson with Bernard Purdie that I can remember. We're still friendly to this day. It's phenomenal how fortunate I was. I was in the studio with my dad watching sessions with Steve Gadd and Steve Ferrone, eventually Jeff Porcaro. I got to watch those guys, get pointers, and eventually work with some of them. It was unbelievable.
Was it your father's suggestion to go to Berklee, as he had gone there?
