All images: Augusta.

Last week we went along to Jamboree, a lively little venue near King’s Cross, for an evening of Kurdish song—and dance—led by the singer Suna Alan (see e.g. here, and YouTube), with a band featuring bağlama plucked lute, guitar, and funky percussion, for an audience with a substantial Kurdish component.

The Kurdish/Alevi singer, now based in London, moved in early childhood with her family to Izmir (whose culture remains cosmopolitan despite the expulsion of the Greeks a century ago), and through her formative years she was imbued with the music of Kurdish dengbêj bards and Kurdish-Alevi laments. Alongside Kurdish folk songs, she sings Greek, Sephardic, Arabic, and Turkish songs; her set last week featured several Armenian ballads.

While well aware that most of the audience had come to dance, she gave instructive spoken introductions to her slow ballads of suffering—often alluding to political persecution—that are at the heart of her message; but their intensity might have come across better had the audience listened with more attention. Online, I like her more intimate acoustic songs where she sings seated—here’s a session with Greek musicians (cf. Songs of Asia Minor):

The persecution of the Kurds within Turkey is illustrated by the fate of Suna Alan’s cousin İlhan Sami Çomak (b.1973; see e.g. here, and here). At Jamboree Suna sang for Nûdem Durak, jailed for 19 years for singing in Kurdish, and for all political prisoners:

I’m a white dove
I’m wandering outside of your window but I can’t see you
I’m a white dove
I’m flying over your walls, but I can’t reach you.

The door, the door, the door is also closed,
you are the prisoner/flower of freedom
The Ivy under the wall!
Raise your head, and sing a song

I’m a white dove
The friend of the Ivy in the prison.
Grow Ivy!
Through the concrete, through the prison walls …

Grow from the walls, raise your head to the sky
The ivy under the wall!
Raise your head, sing a song
Sing a song, Ivy
From that dark room to freedom!

Back at the gig, the climactic dancing, soon dispelling the taint of conga, displayed the vitality and energy of such communities.

And then, to my delight, in a seamless transition to the world of traditional festivity, a piercing dahol­–zurna drum-and-shawm duo showed up to inspire the dancers still more, with a caller leading the group singing—a truly joyous occasion.

Yet again I’m struck by the riches of London musical life, beyond the pop, jazz, and “classical” scenes: every night one could relish such events among communities from around the world (see e.g. Indian raga, flamenco—including Flamenco at Jamboree!).

For more on Kurdish culture, note the films of Yilmaz Güney, and several other posts under West/Central Asia: a roundup, such as Dilber Ay and Aynur. Suffering is a major theme of folk songs around the world (see e.g. Musics lost and found, and under A playlist of songs).