01.23.07
Posted in Travel in Turkey at 21:44 by eliot
It was a historic day in Turkey today, as well over 100,000 people (the AP and Reuters guess) marched the 5+ mile stretch from Osmanbey (the site where Hrant Dink was assasinated last Friday) to Yenikapi on the Marmara Sea, where he was buried in the Armenian graveyard of the Holy Mother of God Armenian Patriarchal Church. Members of the Armenian diaspora as well as prominent Armenian religious leaders were invited to attend this funeral.
Amongst the marchers were a broad spectrum of contemporary Istanbul society, including many of the local ethnic Armenians, as well as Kurds, Turks, and a few of us foreigners-in-residence. Signs in the crowd contained expressions such as “Hepimiz Hrant Dink’iz. Hepimiz Ermeniyiz” (We all are Hrant Dink. We all are Armenian), also written in Armenian: “Menk Polorys Hay Enk” and in Kurmanci (the primary Kurdish language spoken in Turkey): “Em Henû Hrantin.”
There were also signs about the contraversial article 301, which was used earlier to try Hrant Dink and many other prominent and lesser known scholars, journalists, and politicians, including Elif Shafkat and Orhan Pamuk. Some of the signs (and chants) indicated that article 301 specifically killed Hrant (meaning: the sentiment that generates things such as article 301 creates a warped sense of patriotism inspiring regular people to “take the law into their own hands”); others simply advocated repealing this piece of legislation.
The mood was sorrowful, and a bit tense due to the thousands of police gathered on every side street in full riot gear. However, the march, and funeral procession, passed without major incident.
People I talked to indicated that this was much larger than any funeral procession in post-1980 Turkey. When Ugur Mumcu’s car was bombed, perhaps 10,000 people attended a funeral, but this kind of multi-day funeral/demonstration is basically unprecedented in contemporary Turkish history. I have never seen a more focused march of any sort in my life - there was one cause and one cause only; sorrow for the death of a good and generous man at the hands of fascism. The march today was a demonstration that fascism will not be tolerated here in Istanbul. How long that message will prevail or last, though, noone knows.
[closed for comments: 8/14/2007]
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01.20.07
Posted in Travel in Turkey at 02:53 by eliot
Today, in Istanbul, a prominent intellectual and prolific journalist was gunned down. Hrant Dink was the editor of the Agos newspaper, which is a bilingual publication in Turkish and Armenian, and the most prominent figure attempting to begin a serious local debate about “the Armenian question.” If Turkey ever once stood a chance to convince the world that what happened between the 1880s and 1920s was actually a civil war or bi-partisan conflict (and there is a somewhat small amount of evidence supporting this view), this chance has been lost today.
For more on Hrant Dink:
Turkish: http://tr.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hrant_Dink
English: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hrant_Dink
Journalists live a risky life here. Ugur Mumcu is another prominent writer who was assassinated, killed by a car bomb in 1993:
http://tr.wikipedia.org/wiki/U%C4%9Fur_Mumcu
And many bombs have been planted in and around newspaper offices in the past few years.
Anyway, my sympathies go to the family, friends, and co-workers of Hrant, a passionate lover of Turks and Turkey who was killed today in front of his newspaper office.
[closed for comments 08/14/2007]
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12.10.06
Posted in Travel in Turkey at 16:07 by eliot
I just came back from Ankara, where I had been invited to present a paper for the Middle Eastern Technical University Folklife Group’s 45th anniversary conference. My paper was entitled “Karadeniz Muziği ve
Karadeniz Yöresel Muziklerinin Karşılaştırmalı Teknik Analizi,” or “A technical analytic comparison of ‘Karadeniz music’ and Black Sea local-traditional musics.” The paper provoked a lot of comments - mostly negative, partly since I was incorrectly introduced as a scholar of Black Sea local traditional musics (which I am not), and largely since my research is ethnographic and anthropological, an academic lens which is not well understood here, particularly in its application to musical subjects.
Anyway, after the conference, the organizers, myself, and a couple of local musicians went to a restaurant where we discussed the conference and things. In this context, there was a warmer reception to the ideas, and we actually had a constructive discussion. That is, until the (drunk) owner of the restaurant came to the table, and upon discovering that there was an American who played and studied Turkish music in the midst, bellowed a sequence of questions:
“Why are you studying Turkish music? Why don’t you study the music of the Indians - people of your land? Why don’t you play your music - jazz and blues?”
