Sinanation

A 4-hour, no-intermission jazz concert with almost no entertaining stage performance; a surprisingly dull worldwide famous ballet on a sizzling hot, windless summer night with nothing more than a black stage and white tights: I was on the brink of giving up on the whole concert scene if Tarkan didn’t come to rescue.

The undeniable creator of “mucks”, the genius behind the groovy daring love songs was gone for too long. I must have been in my early teens the last time I saw him live on stage. It was last night he came back to greet the Istanbul crowd once again at the Harbiye Theatre. Fully packed, fully anxious we waited for the first boom, hoping desperately it wouldn’t be a slow song taken from the ancient Turkish Melodies (another genre Tarkan is undeniably good at). We were prepped to leave during the intermission if there was no “şıkıdım” in the air. Our prayers must have been heard as Tarkan started the night with “Gül döktüm yollarına”, a hit song from one of his older albums and never let go of the dance beats and the same long due energy: his friendly gestures, his humble attitude on top of his incredible success.

Yes the stage could have been better decorated. Yes it would be good to have some cooler audio entertainment. Yes it would be great to see 10 more belly dancers instead of the one amazing who swept us off our feet. Despite all the “coulds” Tarkan managed to pull hundreds of tough-to-please Turks off their chairs and made us dance to his legendary lyrics. That is why last night, he reminded me again why he is our superstar. Do not miss his Istanbul concerts if you can get tickets. The show goes on until Monday, September 12th.

Some might consider this post discourteous, but I can’t do without mentioning it. Since the start of the Muslims’ holy month, Ramadan, I have been to numerous convocations filled with family, irresistible food, great laughs and incredible sights around the Bosphorus. There can’t be a single complaint about these occasions, but the music. It is tough to describe but I will do my best. The journey begins in the time of the pyramids and the mummies and spans up until this day. It involves one skinny and unappealing instrument called the Ney, an en-blown flute (the great grandfather of the modern flute) dominating most of the Middle Eastern history. Dormant throughout the whole year, Ney becomes ever so popular and active during the holy month and makes one wish it never did.

Once played, this visually disappointing stick has the power to suck out all the energy stored in one’s body, condense it into a grey cloud and spit it out into the face. You will not remember what you have been eating, talking or contemplating about. You will see faces and mouths move but you will not be able to sum up the conversation. Ney’s breath will put you in a dormant phase and freeze all your senses with a constant scratching sound at the back of your head. And the worst part is that its presence will not be evident enough to force you to remove it from your system. It will work like the Pied Piper of Hamelin (Fareli Köyün Kavalcısı). You will follow it like those musically drugged rats until you will find the strength to push your chair out, run into the car and use the last bit of hope to turn on the radio.

Dear restauranteurs, hoteliers and other dinner hosts celebrating Ramadan, I hate to break it to you but Ney has been outdated centuries ago. It has been used and abused in every corner of the Ottoman Empire because there was nothing better and the sultans like it. We are now in the era of lounge, chill-out and spiritual music. Modern musicians work day and night to grab our attention and sell their instrumental genius. They have been all around India, Africa, China, Thailand, Japan, Korea. They have been up the mountains and down the rivers to extract the music that fuels meditation and enhances senses. So I beg you to reconsider Ney at next year’s Ramadan. If necessary I can be of great assistance in your quest to find appropriate melodies for the spiritual crowd. Yet, I am afraid I will be attending all the future convocations with my iPod unless we can find a solution to the current hypnosis undeniably apparent at the Ramadan tables.

Beware, listen with caution if you dare…

This corner steak bistro is within walking distance to my office and one of the quickest and most delicious lunch spots around Nişantaşı. If you are around the neighborhood, I say stop by for a light bite. I recommend the selection of Köfte (Turkish meatball) (even the chicken one is great), the 200 gr. Bonfile (sirloin) and the walnut & roasted pepper salad. Everything is served with a small side of  delicious homemade spicy tomato paste. Walk-ins are welcome and the prices are well below average.

Roberto Bolle is known to be one of the youngest masters of Ballet. This Italian genius has danced all over the world, in any climate and on any stage possible and is currently the principal dancer with the American Ballet Theatre. So it is no wonder that when Bolle set foot in our hometown, the only wise thing  for us to do was be to watch his performance.

