Here's an interesting draft paper on "Mediterraneanism, Realism and Hypergender"--or rather on Zeki Müren and Bülent Ersoy--by Oxfordian ethnomusicologist Martin Stokes.
Some quotes:
Zeki Müren's Turkish was of an elevated quality, of a kind that has no counterpart in spoken Turkish except in poetic recitation, marked by slight swells and tremors (marking heightened emotion), particular attention to consonants normally swallowed or elided in spoken Turkish, and a tendency to exaggerate the distinction between 'back' and 'front' vowels. Words can indeed be clearly heard throughout Zeki Müren's songs; when they are blurred or violated, this has a clear expressive and dramatic purpose.
Yes. And he always observed the glottal stop in Arabic words.
'Good Turkish' connotes class, status, and prestige, despite the fact that nobody would imitate the way Zeki Müren spoke in everyday life; but more importantly, 'good Turkish' connotes empathy with the goals of Atatürk's revolution. In Turkey, as elsewhere, language was the master signifier of the modernist revolution, evoking clarity, functional communicative efficiency, democracy, and, of course, ethnic homogeneity.
Interesting points.
By analogy with Umm Kulthum, one could almost say that Zeki Müren was the Turkish language. Even people who told me they intensely disliked his music would invariably add 'but I do love the way he speaks'. He instilled notions of 'correct pronunciation' in ways which few other people could. His cassettes carried 'good Turkish' into homes and hearts in ways in which Turkish primary school teachers in remote Kurdish villages, and the neologism-laden jargon of state television news broadcasts in the 1980s could never hope to do.
I also like the term that was chosen to designate sanat müziği - "light classical" (Stokes also equals it to "nightclub" music, which sounds pretty... unusual. Hurray to Turkey, its [light] classical music and its night clubs. :-)
There are some things I can't agree with, though. The fact that Zeki Müren, as the author puts it, once "likened himself to the medieval Anatolian mystic Celaleddin Rumi and his partner to Rumi's constant companion and inspiration, Sems", definitely does not mean that he "rendered [himself] respectable through comparison with the male-male partnerships canonized in classical Sufism". This was a private conversation with some foreign lady, not a deliberate statement for a TV interview. Likewise, when he says that "Zeki Müren was living openly with his male partner in semi-retirement in Bodrum"--what does "openly" actually mean? "Out of the closet"? I don't think so. Many Turkish people still fiercely maintain that Zeki's outfits, make-up and mannerisms were "merely a part of his stage image" and that he "lived alone" throughout his entire life (the latter is something that Zeki Müren kept reiterating in his interviews and writings so as to ward off all further questions--"loneliness is my fate"). The interesting thing here is that many straight male fans love Zeki Müren too much to acknowledge the truth.
...Also, this article opened my eyes to an almost 30-minute song called "Kahır Mektubu" ("The Letter of Grief"). I had never particularly liked this song because I thought it was... pretty boring. I never regarded it as an attempt to follow the Arab classical style by subtle means of language and recitation, rather than by using excessive vocal ornaments and bringing out the "suffering" in one's voice to the fullest like most Turkish arabesk singers do. If I had looked at "Kahır Mektubu" from this angle, I would have seen that it was a pretty sophisticated piece of "art music". Zeki Müren's singing style is very reserved until a very deliberate climax where the underlying emotions get unleashed.
Here is the final portion of the song:
I've been waiting for you to appear from behind that corner
I waited, and I waited - I'm tired of waiting
The ship of my sorrows has arrived and dropped the anchor
I loaded it, and I loaded it - I'm tired of this load
I tried to stop the world from turning to make you take a look
I became addicted to fortune-telling, hoping maybe something [good] would fall
Hoping maybe I'll find you at the end of the way
I added up, and I added up - I'm tired of adding.
_
...I am hoping that maybe you will come to me
Although I also know you may be very far away
Destiny has put me into the shackles of fate
I had been saying to myself that you would come
I am still waiting
_
...I wrote a poem for you
I made a song for you
My happy day, my everything,
try to understand me!
I keep carving your name on table surfaces
I keep rewriting this letter of grief a thousand times
_
Whenever I try to write a couple of lines,
I always write for you, write of you, write of us
Whenever I take a glass in my hand,
I drink to you, drink you, drink us
Chorus:
Every night I'm in sorrow
I drink non-stop
I sowed love in my heart
It's loneliness I'm reaping
*
On a more personal note: my interests usually get hold of me in bouts, one at a time. Throughout December I've been having a bout of 80s music. Yesterday, I had a minibout of the 60s. And today, I know I'll be having a lengthy bout of Zeki Müren. To celebrate the fact, here is another (quasi)arabesk song rendered in a similar manner, tasteful and reserved. It's called "Dudaklarında Arzu" ("Desire On Your Lips").