At the time (2AM after a grueling day of conference activities), I wasn’t able to provide a satisfactory answer (I gave some sort of answer relating to us being interested in places with an obvious long history, about us living in a very multi-cultural society and thus being interested in the cultures of the people who share in the experience of living in America. I also said that I do study American music and write about it too). But now, better rested and comfortably back in Istanbul, I can much better provide the answer that should have emerged on Friday night.
I started my dissertation research knowing that I wanted to research the recording of music. How we make albums. How the techniques of the studio are different than what we do when performing live. I know a lot about this - I’ve worked at many studios in America (and spent a lot of time at studios in Istanbul in the last year). However, much of the knowledge I had about studios and how we make albums seemed so obvious, so basic, that it would never occur to me to write about it.
This point is crucial. By traveling to Turkey to research music recording, things that once were basic, common knowledge (that I would have never thought to write about) suddenly surfaced: About how Turkish music is made, how American music is made, and about things I had done professionally for years (but were at the “unconscious” level). I had to travel to Turkey to be able to see with a more “objective” lens what recording is all about, what is unique and particular to so-called “American” music.
Turkish local musical traditions are changing and changing at a rapid rate. People “on the inside” - people living in Çamli-Hemşin, Hopa, Trabzon, etc. - are living these changes, but based on the discussions I had over the weekend, are oblivious and often in denial of these changes. Just as it’s hard for someone to know when they moved from being a child to an adolescent to a young adult to a middle aged man (though it’s obvious to everyone else), it’s hard to see from the inside in what ways change is happening.
By putting yourself in an entirely foreign situation - where you are uncomfortable, where you have to observe every little detail in under to try to understand what people are saying and doing, where you must pay attention - you become able not only to see the situation you are in, but you learn about yourself and your own roots, too.
To every Turk who has asked me why I am studying Turkish music and not music “of my own people,” my response is that if you really want to know about your own people and your own music you have to travel for a good length of time to a place where everything seems foreign. In the process, you learn more about yourself, about other people, and maybe will even make some new friends in the process.
In another blog perhaps I’ll tackle the constellation of frequently-asked questions around who is qualified to teach or talk about what topics. Why, as an American, am I more qualified to talk about recording, but less about Turkish music (which I have been playing for longer than I’ve been doing recording, BTW?) As a teaser, let’s just say that I would love to see Turkish students doing ethnographic projects in America on the weird music we make. Stay tuned…
[update: closed for comments 08/14/2007]
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09.29.06
Posted in Travel in Turkey at 00:14 by eliot
I realize it’s been a month and a half since my last blog-posting. Compared to some bloggers who fill the internet with 5-10 posts a day, I’m the ultimate slacker. Anyway, I have a good excuse - I’m right in the thick of writing a chapter of my PhD dissertation on Istanbul recording studios, and have been focused on trying to make some sort of coherent sense. My blogging, through mid November, is likely to be erratic. After then I hope to get some more fun reads for my distributed network of family and friends.
Anyway, my other project of the moment involves a new musical group I’m getting together for some fall performances. Featuring clarinet, ud and singing (me), and darbukka/bendir, the group performs various regional türkü repertoire, Anatolian ethnic musics, and a bit of fasıl music, too. Our concert locations and dates are up in the air, but I thought I’d give some heads up that a new group was in the works.
Update 08/14/2007: the group is called Nerelisin, and you can check our stuff out at myspace. We’re in the midst of recording an album that should be done at the end of August! Check the myspace page for details…
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08.14.06
Posted in Travel in Turkey at 15:15 by eliot
So for a long time we had this old muezzin* in Ortaköy* whose daily ezan* sounded a bit constipated and far from inspired nor other-worldly, but he was our muezzin and there was a certain pleasent familiarity with his calls. A couple months ago, there was a sudden change - we had a new, younger muezzin, whose improvisatory calls to prayer were quite beautiful, excited, and, well, less constipated. I literally looked forward to the next call, since they were a great source of improvised melodies, sung by an artist who really knew makam*.
But about three weeks ago something changed. I noticed that in one day all the ezan were in the same makam (typically, for the five calls in a day, there is a different makam used for each one. Most notably, in the morning, makam Saba is customary, while makams Hicaz, Ussak, Segah, and Rast (a few others, optionally) are used later in the day). But the morning ezan was in Hicaz - a big no-no. Then I noticed the second call was also in Hicaz. By the third, it was obvious - the three calls were identical, not only in makam, but truly identical - they had the same glitchy effect when he hit the “high C,” an artifact from a wearing out cassette.
