LONGING

We met in 1984-85, during our middle school years, at the auditions for the folk music choir of Hüsnü Aydoğdu, a music teacher at Kadıköy Anatolian High School and a TRT kabak kemane artist. Hüsnü Hoca was at the piano, and we were in line. The friend standing right behind me, with his budding mustache and large glasses, grumbled in a deep, resonant voice;

“I want to play the saz in the choir, but the teacher is putting everyone through a voice test. I have a voice, but don't let on!” he said, and when his turn came, he didn't hit the notes as he should have to avoid being accepted into the choir. “I'm Şükrü,” he said, and we met. “I'm in class 2M.” I was surprised to learn that our school had classes up to the letter M. While waiting in line, he mentioned that he was a student of Arif Sağ and that he had performed on stage, so I found myself looking forward to the choir practice a few days later. I was thoroughly intrigued…

When it was announced that choir practices would be held during the one-hour lunch break twice a week, we rushed to the music room without even thinking about lunch. Those were our hungry years; but for the sake of music, skipping a meal was fine. Besides, Şükrü was going to bring his saz too.

When we took our places in the choir and started practicing, neither we nor Hüsnü Hoca realized that there was a genius-level musician among us. However, as our practice progressed, we noticed that Şükrü was playing with a different tuning and style. All the saz instruments in the choir were long-necked; only his was short. During the break, I went right next to him and examined the instrument. Like a hunter-gatherer Pygmy examining a Coca-Cola bottle fallen from the sky, I stared at the saz in awe. Since our saz instruments were always carved, this was the first time I was seeing a leaf-style saz. He said it was a custom-made mahogany one. Its bowl and neck were inlaid with mother-of-pearl, polished; sparkling... I remembered, Arif Sağ had accompanied the piece titled 'Halay' at the 1984 Eurovision Song Contest with such a saz.

In those years, when the bağlama was treated like an instrument of the lower class, Arif Sağ, who played and sang in a different style—short-necked, long-haired, shaking his head, and left-handed—had paved the way for the short-necked bağlama to be introduced nationwide and gain prestige at his 1982 concert at the Şan Cinema.

There were many rumors circulating about the short neck. One of them was that Çetin Akdeniz's father, Ragıp Usta, had shortened the neck so it would fit into an airplane cabin while making saz instruments for expatriates.

One way or another, the short neck, with its lightness, compactness, and ease of performance, was accepted among the youth and thus spread to the masses. In fact, small saz instruments, which had long been called "Dede Sazı" (Grandfather's Saz) or "Balta Saz" (Axe Saz), were known in some of our regions. Today, it is a more widely accepted belief that the short-necked bağlama was developed by drawing inspiration from this mystical instrument.

In those years, thinking that girls would be impressed by boys playing guitar and singing by the fire, we carried our saz with timid steps, and we would quickly slip away before entering social settings so that it wouldn't be seen that we had a saz on our shoulders. Together with Hasret, we began to carry our saz with pride and our heads held high.

The saz instruments we had seen until that day were medium-level carved mulberry or chestnut types. They were all long-necked and did not have a bass string on the lower strings. The bass string I saw on Şükrü's saz added richness to the timbre of the instrument, and the notes flowing from the saz sounded fuller to the ear. "Silk bass," he said. I was hearing this for the first time too. He gave me some extra bass strings, and after I attached them to my saz, it started to sound like the saz of Anatolian saz heroes (Neşet Ertaş, Bayram Aracı, etc.). He also gifted me a set of plectrums with "Arif Sağ Saz Evi" written on them. I have kept this for forty years like a sacred relic.

Choir practices were progressing, and it was said that we would take the stage on national holidays and March 18th.

Whenever I sat down and practiced with my dear friend, whose name I also learned was Hasret, I learned new folk songs and new techniques. I can even say that I learned the short-necked bağlama from him. But none of us could play or sing like him.

