Opening Up to Europe: Imitation, approval craving and the perpetual orientalist cycle
Image prompted by Efe Levent
This article was originally published in Turkish by Velvele
Anyone living in Turkey and even casually familiar with the culture industry has likely heard it before: every artist and musician from Turkey seems to carry the dream and the responsibility of “representing our country abroad.” This aspiration, even in supposedly experimental and alternative circles of the local independent music scene, still manifests as a persistent desire for recognition by the West. For many musicians from Turkey, receiving praise from an English-language publication or securing any form of Western approval remains, for some reason, the ultimate benchmark of success. However, this fixation on validation often leads to the reproduction of orientalist clichés, with artists willingly participating in these processes of exoticization. And this isn’t just a tendency among musicians themselves. The broader cultural sphere, from the press to the audience, appears to share the belief. The culture and art press, in particular, continues its tradition of framing musicians through the bizarre criteria of success, frequently labeling them as “the first Turkish artist to achieve thingamajig in Europe.” In the entertainment industry, the formula for success seems to be constructing an artistic identity that aligns with the expectations of the authority, that is, the West.
On the other side of things, Western record labels and audiences generally do not expect music from Turkey to align aesthetically with European sounds. Instead, they seek a “local feel” that promises something interesting. This desire is also nothing new. Western perceptions of the Middle East have long been shaped by Orientalist fantasies. From 19th-century travel literature to Hollywood films and even mainstream news, the image of the East has been constructed, distorted, and reduced through this Western gaze. When musicians from Turkey, whether consciously or unconsciously, internalize these narratives in their attempts to appeal to Western markets, they become ensnared within another power mechanism that dictates the boundaries of their artistic freedom.
Consider Ezhel and the musical direction he took in Berlin in contrast to Müptezhel, his groundbreaking debut album. His recent track Bridges, explicitly illustrates this dynamic of reconciliation, manufactured explicitly for a European audience. Even the song’s title leans into the cliché of uniting East and West, Europe and Asia. Much like Istanbul’s marketing through the “bridge” metaphor, the track leans heavily into the exoticized imagery and traditional sounds from Turkey to play directly into Western listeners’ entrenched stereotypes.
Sure, the convergence of the internet, globalization, and network society made cultural exchange inevitable in the arts. However, when artistic production from non-Western places intersects with the rules of the Western market, the invisible hand of the industry often takes precedence over artistic freedom. Contrary to the claims of mainstream discourse, it is nearly impossible to create art that counteracts expectations, let alone acquire “revolutionary” properties, in a world where colonial structures continue to operate aggressively in cultural spheres. Works created within the roles assigned by the West to non-Western artists do not challenge these power dynamics but rather feed existing Orientalist expectations. Music designed to appear “interesting” to Western ears, shaped by the desire to satisfy Western listeners’ thirst for “discovery” (a term that inevitably recalls the colonial attitudes and habits of 17th-century exploration), ultimately serves to reproduce colonial structures. This approach results in a musical landscape that operates just a notch above Eurovision-style exoticism, repackaging and commodifying cultural identity to fit neatly within Western market demands.
This piece is not about simple anti-Western sentiment. Rather, it aims to examine how historical power dynamics continue to function in the present day. Orientalism no longer operates solely through the overtly patronizing discourse of the 18th century. It now persists through more insidious mechanisms, particularly within cultural and artistic spaces. In an era where any material critique is often labeled as an attack on freedom of expression, simply identifying something as orientalist risks being dismissed as hostility toward the artist. In a neoliberal order where self-expression is celebrated unconditionally and critique is equated with being an enemy of freedom, the reproduction of orientalist clichés becomes even easier. The Western audiences now rebrand their desire to “discover and experience the exotic” under the guise of oPeN-MiNdeDneSs, iNcLuSiViTy, aNd ApPreCiAtiOn oF DiVerSiTy. Meanwhile, any potential critique is frequently dismissed by artists and their supporters as jealousy or as an outdated perspective that seeks to stifle artistic freedom. Instead of engaging with criticism, these defensive mechanisms serve to discredit it by framing it as an outlet for personal animosity or failure to grasp the sanctity of artistic expression. Even in supposedly free, experimental, and independent music circles, these dynamics remain at play. Of course, rejecting the West’s influence altogether is not realistic. However, it is essential to question which aesthetic preferences and market forces determine which voices are heard and which are silenced or confined into particular forms.