Now I’ve heard about cassette call to prayers before, but in this part of Istanbul the mosques take pride often in the artistry of their particular muezzin/imam. The next day, the morning call was different and obviously live. But the following four calls were the same cassette as the day before. Since then, about half of the calls have been the same damn cassette, and the other half have been some random muezzins. And I mean random. Today’s 2 different muezzins probably have never sung the call in a mosque before. Their pronunciation of “Allah hu-Akbar” was, well, not at all Arabic-sounding. There was no makam at all. In fact, there was no real melody at all. It was hideously painful. I have the feeling that they grabbed some window-repairman or bakkalci (grocer) for this morning and afternoon’s calls (no offense to window repairman or bakkalci, some of whom might be very good singers of other musical styles). Contrast this with the Ortaköy coast mosque, which has some of the most beautiful ezans - wish we could hear them better where we live!
Since the main stipulation about quranic recitation and calls to prayer is that they are never the same twice, that they are improvised and from the heart, how does using an old cassette, or dragging non-professionals into service, accomplish this task? When the ezan loses these qualities, it becomes noise pollution. In Ankara they standardized the call to prayer so that each mosque broadcasts the same exact call in sync, avoiding the cacophony that had existed before. The cacophony can be beautiful - when the ezan is actually performed, and done properly - but when it isn’t, it’s a waste of electricity and an assault on millions of ear drums. We need a neighborhood mosque quality association that imposes sanctions on mosques that use lousy cassettes or amateur muezzin. Considering the deafening volume at which we have to listen to “get your ass over to the mosque” five times a day, that’s the least that could be done.
*** Note about the wikipedia links: these are provided for those of you who have absolutely no idea what these Turkish-language terms mean. In all cases the articles on wikipedia are extremely inaccurate, an unfortunate function of an anarchistic “encylopedia” that allows “anyone” to edit or write. But, they might give you a hint at a definition of these terms. If you are interested in these topics, there are much better sources and resources; however, they are not freely accessible online.
[update: closed for new comments 08/14/2007]
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08.01.06
Posted in Travel in Turkey at 00:18 by eliot
So some Turkish friends, Ladi, and I were eating dinner at a nice rooftop open-air restaurant at the Tünel end of Taksim. It’s a place we often go to, since it has quite a varied menu, good prices, nice ambience, and kooky music. Four of us ordered grilled salmon, a somewhat uncommon item on Turkish menus, and were just finishing our plates. Ulas was biting into an onion, Ali a tomato, and I was wiping my hands with a soaked scented hand-towel, when we independently felt this strange reaction. I thought they had put too much of the perfume on the hand towel and I was allergic to it; Ulas thought the onion was particularly strong, and I don’t know what Ali thought about his tomato… but the feeling didn’t pass. After a few seconds we looked around the restaurant and everyone was having a reaction to something. Then it became obvious - the air wafting in the north window was the cause of everyone’s discomfort. Someone said “tear gas,” we closed the window, but the discomfort remained.
It was impossible to remain in the restaurant - everyone’s eyes were watering, my skin had totally broken out, most people could barely breathe (particularly one elderly woman who was sobbing in a chair). We hurriedly paid our bill and left. On the street it wasn’t any better - what kind of gas was this? It wasn’t tear gas, since it didn’t have that strange sweet smell. Pepper spray. Huge pepper spray bombs. We had seen a few piece on the main pedestrian street in Taksim as we were walking to the restaurant, so we headed down a side street, only to be confronted by about 60 police with gas masks alternately running and walking up the street. It was apparent that the entourage had absolutely no idea where they were going. At least they weren’t launching any gas at us.
We asked one store owner what the reason was for the gas (we knew it must have been some sort of political demonstration). In his infinite ignorance, he said - “Kurds.” It turns out it wasn’t Kurds or about Kurds at all, but a protest against the Lebanon war and American imperialism. A peaceful protest, and not particularly large. Why they needed to gas one entire end of the most busy neighborhood of Istanbul is beyond me.
