Ensemble member Kayhan Kalhor (kamancheh) and Aynur Doğan, in the film, Photo credit SilkRoad
http://www.colineatock.com/eatock-daily-blog/the-silk-road-winds-through-toronto
Published on 3th July 2014 on Folkradio
Her brand new album Hevra (Together), is Aynur’s first in four years and sees her established format of mixing traditional, Kurdish musical origins with new influences, taken to a new level, creating a more diverse an ever more colourful sound. At the heart of the new sound is the Spanish composer, producer and flamenco guitar virtuoso Javier Limón. The five-time Latin Grammy winner has enriched Aynur´s music through his signature guitar tones and together they have created a new and unique fusion of Kurdish music and Spanish flamenco. Aynur makes the most and her strong expressive voice completes the picture, making Hevra a gorgeous piece of work and one of this year’s discoveries.
Aynur may not be a new name to all of you. She released her debut back in 2002 in her native Turkey, and it caused sufficiently large ripples through the world music community to set up a number of collaborations including some film soundtrack work. In 2004 fRoots Magazine put her on their cover and The Times followed suit for a special supplement on Turkish culture.
Aynur is Kurdish and in 2005, with growing international standing she attracted more publicity, falling foul of the delicate political balance in Turkey. Her Keçe Kurdan album was deemed to support the Kurdish separatist cause, inciting women in particular to head for the hills in rebellion. All copies were ordered to be removed from the shelves by court edict, although the decision was overturned within a few months. It’s tempting to think that both the title Hevra and the fact that the lyrics and indeed her website appear in Kurdish, Turkish and English might finally quash such thinking, however delicate the balance.
In so many ways ‘world music’ is an unhelpful term, a convenient tag where lots of music is lumped into one polyglot category that offers no explanation of the variety involved. Yet without it, it’s doubtful that this review would be being written. There’s also the sense of the fusion, which liberates the music from some of its geographical boundaries, whilst paradoxically drawing on specific roots and traditional music forms. Whilst it might be overly fanciful to suggest that such fusions then belong to the wider world, it at least speaks of the common language of music that we share and our experience of it is as much shared as it is exclusive.
Just look at the five-time Latin Grammy winner Javier Limón, who has worked with such illustrious names as Jasmin Levi and Buika in the past. He enriches Aynur´s music through his Spanish flamenco guitar tones massively, yet also has an ear for the distinctive tones of Kurdish instruments such as the flute like ney and bilûr, or the two or three stringed tembûr. He’s not afraid to combine them with bass and percussion, piano, cello, clarinet, bouzouki and even the sounds of flamenco dancing. Yet he does it all without crowding the soundstage and more crucially still allowing Aynur’s considerable vocal skills to take centre stage.
Proof of her range and power is amply demonstrated by the two live tracks, the traditional Sîsilê and Xerîw, which translates as Poor Fellow. The latter sees her accompanied by just a sparsely arranged piano that almost strays into a sort of minimalist jazz vibe. There is the hint of war in the separation between father and son, with mountains between them. But the son also knows he’s on the wrong path. The former is an equally powerful performance and again the setting is just a single instrument, although this time the tembûr. Again there is conflict afoot and Aynur voice is swathed in echo at the finale.
As for the instrumental palate, the opener, Pȇs Nare (It Makes No Headway), is nicely complex, starting with a flurry of Spanish guitar, that has it’s ear bent to a tune from the opposite end of the Mediterranean featuring tembûr, the distinctive ney, with a nice clarinet interjection. Aynur’s voice is more wistful in tone than the live tracks highlighted above and the song seems to be a search for peace of mind.
By contrast Ûrmiye is playful and flirtatious and one of the lightest and prettiest songs on the record, which in turn makes more of a dramatic impact of Sîsilê which follows. Tobedar im, which follows in turn, is urgent and driven along with a percussive rattle, funky bass and some more extremely tasty nylon strung guitar. The layering of voices is used to good effect, sometimes with just Aynur but also the use of backing singers and flamenco voices.
The mood continues to shift with Derya Kenarinda Bir Ev Yapmişam offering us another lament, this time at the hopelessness of love and the need to leave the house built by the sea. Min Digo Melê translates as My Little Angel, which has a sprightly dancing tune. Diyarbekir is both wistful and powerful in it’s mid section, as it appeals for peace but also laments the sorrows, again presumably of conflict that has blighted the region from all sides.
Arguably the album saves its best for last and after the second live track, there are three of the best songs on the album. Reng Esmerê (Come, Come You With The Nut Coloured Skin) is simply framed with guitar and percussion and what sound like the equivalent of a tabla. Dil Ji Min Bir (She Stole My Heart Away) is built around guitar and Laúd, with a nice skittering percussion and varying tempo. Again the layering of Aynur voice also changes the focal point and emotional pull of the music.
Of all the tracks though, Yar Melek e (My Lover Is An Angel)is just sublime, but busy with its complex shifting rhythms. It also features flamenco dance and probably makes the strongest case for this cultural fusion. Although perhaps it’s simply that it caps a very strong album that just gets better with each spin.
