The Aleppo Electronic Artists Using Music To Heal In Gaziantep

Amr Helwani's fingers move up and down the DJ's mixer as multi-colored neon lights and white smoke begin to flood the enclosed garden of the old Ottoman house where Gaziantep, Turkey set up the console.

The 33-year-old DJ's techno music stirred up fans in Gaziantep, a southeastern Turkish city on the border with Syria, in late January. Amr has been in the city since 2013. She, like many other dancers, fled the war in Syria from Aleppo, which can be reached in less than two hours.

"We broke the sound barrier today," Amr joked as a man in a tall, black T-shirt blared the muted music. But no, really, we're trying to break down language and cultural barriers here. Turks (people) and Syrians... we have very similar traditions but the language is different. Techno beats, not words. It's easier to dance along that way."

Amr is the resident DJ at Room41, which was founded by a Syrian immigrant and has been entertaining the people of Gaziantep with techno and electronic music club tours for years. It also gave Syrians a chance to talk and connect with people who are passionate about music.

But little did Amr know that January 28 would be his last job for some time. “See you in two weeks,” he said at 3:00 am.

A week later, a massive earthquake hit southeastern Turkey and northwestern Syria, changing the lives of Turks and Syrians forever. More than 50 thousand people died. About 3,000 people died in Gaziantep, and thousands are still forcibly displaced. After weeks of shaking and the destruction of the city, Syria's nighttime techno lights have gone off like wartime.

“It's surprising how much it reminds us of wartime. Crying, sadness, displacement... but we promise our audience that the music will come back stronger than ever." He spoke at the crowded Sakulata Amr in May. Room41, a cafe in the center of Gaziantep that sells tickets. The apartment was not badly damaged, but it was temporarily moved further west to the Mediterranean city of Mersey to avoid the stress of constant earthquakes.

© Al Jazeera's Amr Helwani The last party at Room41 before the earthquake [Abdulsalam Jarood/Al Jazeera]

Escape through cultural heritage

Since the start of the Syrian conflict Today, most of them are in the southeastern borders, geographically and culturally close to their homeland.

From the huge domes and horseshoe black and white tails of old 19th century Ottoman houses, to the center of Gaziantep, partially destroyed by an earthquake, and narrow stone streets filled with blacksmith shops and the smell of food. Restaurants, many corners of the city resemble images of pre-war Aleppo to Syrians.

Today, more than half a million Syrians live in this city at the crossroads of Turkish, Kurdish and Arab cultures. While Syria's presence has caused some conflict over the decade, it has also shaped Gaziantep's social and urban landscape.

The main streets of the city center are lined with Syrian shops, as well as restaurants and cafes with live traditional music. After the earthquake in February, most of them reopened with little damage.

"Among the few things we could take with us when we fled the conflict, without a doubt, our cultural heritage was part of our main luggage," said Rami Magharb, originally from Aleppo. He is the founder of Duzan Art and Culture in Gaziantep, which works to preserve Syrian art in exile.

"This also includes the opportunity to create new artistic expressions, such as electronic music, which our youth began to discover even before the war," the 38-year-old added. . He spoke from the rooftop of the Duzan neighborhood in the Armenian quarter of Gaziantep, a stunning and well-maintained Ottoman house.

Thanks to the efforts of cultural organizations and enterprising people, Aleppo's nightlife flourishes 100 kilometers (62 miles) from the border. In a once sleepy city, Syrian DJs and electronic music lovers have brought back the forgotten atmosphere of the burgeoning scene left behind.

Focus on the now

Batul Muhammed, a woman with long black hair who lives between Gaziantep and Istanbul, said secret rages and clandestine parties were just beginning in Aleppo when the war broke out.

"When our generation was ready to show its potential, its growth stopped suddenly," says the 36-year-old's deep voice. “I was an audience at those parties and brought these lessons to Gaziantep, where I realized there was no night life. Home is one of the things I miss the most."

Hailing from the Syrian city of Homs, he loved what Aleppo had to offer, from its events to rock concerts, when he could travel there on weekends. The rich cultural atmosphere there inspired him to work in acting.

In the year In 2013, at the age of 25, he crossed the Turkish border alone. Although his parents wanted him to stay, they supported his decision to pursue his ambition. He decided to study music and found an apartment in Gaziantep. He spent an average of seven hours a day learning how to use music mixing software and watching videos to learn how to DJ sets.