Four weeks ago a law was passed in Turkey that basically entitles police to arrest demonstrators for most any reason, writers and journalists for writing things “against the interests of the state,” and similar clauses. (Read a somewhat inaccurate story about it here…) The EU enlargement committe expressed “grave concerns” about this law - as it was worded primarily to stifle willy-nilly any political groups rather than the larger and more looming threat of terrorism inside Turkey (as far as I know, not one of the dozens of bombings that have happened here have been remotely connected to the hundreds of demonstrations or gatherings that traditionally happened).
I’ve visited Turkey several times over the last 13 years, and was always impressed with the extent to which “ordinary” Turks were so enthusiastic and involved in politics. Now the same kinds of demonstrations are met with police warfare. This is not democracy nor freedom, nor does it protect people from terrorism or other real threats. Incidents like this kill the vibrancy of civic society and only create more tension, strife, and increasingly deadly conflict.
And, based on the neighborhood in which this stupid incident happened, I’ll add: what a clever way to kill the already failing tourism industry in Turkey. I would guess that at least several hundred tourists were probably inadvertantly gassed. How’s that sound for yer next vacation?
Here’s a link to only news I could find (in Turkish) on the demonstration
[update: closed for new comments 08/14/2007]
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07.16.06
Posted in Travel in Turkey at 01:44 by eliot
There were a few things that didn’t come across quite clearly in my previous blog post, “Observations about Turkish and American musicians.” When referring to American musical practices, I was limiting my discussion to American musicians performing “ethnic” music, or more broadly musicians located in America who are making music presented as something regional/ethnic and from the Middle East. I say this, since some performers from the Middle East, when on tour in America, perform and interact very differently than they do for audiences in their home countries.
American music - exceptional genres, descriptive categories, and spectacle
Obviously America has had its share of participatory, egalitarian music-making traditions, and rock audiences often shout out requests of their artists. I think of Sacred Harp - shape note singing as the pinnacle of participatory anti-virtuosic singing, or punk rock (American punk rock, that is) which emerged as a strong statement against the more wanking elements of progressive/art rock or the polished rock studio productions of the time. However, regardless of musical style, it is still significant that America’s social relation to music creates catagories like “musician” vs. “non-musician,” strongly emphasizes “amateur” vs. “professional” (in Istanbul I’m never asked if I am a “professional” oud player… rather people want to know who my teacher is), and with atrocities like Celine Dion’s own hotel in Las Vegas places the value of spectacle over the meaning or utility of the music performed. We export these values around the world - thus, spectacle has “arrived” in Istanbul recently, in the form of festivals such as “Rock n Coke,” a greater preponderance of lip-synching pop artists, and groups with the word “all-stars” in their name.
Turkish music and improvisation
Also, my points about Turkish music have little to do with whether or not the music has improvisation. Improvisation is not necessarily an opportunity for highly individualist expression. Particularly in the Middle East, improvisation is heard 5 times a day with the call-to-prayer, which by religious law must be different each time. Thus, müezzin are, to consider it coarsely, professional improvisers. In taking ‘ud lessons, my teacher Necati Çelik would stop the lesson when a call to prayer happened, and we’d listen to the day’s treatment of the makam, for a moment of solace but also for ideas applicable to ud taksims. None of this was an exercise towards developing individual expression per se.
Improvised forms are compulsory and used to present a makam in Turkish art music, and taksims traditionally had an important function inside longer performance suites. In Turkish folk music traditions improvisation is often used in dance music performance (whether it be a Black Sea horon or a central Anatolian oyun havası), and most instruments have their own ways of improvising. Of course, if you are analyzing the skill of a musician, his improvisations are a good measure of his musicianship skill. However, that’s very different than asserting that the improvisation’s primary function is a display of virtuosity.
Finally,
I want to point out that there’s some obvious bias on my part (favoring the relation of music and society in Turkey). However, there’s another side to the story. Some of my musician friends in Turkey are so sick-to-death of performing for Turkish audiences, who feel entitled to demand not just one song but nearly the unfolding of the entire program. Music having a strong social function has its drawbacks, particularly if your musical performance style doesn’t fit the typical social categories or is aesthetically not understood by most people. I would hope that some sort of balance could be arrived at, where audiences trust that their musicians will come up with something good (even if immediately unfamiliar), while musicians will feel a responsibility to provide something for a tangible audience and forego the ego posturing that gets in the way of making music.
Hope that clarifies things a bit…
[update: closed for new comments 08/14/2007]
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