Moğollar: We are directing our energy toward hope instead of pessimism

The Moğollar, who welcomed former vocalist Cem Karaca’s son Emrah and Utku Ünal to their small group, which also consists of Cahit Berkay, Taner Öngür, Engin Yörükoğlu and Serhat Ersöz, last year, say, “We are directing our energy toward hope instead of pessimism.”

Hoping that people won’t miss out on this album, the Moğollar say they are living their third spring. They wrote music for the poem “Çaya Kaç Şeker” (How much sugar for the tea) in their album thinking that it belonged to poet Can Yücel. But apparently, the poem, which was sent to them by someone over the Internet, belonged to Elif Şebnem Akal, not Yücel. The band was then required to withdraw all the albums from the market and release them all over again. In a conversation that we expected would “find its way toward hope,” Berkay, Öngür and Karaca shared with us their thoughts on a range of topics.

The band members, who say, “Without the Mongols, there would be no Anatolia,” spoke about their struggles, their views on Turkey, their past and their future plans.

The Mongols were known for their ability to divide other lands, but you are a musical group that constantly breaks up itself. How have separations within the band reflected on your music?

Berkay: Separations were certainly due to national circumstances. We tried to continue making music with Yörükoğlu in France after 1974. But it didn’t work out, and we decided to give it a break in 1976, saying, “We aren’t going to be able to make music.” We needed to make money, so we managed a cafe, bar and restaurant. I returned to Turkey in 1982, but there was no room in the market to bring the group together and make music. Taverna music had made progress, and there was no environment left where the Moğollar could express themselves again. I worked at a private company and composed film music. Then Yörükoğlu and Öngür returned to Turkey. We came together again in 1993 and released an album in 1994. We continued just like before after 16 years. Then Karaca, Ünal and Ersöz joined the band. We made our last album in 2004. We could have made an album earlier, but it was important that we were truly satisfied with it. It is not very smart to make an album in this day and age because two days later a pirated album comes out and your music is shared over the Internet.

Where does “Umut Yolunu Bulur” stand in relation to your other albums?

Berkay: I wouldn’t want to answer that question, but it is an album that manifests the Moğollar’s internal development until now. It is the most fulfilling in terms of music, content and interpretation. The sound is more of a rock format. We do not make an album to order. It comes from within our hearts. It’s not important if you like it; first we make sure we like it [laughs]. Our hope is that our people do not miss this album.

Was there ever a time when you lost hope?

Öngür: Of course there was. Even now sometimes there is. But we believe hope should not disappear. Losing hope is something we just can’t accept. If you look at the history of mankind, you see that the good side in a person always finds a solution. It’s better if we expend energy on hope instead of pessimism. It is more meaningful to say, “At least I tried.”

Now that the tea is here, let me ask if there is a piece in your album named “Çaya Kaç Şeker” (How much sugar for the tea) written by Can Yücel…

Berkay: Someone sent it to me over the Internet saying it was Can Yücel’s poem, and I immediately fell in love with it. We composed music for it, and our lawyer got us the necessary permission. The family gave permission without evening asking to listen to the song. Apparently, “Çaya Kaç Şeker” didn’t belong to Yücel. We became a victim of the polluted information on the Internet. The poem was written by a woman named Elif Şebnem Akal. We were so shocked because we always respect rights. The album’s covers were withdrawn. Now we are releasing a new one.

You have a piece named “68 ruhuna geri sar” (Rewind to the spirit of ‘68).

Berkay: I am a Fenerbahçe fanatic. I hold an instrument in my hand when watching a game. I took a cura when watching a Fenerbahçe game, and my fingers starting playing a rhythm. I realized that as I continued playing the rhythm, the team played more aggressively, and as the team played aggressively, I intrinsically developed the rhythm. Fenerbahçe won that game [laughs]. … Then I came up with the lyrics and named it “Rewind to the spirit of 68.”

Isn’t that longing a bit nostalgic? Is it possible to have that kind of spirit again?

Berkay: This has nothing to do with being leftist or rightist. The giant Soviet Union collapsed, communism finished and Karl Marx went bankrupt. A true social state order should be established. But unfortunately that balance has seriously changed for the worse in terms of effort. And this piece came about because our heart does not approve of that.

Öngür: OK, gains, profit, growth are good things, but at what cost? If the number of people that are hungry and unemployed is increasing in the world, then someone needs to be called to account. We alone cannot offer a solution. The entire world must come together and find a way to end injustice. It may be wrong to say that socialism is the way in 2009 but neither is capitalism. Global climate change is a result of industrialization as well. We are ruining our future. We don’t have the right to think about just short-term benefits. We didn’t stay in the generation of ‘68.

A lot of people from the generation of ‘68 have become administrators and advertisers. What would you like to say to them?