"Focusing on such complex issues has helped me focus on the present instead of worrying about my past," Batul said, referring to the pain of leaving his family behind to go to a country he often does not welcome or visit. He is Syrian.

He has worked independently for seven years and published his music on the SoundCloud platform. In the year He struggled to find a community of like-minded artists until 2020 when Class 41 founder Nashwan Jamali contacted him on Instagram and invited him to perform at one of his events.

© Al Jazeera An Aleppo-like corner of Gaziantep before the earthquake [Abdul Salam Jarud/Al Jazeera]

Aleppo 2.0. The revival of Syrian nightlife.

When the war broke out, Nashwan was a student at Aleppo University's business school and had just started organizing musical events. At the start of the war, he was beaten and imprisoned by the Syrian police for participating in anti-government protests.

In the year In 2012, Nashwaan took refuge in underground bunkers that were once used as a gimmick to prevent airstrikes.

"It was there that I learned how to deal with party emergencies (such as fire and earthquakes). I had to learn how to evacuate a large number of people when there was an air raid at night," he lamented.

A year later, he and his older brother crossed the border to Turkey in search of a better future, leaving his parents and older sister in Aleppo. Over time, memories of Turkish police attacks, airstrikes and illegal border crossings, where he and his brother feared they would be shot by Syrian border police, brought home memories. His generation began to think about creating a place where Syrians could gather, have fun and remember a better past.

Then one night in 2016, when the Turkish bath was 41 degrees, the 32-year-old entrepreneur had the idea to start an electronic music club that changed the place for every party.

Electronic artists such as Barev Psihalepo and Boshko, both from Aleppo, dominated the European scene. But Nashwan thought it made sense to try to revive Syrian nightlife in Gaziantep, which has more in common with his hometown of Aleppo in food, religion and history, to help Syrians live a better life.

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"Gaziantep and Aleppo are very similar in terms of people and culture, so it was the perfect place to try and revive our long-lost nightlife," explains Nashwan, wearing a casual T-shirt over coffee at Sakulat. And before the sneaker meeting to prepare the next Room41 event.

"It was clear to most of us that we should stay and never return to Syria, we should join," he said. "And music is often the instrument of victory."

At first, Nashwan thought the club would be temporary if he went on a trip, but he decided that moving to different locations might undermine his idea of ​​gathering Syrians and promoting integration.

The concept was new and Syrians have more paperwork when setting up a business, so it took Neshvan Room41 about a year to register. At first, while waiting for registration, the opening parties could not be properly promoted, and the number of attendees was low. Drug dealers also tried to join the parties. So Naswan hired security guards and continued with the project. "We knew we were doing something for the community by filling a void," says Naswan.

Today, Nashvan employs 19 workers, including Syrians and Turks. Room41's ticket prices are cheap compared to similar parties in the Aegean capital Istanbul or major cities like Izmir, and average 300 people attend every Saturday night. Room41 has provided a platform for many up and coming Syrian DJs over six years of partying.

© Al Jazeera Contributed by Nashwan Jamali , Episode 41 by Sakulata Cafe Founder [Abdul Salam Jarrod/Al Jazeera]

Injury treatment

Amr, who has been a regular DJ for Room41 for the past three years, is one such artist.

Like Nashwan, he was arrested and beaten for taking part in anti-government protests in Aleppo. Amr traveled illegally to Turkey in 2013, fearing he would be jailed or killed. His family stayed there. Although he continued to meet them and miss them, he could not see them after they left.

Growing up in Aleppo, Amr was a fan of metal and rock concerts. When he came to Turkey, he longed for live music that went beyond the old folk songs played in cafes.

Amr, who works for a humanitarian organization by day, learned how to mix and create music to take his mind off the airstrikes in Aleppo and focus on something other than his family. "It started out as fun, but I felt like I had to show people what I was doing," Amr explained while watching the tape at a party in January.

"Making, listening and sharing music clears his mind and forces him to focus on creating something for others," says Amr. It's the most healing act he's ever had.

In his music, he mixes traditional Arabic music sounds like the oud, a stringed instrument, or Syrian folk songs like "Aini Zofia" with Western songs that he finds in Berlin's fun YouTube videos. He dreams of playing one day. According to him, it is very difficult for a Syrian to get a tourist visa to travel abroad.

The aim is to look at the past and create a kind of future Syrian voice. "I like to combine Eastern sounds with the Western rhythms of our culture," he said. "I think it will bring something new."

