The night slowly melts into dawn as the halays peacefully dissolve. The cry of Rojava lives on in my mind.
The following morning, I choose to wander around the record dealers, hoping to find a Kardes Türküler copy. Many other unexpected discoveries await me.
▼
— Why do you feel solidarity for the people of Rojava ?
— The name of our band means "Songs of fraternity" ; and we fight for reconciliation and understanding between religious and ethnic groups in Turkey. That's why a multicultural space like Rojava is important for us. Rojava is now an artistic project for Kardeş Türküler.
In that region, Kurdish, Assyrian, Syrian and Turkmen people live together. We think Rojava can become a model for the Middle East.
— Your music seems inspired by Kurdish folk rythms and harmonies...
— The roots of traditional music will always be our starting block. We find our strength in the ancient songs of minstrels and bards but we want to update them. We do research about these cultures to seek deepness in our own songs. When we saw Rojava of our own eyes, inspiration followed.
"Notre point de départ sera toujours dans la musique traditionnelle. On prend notre force dans la tradition des dengbêjs, ou des aşıks, mais nous voulons mettre tout cela à jour."
"Nous faisons d'abord de la recherche dans ces cultures pour obtenir de la profondeur dans nos chansons. Nous sommes partis voir de nos yeux Rojava, et l'inspiration nous est venue."
— Why did you write a song for Kobanî ?
— For a start, we asked ourselves : "What can we truly do for Kobanî as musicians ?" We wanted to help the freedom fighters and we helped them financially thanks to our collective. But our priority was writing the song of their boycott.
♪ Kardes Türküler - Rojava
"Rojava!"
By the final beat of the drum, I quickly slip inside the backstage quarters. Gazing tiredly at the mirror, Vedat Yıldırım, one of the band's singers, gasps "It's a real heatwave in there".
He spots me in the corridor and invites me for a drink. "I saw you from stage, please sit my friend !". Vedat explains me the stance of Kardeş Türküler about Kobanî.
Through a maze of crowds and smoke screens, I finally reach the concert hall. Once I walk through the doors, I contemplate a flurry of Kurdistan flags inside the megaphone screaming auditorium. Big bands and big speeches follow one another in an electric atmosphere.
I recognize the familiar slogans "Biji YPG" and "Berxwerdana Kobanê" (Resist Kobanî) that are displayed on the walls. Tonight, everybody sings for "Rojava" in a burst of brotherly love. The stage is set for the arrival of the top bill band Kardeş Türküler.
Istanbul, at last ! The monstrous metropolis pulsates like no other city I've been to in Turkey so far. From all corners of the country, populations have flowed into the city arteries many times before. Istanbul has always been after all, a city of foreigners. It hosts the most Kurds in the world, as over four million of them live throughout its gigantic districts.
Nightfall softly switches on the city lights while a small crowd gathers around a street performance. People spontaneously cling on to each other's little fingers to form a small dance circle, commonly named halay. The circle rotates around two energetic buskers chanting "Biji, biji YPG !" ("long live the YPG" the Kurdish guerilla from Syria). As its chains multiply, the circles gradually turn into a demo. The newly born procession marches towards the Bostancı Gösteri Merkezi, a local concert hall.
▼
IV. A song of fraternity
Kurdish record labels have lived through a torrid time. Finding their releases will be no easy task.
▼