At the heart of the desire to “make it in Europe” or to regard a career’s true beginning as occurring, there lies an ingrained assumption: the belief that an artist’s work will never flourish or receive the recognition it deserves within their own country. that due to existing socio-cultural structures. While criticisms of Turkey’s limited artistic ecosystem are not entirely unfounded, the more pressing issue here is the internalized orientalist perspective that artists feel compelled to adopt, often long before they even set their sights on Europe. Many musicians in Turkey operate under the belief that their work is “out of league” for this context and that they would be better understood if only they were in Europe. This perspective not only shapes the artistic production process but also influences an artist’s motivations and self-positioning. And this mentality can be observed on a broader scale, beyond the scale of artistic production.
Once artists move to Western countries in pursuit of expansion, they inevitably encounter an inflation of “creativity.” This moment marks the first symptoms of their internalized orientalism coming to the surface. Many musicians who move to Berlin to make music eventually resign to the role of self-marketers, to promote themselves and their performances. Artists who had been producing music independently before their move, realize that rather than reinventing themselves, they end up merely replicating factory-line music production methods. And yet, despite these efforts, they often come to the realization that the recognition they failed to find in their home country will not be waiting for them in their new “home" either.
The West hears the most recognizable, easily digestible signifiers of "oriental" music and indulges in the illusion that it understands, or at the very least, is a friend of, the Middle East. At the same time, it assumes that the creative class of the non-West must cater to these expectations. The most dangerous aspect of this distorted expectation is that it even absorbs and neutralizes the work of artists who seek to critique it. For an artist from the Middle East living in Berlin, being seen through a non-orientalist lens is nearly impossible. At best, one’s identity as an artist is reduced to where they are from.
When the West hears the most easily understandable and nameable patterns and codes of "oriental" music, it falls into the illusion of feeling like a Middle East expert, or at least a friend of the Middle East, and assumes that the non-Western "creative" class should meet these expectations. This distorted expectation can even encompass the works of artists who criticize it, integrating them into the same category; perhaps the most dangerous aspect of this is that. The likelihood of an artist from the Middle East coming to Berlin being seen through a non-orientalist lens is almost nonexistent. At best, what defines your artistic identity becomes "where you are from."
For example, when talking about an artist who incorporates the sounds of the bağlama and bendir, two basic narratives come into play: First is being presented as an artist from Istanbul who is out to discover the harmonious compatibility between East and West. An attitude exemplified by the slogan “West within East, East within West.” in the “punk” documentary of the luxury fashion brand Les Benjamins. The second is being reinvented by a pasty-ass Western European producer who creates an "unprecedented" blend that has most definitely been precedented more times than you care to count. This artist will invariably await applause for their courage for offering an effortless imitation, as though apologizing to the West on behalf of the East.
Perhaps the most commonly applied method among artists who expand their work by going to places like Berlin or by being there beforehand; is to directly modernize, or more accurately, post-modernize works that were created on these lands years ago. To appeal to the European audience, some make spiritless covers of Erkin Koray and Cem Karaca's songs, while others prefer to lean into a Müzeyyen Senar cosplay. When the time is right, even the hostess club culture, associated with exploitation, human rights violations, and corruption, can be sweetened with a liberal aesthetic and transformed into an object of desire. In short, there are horrific stories behind this "kitsch" aesthetic that add flavor to our Western friends’ repertoire of cultural consumption.
The supermarket of exotic sounds: The World Music industry
The term World Music is a broad and ambiguous category used by the Western music industry to group non-Western music genres under one umbrella. This term, which markets music made in regions such as Africa, Asia, Latin America, and the Middle East as exotic to Western listeners, is the product of a Eurocentric and colonial perspective. By centering its musical traditions, the West positions everything else as “other.” This categorization process tends to detach non-Western music from its cultural contexts, marketing its most palatable aspects to Western listeners, like packaged souvenirs.
This system also affects musicians from Turkey. Artists seeking international recognition often succeed in reaching the European market only by working with record labels that specialize in World Music. However, these labels typically market musicians based on their "non-Western" identities; the originality of their music takes a backseat to its alignment with Western mystical expectations of the East. This leads artists to turn their cultural identity into a marketing strategy in order to be accepted in the West. Transforming them into objects of a colonial gaze, which may even reflect views they themselves don’t claim. Thus, the international success of artists from Turkey is shaped by a system that reproduces the Western perception of the "other."
Record labels such as Glitterbeat, Finders Keepers, and Habibi Funk position themselves as explorers of global music. For example, Glitterbeat emphasizes supporting artists who are rooted in local musical traditions and carry contemporary elements under the motto of "live global sounds." However, acting like an authority that decides which music is "worth discovering" and how it should be presented within an aesthetic framework, these record labels curate a musical selection that aligns with the expectations of Western audiences. As a result, music that already has a history and value within its local context is repackaged for a Western discovery narrative and enters circulation within an Orientalist framework.