He was a born bard, a born virtuoso. He touched the strings as if with the spirit of the Khorasan saints, sometimes making the bağlama roar and spark, and sometimes caressing the strings, playing without a plectrum. We were very surprised that he played the saz like a guitar and played chords. Hasret Gültekin was the pioneer of the spread of the 'şelpe' technique in our country…

Hasret didn't just play the saz; he played the kabak kemane, piano, tar, mey, zurna—whatever he found, he played it with mastery. He was born with a superior musical talent and divine intuition, and he had developed his art by practicing with the country's most important bards and musicians since his childhood. In one of our conversations, he mentioned that the hit song "Hani Benim Gençliğim" from Ahmet Kaya's album "Yorgun Demokrat," which was released in 1987 and took the country by storm, belonged to him but he had given it to Ahmet Kaya; Ahmet Kaya also said in an interview that he had known Hasret since his childhood and that they had a brotherly relationship.

One of the days when the album was newly released, during the lunch break, while we were wandering in the pine grove, a pleasant sound of music reached our ears in the area near the coal cellar. The place where the sound was coming from was a classroom that was out of use. We quietly slipped inside and tucked ourselves into a corner. Hasret and a young music teacher were listening to Ahmet Kaya's new album. We joined them and listened in awe until one side of the cassette was finished. We loved all the tracks on the album. In those years, we didn't have the luxury of buying the cassette we wanted whenever we wanted. After saving our pocket money for a while, we would get our new cassette and listen to it front and back for days and weeks.

Over time, we got to know Hasret better. We listened to him in circles of friends, and we were practically hypnotized while listening. We saw that he created wonders not only on the short neck but also on the long neck, and that he played even difficult pieces with mastery.

Hasret's name was now heard throughout the school; he was always in the lead role in special days and nights, commemoration ceremonies, oratorios, and musicals. He would sleep and wake up with his saz, and he was nourished by 'deyiş' and 'nefes' (devotional folk songs). Our school was difficult, its standards were high. After a certain level, Hasret did not continue school. Because he was not only making his own albums but also accompanying other artists with his saz. He could not manage this intense pace with school, and he did not want to.

In 1987, he became known and loved across Turkey with his first album, 'Gün Olaydı'. All the tracks on this album, which we can call ahead of its time, blending traditional timbre with polyphonic arrangements, became hits. He was only 16 when he gave his first recital at the Moda Cinema that same year. But those who heard his saz and voice for the first time thought he was much older. His attitude, movements, and stance were far beyond his age.

Before the concert, tickets sold out in a short time, and a few people from our class asked me to act as an intermediary to find tickets. During the break, I caught Hasret in the school garden and conveyed our ticket problem. He immediately put his hand in his jacket pocket and handed me a few invitations. We were all happy and excited.

In a short time, Hasret became famous; we saw him playing 'şelpe' on TRT, and his voice was heard from Germany to the Netherlands. Wherever the names of Pir Sultan or Hacı Bektaş were mentioned, he was there too.

He was not just a bağlama performer; he was an arranger and composer. By preserving the traditional form of folk music, he expanded the horizons of our music with new arrangements and new instruments.

When he lost his life in Sivas, Hasret left behind not only 'deyiş' and 'nefes' but also the sadness of a life cut short... Fitting 220 years into his 22-year life, he became a legend to be remembered by the depth of the mark he left. Generations who know him only from his albums or shaky video recordings keep his folk songs, his 'deyiş', and his style on the saz alive. The most prominent aspect of the mourning for Hasret is that his voice and his saz will live forever and his bağlama will always inspire young musicians.

On July 2, 2021, we strapped the short-necked saz and the plectrum that Hasret had gifted me to our backs, climbed to the Emler summit of the Aladağlar at an altitude of 3734 meters, played and sang the folk song "Dizil Karlı Bizim Dağlar," and commemorated our Hasret.

The Sivas Massacre, which is accepted as one of the most severe social traumas in the history of the Republic, continues to be a pain in our hearts.

May his destination be blessed, may his cycle be eternal...

Alper Lütfi Göncü, İzmir



(This is an AI-edited version of the original photograph found within the article)