To preserve memory

Organizations like Dusan have made efforts to promote this cultural expression. In the year In late 2022, Duzani launched a three-month program called Rami Notah (Arabic for "music note") with seven young Syrian artists.

"Electronic music is very new to our region but very attractive to our youth," said Rami. "Since they were very young when they left Syria and had no connection to their roots, we wanted to combine it with the opportunity to learn more about their history and music."

The artists are provided by DJs from Amsterdam such as Hello Psychalepo. They took a master's course in traditional music, learned how to mix traditional and modern songs, and released a joint album.

"This is a way to show that we are not stuck in the past, that we are proud of our traditions, but that we can express ourselves in a modern way," said Rami.

"Our generation was optimistic before the city fell," Naswan said.

Judy Al-Ahmed, a humanitarian worker and member of Rome 41, also from Halaba, was amazed when she heard songs from Arabic and Syrian or from her parents, the famous Egyptian singer Umm Kulthum or the Lebanese singer Feruz. As a child, he used to play mixing with electronic sounds. "All of a sudden, I saw the Syrian episode, and the music "always overwhelms me," the 30-year-old said.

Room41 Locations: Ottoman-style houses belonging to an empire in Aleppo and Gaziantep or underground parking spaces like the Syrian Secret Party to evoke the memory of home and make guests happier. But like Nashwan.

Amr says that he often feels that he is doing more than painting and messing around. "At the end of the night, people get out of the console to thank you for bringing back happy memories of Syria," he said. “So you feel like you've done something good for others. When you think about your music, it makes more sense, especially after the earthquake hit Syrians displaced for the second time in a decade.

© Al Jazeera Earthquake hits Bayazan area [Abdul Salam Jarood/Al Jazeera]

Memories

When the ground shook on a February morning, life in Gaziantep was disrupted.

"The images we saw on the streets of Gaziantep in the days after the earthquake were like what our eyes see every day as we walk through the ruins of war," says Judy.

Naswan experienced a similar feedback loop when the first earthquake struck. For a moment, he thought he was back in Syria where an airstrike had taken place. "It took me a whole minute to realize this was a separate accident," he said.

His family was happy in Aleppo. Both the family's house and the house in Gaziantep had cracks, but no serious damage. He slept in a makeshift shelter to be with other people for several days until the aftershock subsided. The shock of the accident reminded him of the pain he felt during the conflict at home.

Many of the first dozen Room41 locations either don't exist or aren't secure enough for hundreds of people. In particular, old Ottoman houses are at least earthquake-resistant for safety reasons. One of the most famous places, Bayazan, a dilapidated downtown building that houses a restaurant and museum, is now roofless. The Lebowski Blues Room 41 concert venue, a summer retreat, became a shelter for displaced people after the earthquake.

“After a bit of heartbreak, the Room41 crew decided it was time to throw a party to test the waters,” says Nashwan. "Our return was our strong response and peace offering to our wounded comrades," he said.

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Judy is one of many displaced people in the city. His house was demolished, but luckily he could afford temporary housing, unlike the thousands of people living in tents in city parks and underground shelters.

Even his family still living in Halepum is safe. The natural disaster reminded him of the war, but he believes that the tragedy can somehow bring Gaziantep and Aleppo together because people have experienced such disaster and displacement before.

"I didn't want to go after the first party, but I wanted to and I should have been very angry," Zudin muses.

Amre believes that when the parties are re-created and reopened, it can help people to de-stress after the riots and understand that "things can and will go back to normal".

"We use those same skills to improve the sense of the city by learning to deal with the damage of war," he said.

© Courtesy of Al Jazeera Batul Muhammad performs at one of Room41's concerts last summer [Abdul Salam Jarrod/Al Jazeera]

V

For Batuli, one of the main values ​​of Room41 and music is to show that Syrian refugees bring something that can benefit local residents: «In countries where many Syrians have arrived, there is such a stereotype that we are poor. And we just come to steal work or do something: but we have personalities, dreams and desires: we are not just numbers», he explained:

Currently, he is the only Syrian DJ in Turkey. She plays under the pseudonym Umm-el-Bit, which is a tribute to old Arab singers, women whose name Umm means "mayr" in Arabic: they are known for the melodies of the darbuki, a typical Arab drum instrument. That reminds him of his childhood in Syria, and also his voice (Лути нахайр): mixed with electronic sounds:

She says that she is grateful that she finally found a safe place to demonstrate her music in Gaziantep, especially as she is Syrian. She hopes to see more women in this region.