Of course, local labels and musicians also play a significant role in adopting Orientalism as a marketing strategy. For example, the Doublemoon record label, founded by Pozitif Müzik in 1998, adopted an aesthetic that was “Eastern but modern” and “exotic but familiar” to integrate into the Western world music scene. Artists like Mercan Dede, BaBa ZuLa, and Orient Expressions created a musical form that was both familiar and “interesting” to the West by blending traditional instruments with electronic backgrounds and various vocal techniques. Through this formula, Doublemoon opened the door to international visibility for local artists, but at the same time, it contributed to the reproduction of orientalist clichés and imposed a framework that restricted the artists' original expressions.
Thus, the concept of World Music is not just a music category; it functions as a structure that represents the continuation of global cultural hierarchies and colonial legacies. This structure continues to reproduce non-Western music within defined boundaries in the minds of Western listeners while turning it into an aesthetic commodity to be consumed. Because the issue is not just about cross-cultural interaction. Music always draws from different genres, aesthetics, and production techniques, but there is an important distinction between artistic fusion and the strategy of exoticizing oneself. Many musicians from Turkey aiming to establish themselves in Europe and North America adopt an aesthetic that fits the identity expected by the West to stand out. This tendency creates a model in which sound and visuals are shaped by orientalist clichés.
A similar strategy is followed in album covers, music videos, and promotional texts. In these materials, direct Islamic imagery is often avoided to avoid frightening Europe. Instead, "softer," "spiritual," "secular," or Sufi and mystical elements are emphasized. These aesthetic choices point to the belief that success in Turkey is not enough. That true legitimacy can only be obtained through recognition by Western media outlets, festivals, and institutions. International success may indeed mean better financial opportunities for artists and an escape from the shrinking cultural atmosphere in Turkey. However, the belief that artistic freedom is only possible in the West, while in the East censorship, oppression, and market dynamics always constrain artistic production, is both a symptom of internalized orientalism and a narrative that continues the epistemic dominance that masks Western cultural and economic hegemony. Meanwhile, the art market in the West is not independent of capital and ideological orientations. The choice of which artists will be supported and which types of works will find space is largely determined by market and political preferences.
At this point, the critical question arises: why and how are Turkish musicians voluntarily reproducing these Orientalist stereotypes in order to align with Western expectations? Why are they not seeking ways to question this perspective instead of conforming their artistic orientations to Western molds? Why is the desire for more fame, more money, and broader recognition in a larger geographical area so strong? How is this desire so powerful that artists are convinced to the point of internalizing the need to produce derivative and consumable versions of their identities to make themselves marketable?
One of the artists displaying this tendency to exoticize in the name of opening up to Europe is Gaye Su Akyol. Building her career by interpreting Anatolian rock with a surrealist aesthetic, Akyol’s stage persona is crafted in a way that fits Western stereotypes of the Middle East. With Ottoman costumes, retro science-fiction imagery, and oriental accessories. Akyol, who bridges this “old Turkey” image with a space metaphor, is often portrayed by Western media as a "strong, modern, and mystical female figure from Turkey." What is striking is that despite the absence of any form of radicalism in Akyol's political engagement, Western media often presents her as a "political woman who rebels against authority" in nearly every interview. This narrative is an extension of the liberal Western belief that women in the Middle East are oppressed and in need of a savior. This, in turn, aligns with the image of her as a "progressive woman shouting truths against a reactionary environment," which, in reality, reduces the actual political and cultural context to a superficial orientalist narrative. Moreover, Akyol’s lyrics mostly consist of ironic pastiches without direct political critique. Her secular stance, at times openly exhibiting nationalist tendencies on social media, does not contradict the image being constructed for her in the West. Akyol presents herself as an idealistic success story, a believer in the power of music and creativity, driven by her dreams. However, she continues to forge commercial relationships that contradict this idealism. For instance, her appearance in a car commercial demonstrates her integration into mainstream capitalist mechanisms, which weakens the narrative of her as an independent, anti-systemic figure.
BaBa ZuLa, much like Gaye Su Akyol, has been describing their music as "oriental space music" for much longer. The band's music, along with its stage aesthetics, combines local elements such as Ottoman cloaks, fez, and belly dancer costumes with modern accessories, creating a temporal "bridge" or "synthesis." Their concerts, on the other hand, attract attention as eclectic performances that blend music, painting, and dance. However, when the band brought this aesthetic language to the European stage, it risked affirming and reproducing Orientalist fantasies. Despite BaBa ZuLa performing numerous concerts and participating in festivals outside Turkey, their music is still categorized under the World Music genre. By embracing the tired cliché that "music cures all," they fail to present a truly radical stance. For instance, when the band was called by BDS to boycott a concert in Israeli-occupied Golan, they responded by saying: “Music is not just entertainment. Freedom of expression is the essence of art and individual existence. Those who listen to our music will know what kind of world we dream of.” In the end, they performed the concert in Golan.