The jury is probably out on the translations. In one way it’s nice to get a sense of what the song is about, but the directly transcribed English equivalent doesn’t best serve the obvious subtlety of expression in Aynur’s wonderful voice, coming across as rather stark and blunt. Still that’s a minor quibble and you certainly don’t have to read them to enjoy this CD. Nor do you have to be Kurdish, Turkish or Spanish. The sole requirement is a desire to hear some wonderful music. Press play and you’re away.
Review by: Simon Holland
Published on 11th of September 2013 by Qantara
You come from the province of Tunceli in the Kurdish heartland. What shaped your upbringing in the Anatolian countryside?
Aynur Dogan: During my childhood, I often spent time in the mountains surrounding our village, which was called Dogan. The animals, the cheese that was produced in my village, playing out in the open – those are memories that remain. Then our family moved to Istanbul. At that time I was about to graduate from college.
How did it feel to be moved from the countryside to the city?
Creating a new sound in Turkey: Aynur Dogan is perhaps the most recognizable of many Kurdish singers
Aynur Dogan: To me, Istanbul seemed exceptionally big and fast-paced. But it also brought me new opportunities. In Istanbul, I was better able to dedicate myself to music than I was in my rural home. I established contacts in the music scene, attended music classes and learnt to play the baklama, the Turkish lute. But whenever I return to my village today, I go back to being a local. The villagers don’t treat me any differently.
Why did you want to be a musician?
Aynur Dogan: In my Alevi village I was surrounded by music. Alevis don’t have a central holy book. That’s why music plays a very important role in our faith and tradition. All information and stories have been passed on through music for generations. To us, music is a medium of communication. Music is present at birth, during our youth and also in the graveyard. All life is music. All these influences of home can be found in my songs. To me, my homeland radiates power and warmth.
Your last album and single from the year 2010 are called “Rewend” (Kurdish: nomad). In the music video by Fatih Akin you’re walking around Hasankeyf, the historical place in southeastern Anatolia that the Turkish government plans to clear for the construction of a dam. Are you a nomad yourself?
Aynur Dogan: I’ve travelled around the world a great deal in recent years, giving many concerts and meeting many people. All this is reflected in “Rewend”. The song is about the path you take, the state of being constantly on the road. It is like a gust of wind that carries you everywhere and away from your home. When people forget home, problems such as the one in Hasankeyf arise. By singing “Rewend”, I wanted to reactivate the power that emanates from one’s home. No matter where you are in the world, you should never forget your roots.
Do you consider yourself a political voice?
Aynur Dogan: Others like to label me as a “political singer”. But first and foremost I consider myself a musician. Sure, everything I sing about has a message. “Path”, “warrior” – these words from my songs have a social connotation. Human rights matter to me. I am not somebody who wants to sing in quiet.
In July 2010, one of your concerts in Istanbul was interrupted by the audience. The incident happened after PKK forces committed an assault on 14 Turkish soldiers. What happened at that concert?
Aynur Dogan: Turkey is a young country. Some things in this country are not under control – and that includes the ethnic conflict with the Kurds. There are always people who view singers like me as a danger. They don’t want the Kurds to be culturally self-confident. 5,000 people attended this concert in Istanbul. When I sung my second song, which was in Kurdish, almost half of the audience started booing. I had to cancel the concert. After the incident, the media reported that only a few people had disturbed the performance.
How did you cope with this situation?
Aynur Dogan: I felt very uncomfortable. It was the first time something like that had occurred to me. For two months I was turning it over in my head. I withdrew and thought a lot about what had happened. But then I reminded myself of how politics work. There are people who stir up such an atmosphere. Many Kurdish artists had to emigrate for that reason. I was able to gather new strength during my concert tour of Germany.
How do you view the situation of Kurdish musicians in contemporary Turkey?
Curious artistic restrictions: “My music is only broadcast after I’ve signed an agreement saying that I’m responsible for all possible consequences of my music, such as riots for instance,” Dogan explains
Aynur Dogan: In 2005, a court in Diyarbakir decided to ban my album “Keçe Kurdan”, but the verdict was withdrawn afterwards. To this day, Kurdish musicians in Turkey have to face fundamental restrictions. Performance rights only apply to Turkish musicians. Kurdish musicians don’t have such rights. Kurdish musicians who want to produce something in Turkey have to stand on their own two feet. With one exception: You’re a Kurdish singer singing for the AKP and thus campaigning for the government. They get paid well.
How about your music?
Aynur Dogan: My music is now being played on radio and television but as a Kurd, I’m discriminated against. By law, Kurdish clips have to be subtitled in Turkish. My music is only broadcast after I’ve signed an agreement saying that I’m responsible for all possible consequences of my music, such as riots for instance.
For Kurds it is difficult to organize their own concerts. There is no funding from the government. All concerts are financed by Kurdish associations. It often takes weeks until you get official permission for a concert. Although I’m famous throughout Turkey now, I can only give a few concerts in my country. I play in Europe more frequently than at home.
Interview by Marian Brehmer
© Qantara.de 2013
Editor: Lewis Gropp/Qantara.de