Roberto Bolle & Friends, a no-intermission 2-hour performance consisting of multiple short plays, took the stage for the first time for an exclusive gala last night at the Harbiye Açık Hava Amphitheater. It could have been Bolle’s mediocre performance in L’Arlesienne, the +30 degrees, the absence of any refreshing breeze and/or the heavy humidity, but there was certainly a missing link between the audience and the stage. Desperate fanning, inescapable tissuing, unlimited wiping, crabby hoping and undeniable thirst and hunger: we were in a chaos and had to escape. So, it took me any my friends 20 min. to leave the performance and trade art for some crispy Chinese duck and fried ice cream.

Cooled off and satisfied with great taste we made it back to the gala’s after-party. Regret was the first to slap us in the face after hearing all the others’ awe with Bolle & his friends (even though we knew we wouldn’t certainly make the whole two hours). Sweat was the second the knock on our door (again) and this time we no longer had the energy to fight back. We pulled up the sleeves, got into the music and the funk and surrendered to salty drops.

and when it was time to leave the party fate had one more surprise for us: a cab with a plate number that read “sweat”. The exhausting reminder of a unexpectedly fun night out in Istanbul.

The famous Italian creamery that was started in 1890 by the Giolitti family recently opened a corner shop on Rumeli Avenue (no: 1-3) in Nişantaşı. There is an unaccountable popularity in Italian ice cream shops around Istanbul. The first one I tried out was in Bebek (called Cremaria Milano). Both places have great quality ice cream with numerous flavors. My favorites at Giolitti are the white mint, pistachio and the green apple. I say give them a try if you are ever around one of the neighborhoods.

I chose to drive to the office last week instead of taking the metro. The trip started with a bright morning sunshine, through a route near the Bosphorus and ended at a parking lot close by. Good music, lots of light and fresh air instead of the damp, gloomy and claustrophobic metro tunnels: not a single complaint until the trip back began.

Around 18:00, in between the Ritz-Carlton and the famous Inönü Stadium, on the hill that flows into the Dolmabahçe Palace, the pleasurable drive of the morning turned into a nightmare. Clashed in between chunky buses, overdriven cabs and inexperienced drivers I was left with nothing more to do but determine my next move before the opportunity to drive another 2 mt. arrived. Honks and signals mixed to one another, drivers silently cursing, persistent street beggars running in between the cars, I shut down all the nerves and turned into a molded mummy. Ankles tired of pushing the breaks, eyes tired of watching the hours go by, assured that the traffic in Istanbul will only get worse with the amount of new high-rises around, I dreaded the moment I pushed in the ignition key in the morning and yearned for the crowded metro ride back home.

As I skimmed through the global news outlets this morning, something rather disturbing popped up on my screen. “Ronaldo and Irina: lovebirds in the South of Turkey” the title read. I had to click on knowing that it was a mistake.

The uber-famous “it” soccer player smooching with the Russian goddess on the deck of a 20 mt. yacht around the bays of Bodrum…As I always say, there is always someone more fortunate and today’s media is there to remind us that every second.

CLICK for the sizzling 20 or so paparazzi photos and beware of the instant denial phase that comes right after – Sinanation reporting from the office.

a bit of alcohol and possibly “more”.

I contemplated about getting tickets to Amy Winehouse’s concert in Istanbul, but somehow knew that her appearance would be jeopardized by her unstable behavior. So, I wasn’t surprised at all when the announcement for her canceled shows and video shots of her disastrous performance in Belgrade popped out. I think Winehouse has not changed a bit since the first time I got interested in her music. She has never ceased to appear as the careless, turbulent, reckless and problematic artist who is greatly gifted on one side and completely lost on the other. I acknowledge that she lost touch with reality and agree that she is far from reaching out to her fans. Yet, there is still some greatness in this woman.

I wasn’t shocked at all when I watched one of the tens of shots from the Belgrade concert, but I was disappointed to see a miserable woman trying to keep it together for an obligation she clearly was not up for. Despite all the boos and counseling, I am still sympathetic towards Amy Winehouse (yes I am not one of the ones who got tickets to the infamous concert) because I consider her to be a good artist and I think all the good artists deserve a little room to lose touch with reality.  I like her voice and edgy style and wish her healthier habits and a little more sense. I will continue to listen as long as she keeps recording (although I might again pass on the future concerts).

I first heard of Aytekin Kurt when he sang “Hancı” with Enbe Orkestrası. I was so impressed with his voice and modern approach to classic Turkish songs that I kept following his progress. Kurt came out with yet another great composition to “Masum Değiliz”. Below is a SounCloud preview.