At this point, the question arises whether the band uses orientalist imagery with a conscious and critical perspective. However, the band's long-standing commitment to the same aesthetic weakens any potential critique or reversal effort. It is widely acknowledged that shocking or provocative strategies tend to be more effective when they are unexpected and short-lived. BaBa ZuLa's past/future "collage" aesthetic, which may have seemed like an attitude at first, now risks becoming a formula that appeals to Orientalist expectations.
Altın Gün, a band originating from the Netherlands, stands out as another contemporary and popular example of auto-orientalism. With all its members being Dutch except for the vocals, the group has an image of interpreting 60s and 70s Anatolian Rock pieces “in their way.” But their way seems to be the European way since they produce and sterilize “European” versions of many Anatolian melodies, from “Erkilet Güzeli” to “Doktor Civanım” using only Western instruments. By doing so, they benefit, on different scales, from the Multikulti approach that liberal European ideologies love. The band’s main concern is not to recreate Anatolian tunes with a unique interpretation but rather to carve a secure space that will not be found “culturally offensive.” As a matter of fact, the addition of a Turkish vocalist to the group in order to emphasize "locality” also exposes their shortcomings in constructing their own musical identity.
In its early stages, Altın Gün was a band that built cultural capital through Western interpretations of Anatolian melodies and constructed an "exotic" identity. After a few albums, they began to produce their own compositions. This process is a great example of how a culture can be reduced to aesthetic raw material and then repackaged and marketed in the international music market. Ironically, Turkish "expats" attending Altın Gün's concerts in cities like Berlin, London, and Amsterdam continue to consistently look down on the unregistered coffeehouses opened by Turkish migrant workers in Europe's backstreets. Ironically, these are the shabby cafés where the originals of the Anatolian melodies that Altın Gün reinterprets are often played. If these kinds of public spaces are not directly excluded, they are “sweetened” with a liberal aesthetic touch and transformed into cultural commodities. In both cases, the culture industry demonstrates its mastery in packaging and selling the "other," and once again, the market wins.
It seems clear that the process of Turkish musicians entering the Western market is not shaped by artistic originality or individual effort but rather by a process framed within the global culture industry's boundaries. Moreover, the fact that orientalism has ceased to be merely a Western imposition and has now been consciously adopted by local artists as a strategic choice complicates the issue of cultural hegemony even further. In this process, even the music scene that claims to be independent and alternative is shaped according to the dynamics of the market and must operate within the limits set by Western authorities. As a result, the need for Western legitimacy shapes artistic originality according to the demands of the market.
In conclusion...
The question remains: Can independent music truly be independent, or must it settle for a controlled freedom that follows certain codes within the existing system? If the global culture industry repackages and markets music in order to support its own values, shouldn’t the concept of “independent and original art” be questioned today?
As is well known, music and, in general, all forms of cultural production are shaped within large-scale power relations. There is no harm in seeing popular music as a form of entertainment that offers people a temporary escape from the oppressive nature of everyday life. Ultimately, musicians are not superior to anyone; they are professionals who skillfully manage the commercial aspect of their work, handle PR processes, and inevitably transform their labor into a commodity. Of course, everyone can form personal connections with a product and create beautiful memories. However, this does not mean music takes on a universal and sublime task as music. Like every other product in the capitalist order, it has become commodified. Nevertheless, continuing a narrative that persistently romanticizes the artist's position within this system inevitably places them in an anachronistic and inconsistent position.
If it were accepted that being an artist/musician is ultimately a profession, it could be openly discussed that the artist’s relationship with capital is a natural necessity of capitalism, just like any salaried worker. However, most of the time, the ties between art and capital are made invisible with the contributions of the artists themselves. Art, music, and other creative endeavors are often glorified as though they were magical things that would save the world. An illusion is created that these fields are independent of the material conditions and power relations in the world and are shaped solely by individual talent or qualities like being “special” or “powerful.” At this point, it is our responsibility to lift this unrealistic “rose-tinted lens” and remind everyone that art, in the end, is a highly messy field that is dependent on capital, institutions, and authority. Art shaped and limited by capital and power relations does not, as claimed, make anyone truly “special,” “progressive,” or “revolutionary.”