Some quotes:
Zeki Müren's Turkish was of an elevated quality, of a kind that has no counterpart in spoken Turkish except in poetic recitation, marked by slight swells and tremors (marking heightened emotion), particular attention to consonants normally swallowed or elided in spoken Turkish, and a tendency to exaggerate the distinction between 'back' and 'front' vowels. Words can indeed be clearly heard throughout Zeki Müren's songs; when they are blurred or violated, this has a clear expressive and dramatic purpose.
Yes. And he always observed the glottal stop in Arabic words.
'Good Turkish' connotes class, status, and prestige, despite the fact that nobody would imitate the way Zeki Müren spoke in everyday life; but more importantly, 'good Turkish' connotes empathy with the goals of Atatürk's revolution. In Turkey, as elsewhere, language was the master signifier of the modernist revolution, evoking clarity, functional communicative efficiency, democracy, and, of course, ethnic homogeneity.
Interesting points.
By analogy with Umm Kulthum, one could almost say that Zeki Müren was the Turkish language. Even people who told me they intensely disliked his music would invariably add 'but I do love the way he speaks'. He instilled notions of 'correct pronunciation' in ways which few other people could. His cassettes carried 'good Turkish' into homes and hearts in ways in which Turkish primary school teachers in remote Kurdish villages, and the neologism-laden jargon of state television news broadcasts in the 1980s could never hope to do.
I also like the term that was chosen to designate sanat müziği - "light classical" (Stokes also equals it to "nightclub" music, which sounds pretty... unusual. Hurray to Turkey, its [light] classical music and its night clubs. :-)
There are some things I can't agree with, though. The fact that Zeki Müren, as the author puts it, once "likened himself to the medieval Anatolian mystic Celaleddin Rumi and his partner to Rumi's constant companion and inspiration, Sems", definitely does not mean that he "rendered [himself] respectable through comparison with the male-male partnerships canonized in classical Sufism". This was a private conversation with some foreign lady, not a deliberate statement for a TV interview. Likewise, when he says that "Zeki Müren was living openly with his male partner in semi-retirement in Bodrum"--what does "openly" actually mean? "Out of the closet"? I don't think so. Many Turkish people still fiercely maintain that Zeki's outfits, make-up and mannerisms were "merely a part of his stage image" and that he "lived alone" throughout his entire life (the latter is something that Zeki Müren kept reiterating in his interviews and writings so as to ward off all further questions--"loneliness is my fate"). The interesting thing here is that many straight male fans love Zeki Müren too much to acknowledge the truth.
...Also, this article opened my eyes to an almost 30-minute song called "Kahır Mektubu" ("The Letter of Grief"). I had never particularly liked this song because I thought it was... pretty boring. I never regarded it as an attempt to follow the Arab classical style by subtle means of language and recitation, rather than by using excessive vocal ornaments and bringing out the "suffering" in one's voice to the fullest like most Turkish arabesk singers do. If I had looked at "Kahır Mektubu" from this angle, I would have seen that it was a pretty sophisticated piece of "art music". Zeki Müren's singing style is very reserved until a very deliberate climax where the underlying emotions get unleashed.
Here is the final portion of the song:
I've been waiting for you to appear from behind that corner
I waited, and I waited - I'm tired of waiting
The ship of my sorrows has arrived and dropped the anchor
I loaded it, and I loaded it - I'm tired of this load
I tried to stop the world from turning to make you take a look
I became addicted to fortune-telling, hoping maybe something [good] would fall
Hoping maybe I'll find you at the end of the way
I added up, and I added up - I'm tired of adding.
_
...I am hoping that maybe you will come to me
Although I also know you may be very far away
Destiny has put me into the shackles of fate
I had been saying to myself that you would come
I am still waiting
_
...I wrote a poem for you
I made a song for you
My happy day, my everything,
try to understand me!
I keep carving your name on table surfaces
I keep rewriting this letter of grief a thousand times
_
Whenever I try to write a couple of lines,
I always write for you, write of you, write of us
Whenever I take a glass in my hand,
I drink to you, drink you, drink us
Chorus:
Every night I'm in sorrow
I drink non-stop
I sowed love in my heart
It's loneliness I'm reaping
*
On a more personal note: my interests usually get hold of me in bouts, one at a time. Throughout December I've been having a bout of 80s music. Yesterday, I had a minibout of the 60s. And today, I know I'll be having a lengthy bout of Zeki Müren. To celebrate the fact, here is another (quasi)arabesk song rendered in a similar manner, tasteful and reserved. It's called "Dudaklarında Arzu" ("Desire On Your Lips").
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