What can we say to them? They chose that road of their own free will. Their cause is no longer a cause. Their cause has become money. What is important is how they act where they are. Do they get capital through lawful ways? Do they pay taxes and protect their workers’ rights? The late Cem Karaca had a saying which we were going to turn into a song if he had not passed away. It went, “His parka hangs in his wardrobe, his jobs sits on his business card.” But we couldn’t continue it. We looked at the world from the left window, but in the end, you turn the gun toward a living person just because he doesn’t think like you. I’ve always found that scary.

Öngür: We must be careful about incidents that have or are likely to occur. We want every action and event that tries to unlawfully and anti-democratically steer society to be exposed.

The group’s soloists, Karaca and Ersöz, are much younger than you guys. What are the reference points that bring the two generations together in terms of music and politics?

Karaca: I wasn’t foreign to this discourse and generation anyway. I was virtually born into their hands. As the Sept. 12, 1980 generation, as people that have become apolitical, we were distant from what happened then. But over time, people cannot ignore the voice that comes from inside. I found myself right in the middle of this road when I was trying out different paths in music. Finally, Berkay took me by the ear and brought me here [laughs]. As Cem Karaca’s son, I never felt excluded from this discourse and stance. Personally, I was someone that listened to the Moğollar.

How do you look at the most recent developments in the country?

Berkay: The recent period is just a cloud of dust. Right when you think you see something another cloud of dust comes about. Of course, as always we are in favor of the proper and equal functioning of liberty and democracy.

Öngür: It’s good that a lot of topics that are considered taboo are being discussed. But it’s wrong for the other side to get angry because they are being discussed.

Berkay: The tone of voice of the people we send to Parliament affects the people. This country doesn’t deserve this kind of Parliament. The people in Parliament need to be much more temperate. A polemic starts, and everything becomes blurry.

You have a 42-year history. This is a long period of time for a musical group in Turkey. Has anyone tried to build a Great Wall of China against the Moğollar in this market? [laughs]

Berkay: There was never a Great Wall of China. Even if there was, we always walked around it and went down further [laughs]. They threw a bomb at our minibus in Kütahya when we were working with Barış Manço. They quickly brought us to Ankara and then they called us to the army. During that period, we had won the world’s most prestigious award in France. Then we went to France.

Karaca: The Moğollar couldn’t go on TRT: that was a Great Wall of China.

Öngür: The pieces on one of our albums were instrumental. During five-minute breaks caused by technical difficulties those pieces would be played, and we would never get any royalties. They invited us on to a program on TRT but didn’t allow us in through the doors because our hair was long and because we weren’t wearing ties.

Wasn’t joining the Moğollar kind of like climbing over the Great Wall of China for Karaca?

Karaca: I was very nervous when Berkay told me. I sang songs, and I could do whatever I wanted if it was my own album, but how would it be within the stance of the Moğollar? It was natural for me to be nervous because the band has a solid audience. They would regard anyone new as strange because they had already paved the way of the music’s future by the time I was born.

If you didn’t produced the style you call Anatolian pop, what kind of a band would you be?

Berkay: There wouldn’t be the Moğollar. It would have been left in the past. It was important that a synthesis was created by nourishing our roots in Anatolia.

Öngür: I didn’t use to understand it when people said from local to global. But when I take a look today, I see that there is folk music in the roots of many famous musical groups. If rock music is going to be developed in Turkey, it is important to benefit from this when writing lyrics.

It’s not possible to replace Cem Karaca and Barış Manço, and you have worked with them both. Do you miss them?

Berkay: Of course. It’s impossible to replace them. We worked with Manço for about a year, but we always worked with Cem Karaca. We had so many experiences together. We were sitting in Ataköy. We had no money to pay rent. There was a competition called Altın Güvercin in Kuşadası, and the prize was TL 10,000. I was determined to win it. I composed music, and Cem Karaca wrote the lyrics. It was called Kahya Yahya. I said I was going to submit it to the contest, and he got really angry with me. I participated, and I wanted him to participate as well, but he refused. He said, “You don’t know how to sing a song.” I mentioned two names he didn’t like, and he got really upset and said, “Instead of having them sing, I will sing.” I was so relieved. We won first place.

What have people forgotten? What will listeners remember when they hear your music?

 Öngür: I have never chased after material things. I don’t have a retirement pension, and I don’t care. Music and art are the only things that keep me going. Maybe it’s this side of me that reflects in the music. I think this is what people see because it isn’t very common.

Karaca: I think they will remember sincerity, love and that the world is not perfect. They will remember that no matter what, the Moğollar will always continue to create music.

Berkay: I would want Karaca and Ersöz to continue this. It’s not like we are doing something very great, but [laughs] they should continue to produce and make new pieces. But of course, they should do what is appropriate for the band, not attempt to make music like Serdar Ortaç.