V. A recorded song
In the records shops scattered all around the Beyoğlu district of Istanbul, nostalgia is proudly displayed. 1960's and 1970's Turkish rock and disco classics feature surprisingly alongside Prince and Rolling Stones vinyls.
This is far off what I'm looking for, and there are no Kurdish records on sight. I get to know that vinyl copies of Kurdish music are real collector's items. "For that kind of music, pirated tapes and CD's are probably your best bet" tells me one salesman.
By browsing through supermarket aisles, I actually find a tiny row of Kurdish CD's in the music section. They all share the same sticker : a red circle with "Ses plak" written in white italic letters.
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Who is the man behind the sticker ? The address written on the CD covers leads me to the Unkapanı district nested behind Istanbul's famous Süleymaniye mosque. Travelling by metros and buses, I finally reach a concrete jungle of offices. I recognize the red label on one door and I step inside. Ata Güner warmly welcomes me in his recording studio. He chuckles and says that "We rarely get any foreigners here". Ata was busy wrapping up production for Ses Plak's -his family's record label- next release. "I still have to design the album cover ! There's only me and my dad left in Ses Plak. Life was easier before".
Ata introduces me to his father, Ethem Güner, who is also the label's boss. During Kurdish language prohibition, this thick-skinned producer published politically involved bands, like Kardeş Türküler. Needless to say, it's been a bumpy road for him, as he soldiered through financial ruin, endless court cases and even prison time.
The record label Ses Plak begins in 1986. Ethem was selling tapes in the south eastern city of Gaziantep. He spent much time recording minstrels and Kurdish propaganda music.
— Police would first confiscate weapons and secondly Kurdish albums, says Ethem, when I was publishing Kurdish music, it felt like I had a gun in my hand.
Publishing Kurdish music is quite a gamble at the time. Getting caught with tapes in your pockets is enough for being thrown in jail. This doesn't make Ethem blink, and he thrives in the underground distribution.
A few years later, Ethem tries to force through his loads of tapes into the legal market. But releasing a record remains impossible without a close examination of the songbook by the ministry of Culture in Ankara. Ethem has to be inventive if he wants to avoid censorship
— We use to exchange the album cover and the Kurdish songbooks with Turkish versions when we were packaging. It was the only way for us to publish our music.
Today, the Güner family are struggling to make both ends meet. Many listeners have given up buying Ses Plak albums for online piracy. In their usual hotbeds located in Diyarbakir and other towns of the south east, sales numbers have badly decreased.
—The Kurdish people in Turkey never had enough money for buying televisions and original CDs. That's why there's always been counterfeiting of our products. When someone bought an album, he would copy it for his friends.
After the great tug of war for publishing Kurdish music was eventually won by Ses Plak, not many results are left for Ethem to savour. He had to sell the rights of his best artists for balancing the books.
I ask him if he has any regrets. A smile draws on his lips as he looks back into my eyes defiantly.
—I only have pride for what I have done. I feel that I have achieved something important for Kurdish culture. I may have sacrificed a lot financially and personally but if I look back, I regret nothing.
My days in Istanbul are coming to an end. I fill up my suitcase with all my tapes and CDs of Kurdish artists that I previously met. The search is not over. In the mayhem of my belongings, I find the number of an exiled musician in Brussels. His name is Ufuk Lüker.
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We must fly to Brussels. One last singer is waiting for us.
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Ethem Güner's financial worries also come from his numerous bust-ins with the law. Stop-and-start court cases have badly slowed down his company over the years.
— Ses Plak often went bust when the government seized all our belongings. These problems pushed me to export to the diasporas in Europe.*
*Plus de détails dans l'interview annexe, réalisée par le blog francophone Sohrawardi
— Artists had to perform in secret venues, like friends houses, where we would record live music and hand over the tapes to friends, says Ata.