"Since electronic music is often a man's world, it can be scary to be a woman and a migrant in this area," she said: "At first, people didn't take me seriously, but I really wanted to challenge myself. The stereotype is that it is not possible for women, because we don't even know where to put the cables.

He says that through his music «he wants to unite different audiences, not only Syrians».

Дегра Январянин Назван, ов мтутюнь медух крыми ернеайн экноцец, что техно бутюнь бутюнь медух крыми эрнеайн экноцец ганый сумер, скачал он.

Many of the permanent employees of Room41 are humanitarian workers, mainly from Western countries, Syrian refugees and students of Turkish universities:

In the first days of the Syrian war, when Gaziantep was filled with an unprecedented number of refugees, social tension forced Turks and Syrians to live in separate bubbles: But in room 41, these walls seem to be crumbling, at least at night. : People dance, talk and feel open

"We have the idea of ​​bridging the cultural gap with the help of events that can be repeated in any part of Turkey", — said Nashvan.

«Я вижу много предубеждений в отношении сирийцев, например, мысль о том, что они приносят в нашу страну насилие и экономический кризис, — говорит Айше Елмаз, гуманитарный работник, регулярно посещающая эти мероприятия. конец напряжения. место Это похоже на утопический рай, но те, кто сюда приходят, действительно открыты, те, кто готов идти дальше».

Он сказал, что до участия в этих мероприятиях у него никогда не было друга-сирийца, хотя он и жил в городе, где почти четверть жителей — сирийцы: он счастлив, что встретил там Джуди. «Они такие же, как мы, и просто хотят забыть о войне: они пришли не для того, чтобы причинить нам вред», — добавил Йылмаз, имея в виду сирийцев, которых он встретил: «У нас есть прекрасное сообщество: наша страсть к электронной музыке: они просто хочу повеселиться, как мы." , почему?

«Замечательно находить новых людей, с которыми у вас есть что-то общее, и это не обязательно должен быть ваш язык или культура, — сказала Джуди, — мы стали семьей, придя на вечеринку друг к другу, и это заполняет пробел. они расстались между кровными родственниками"

Room41 в Газиантепе также стал местом, где зародились связи между сирийскими и турецкими ди-джеями: Амр познакомился с местным турецким продюсером Али Чини, который теперь сотрудничает, микшируя турецкие и сирийские звуки:

"அத்தி குத்து துர் கர்க்கு குத்தைக்குக்குக்க ி Возможно, теперь у меня больше турецких друзей, чем сирийцев», — с улыбкой сказал Амр: «Электронная музыка — отличный способ общаться и знакомиться с новыми людьми, которые хотят повеселиться».

Газиантепиц ейн той

Сцена электронной музыки Газиантепа, возможно, началась с сирийских эмигрантов, стоящих за Room41, но теперь к сцене присоединяются и турецкие предприниматели, помогая ночной жизни города процветать:

Мы надеемся, что Room41 снова станет лекарством для всех тех, кто страдает от коллективной травмы: после повторных выборов в Турции в эти выходные запланировано больше вечеринок, которые помогут успокоить людей:

День дурака, пока единственное событие после землетрясения, стал проверкой, чтобы отметить настроение города и конец Рамадана: было много людей, но меньше, чем раньше, поскольку жизнь медленно возвращается в нормальное русло: до землетрясений , в соседних провинциях спокойнее. Люди по соседству присоединились к Room41: Многие еще не вернулись.

Нэшван стремится расширить музыкальные предложения Room41, сохраняя при этом теплую атмосферу, поскольку он сосредотачивается на своей следующей цели, возвращая Халеп идею путешествующей вечеринки, от которой он отказался так много лет назад:

Он понимает, какую проблему это может создать с точки зрения безопасности: поскольку город находится под контролем правительства, ему было бы слишком опасно путешествовать, но он готов приложить усилия и довериться координации из-за рубежа. Широкая сеть новых дизайнеров, которых ждет нормальная жизнь. Его отец по ту сторону границы предложил ему напечатать плакаты, когда придет время.

«Люди впадают в депрессию, потому что не могут или не хотят говорить о Сирии, но [ночная жизнь Газиантепа] дает мне хорошие воспоминания о возвращении домой, — сказал Нашван. — Это наше сопротивление войне и стихийным бедствиям, красота музыка и настоящее дикое веселье».

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