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When singer Derya Yıldırım first met keyboarder Axel Oliveres and bassist Antonin Le Gargasson, she was unsure: “I wasn’t sure if these guys were joking around.” The two were French hipsters living in east London, while she was a classically trained musician with Turkish roots residing in the culturally diverse district of Veddel in Hamburg. Despite their different backgrounds, they were brought together to modernize and perform traditional folk music from Anatolia for a Hamburg arts festival in 2014.
Yıldırım was not fluent in English or French, while Oliveres and Le Gargasson did not speak German or Turkish. She remembers thinking, “Who are these individuals?” She grew up in Veddel and was accustomed to being stigmatized, but then someone from a different neighborhood came and expressed interest in creating art. Despite not living in the same city simultaneously, the “outernational” band they formed has continued for almost a decade. Yıldırım reflects, “As we focused on our instruments, we discovered a shared language.” It was like the ideal match on a date.
Although Yıldırım and South African drummer Helen Wells reside in Berlin and the two French musicians currently live in the French Alps, the group, known as Derya Yıldırım & Grup Şimşek, has successfully gained a devoted following throughout Europe, even outside of the Turkish diaspora. Based on their recent performances in Hamburg and Berlin, their upcoming show at EartH Hackney in London this Sunday is expected to attract a diverse audience, rather than just members of the local Kurdish community in Kingsland Road.
According to Yıldırım, who performs traditional songs passed down from her parents – who relocated from eastern Turkey through the West German “guest worker” program in the 20th century – as well as her own original pieces, we do not appear to have a specific target audience. She notes that during our performances, I often notice the absence of Turkish or Kurdish speakers in the audience.
The current music industry in Germany has been less willing to include music from immigrant communities compared to other parts of Europe. Other European countries, like the UK, France, and Belgium, have embraced diverse artists such as Cornershop, Rachid Taha, MC Solaar, and Stromae. However, in Germany, genres like “R’n’Besk” from Cologne’s Muhabbet or Les Robespierre’s Portuguese-language indie music from the Hamburger Schule continue to be relatively unknown.
According to Imran Ayata, a writer and campaigner, Germany lags far behind England and France in terms of bands that make their migrant parents’ music popular on the charts. In 2013, Ayata released a successful compilation album called “Songs of Gastarbeiter,” featuring overlooked musical treasures from the first generation of migrant workers.
Some of these songs, such as Ozan Ata Canani’s Deutsche Freunde – which Grup Şimşek have covered at live shows – are now sometimes heard in the trendier bars and clubs of Berlin, Hamburg or Munich. But they’ve never crossed over into the mainstream. “Maybe we simply lack that casualness, that coolness,” Ayata says. “But Derya is something different.”
The Turkish words Şimşek and Yıldırım can both be translated as “lightning”, and if you watch Yıldırım and her band play live, you quickly understand why they doubled down on the suggestion of instant electrification.
Oliveres, Le Gargasson, and Wells offer a nostalgic mix of jazzy psychedelia with a strong presence of Hammond organs and wah-wah effects. However, when Yıldırım begins playing her bağlama, a long-necked lute with seven strings, she injects bursts of raw energy into the performance. Occasionally, during a pause in the music, Yıldırım leaves her hand suspended above her head after plucking one of the instrument’s metal strings, almost as if she is offering herself as a conduit for lightning.
Instead of calling it windmilling, compare the bağlama to a guitar and its 30-year-old strings. Yıldırım believes that while the guitar has become associated with universal genres like rock, the bağlama has remained limited to its regional roots. However, Yıldırım personally doesn’t understand why this is, as he believes the emotions that can be expressed through the bağlama are universal.
The bağlama, originally used to accompany Alevi poets during performances, has now expanded into western music. Artists like Barış Manço and Erkin Koray combined Anatolian folk and psychedelic rock, appealing to a new generation in Turkey. These pioneers continue to inspire modern bands, including Altın Gün from Amsterdam and Grup Şimşek’s Kar Yağar album released in 2019.
In retrospect, Oliveres admits that the tribute may have been overly obvious: “We were attempting to mimic too closely, we were too foreseeable.” Their album Dost 2, which debuted in August of last year, breaks away from the dense psychedelic sound of its predecessor and adopts a lighter, more agile approach, incorporating elements of stripped-down soul and disco with wailing, William Onyeabor-inspired keyboards. In February of this year, Yıldırım and Oliveres released Hey Dostum, Çak!, a diverse compilation of children’s tunes, lullabies, and nostalgic electronica that is more likely to have your little ones bouncing off the walls than drifting off to sleep.
Due to the physical distance between band members and the fact that rehearsals only occur every couple of months for four days at a time, there is a possibility that it may take longer for them to bring their music to a larger audience. Oliveres believes that this limitation may actually be a positive aspect, as it allows the band to grow and progress at a steady pace despite the distance.
Yıldırım remains steadfast in her current musical direction, despite the diverse influences of the band. She clarifies, “While some may view our music as retro, to me it is a fusion of soul and folk. I am not Turkish and have no desire to replicate the sounds of the 60s and 70s. My roots are in Germany.”
Source: theguardian.com
