Mehmet Ali Sanlikol

7 Shades of Melancholia

DÜNYA

 This is the fourth time we’ve visited GRAMMY-nominated pianist and composer Mehmet Ali Sanlıkol on these pages and the first in the configuration of a small combo, ranging from a trio to a quintet in this case. Previous coverage centered on his jazz orchestra Whatsnext? and his only trio recording, 2021’s An Elegant Ritual. Sanlikol has long been an individual voice in jazz, blending traditional Turkish music, classical, and progressive rock, which in turn has inspired his innovative approach to his original jazz compositions. His ensemble includes: James Heazlewood-Dale on acoustic bass, George Lernis on drums and gongs, the bass-drum tandem that appeared on his trio album.  Lihi Haruvi-Means  joins on soprano saxophone as well as featured artist, the fiery Ingrid Jensen on trumpet. Sanlikol, a multi- instrumentalist, stays mostly at the piano, adding his voice in places, and also playing a patent-pending instrument of his own invention—a digital microtonal piano, dubbed Renaissance 17 (R17).

Sanlikol explains the album title this way, “In the region that is now Turkey, melancholia has a long cultural history, dating back to ancient Greece. In the happiest of all [Turkish] dance tunes, the lyrics may refer to lovers separated by war.” Melancholia—or, in Turkish, “hüzün”—permeates Turkish culture extensively, says Sanlıkol, and can be felt in not only the music of Turkey but also its literature and films as well.

Snlikol composed five of the seven pieces with two owing to traditional Turkish folk songs, as the opening track, “A Children’s Song,” the traditional “Annemize Türkü,” which translates to “a folk song for our mothers.” It’s an emotional song that Snlikol learned 45 years ago, rendered here purposely along the lines of John Coltrane’s “My Favorite Things,” even down to the striking blues and reds on the cover art. The song is a strong exposition of his piano playing and is a trio piece, absent the two horns. He claims to be keeping it relatively simple, avoiding intricacy in adapting traditional Turkish music in “One Melancholic Montuno,” written with Jensen who contributes stunning lines. Toward the end, there’s a pause as a piano coda takes it out.

The sonics change dramatically on “Şedd-i Araban Şarkı” and “Hüseyni Jam,” on which Sanlıkol plays the R17. On the former, he sings in unison with his instrumental melody—while transitioning in and out of scat—with the intention of honoring the microtonal quality of Turkish traditional music, with the composition’s text taken from a 17th-century Ottoman source. “Hüseyni Jam” is an adaptation of an anonymous Turkish folk song that Sanlıkol first encountered as a Bektashi Sufi song. The latter also has less prominent vocals, thereby showcasing the brilliant breadth of his R17. Drummer Lernis is a whirlwind on his kit here as well.

Initially in selecting these pieces, Sanlıkol did not notice that four tracks were in fact named after different makams. “Nikriz Semai” is one of them and was originally written for an extended orchestral piece inspired by the Turkish shadow play Karagöz. As Sanlıkol shares, the play frequently starts with a prologue filled with themes related to Sufism, or Islamic mysticism. Again he sings, alternating his vocal with touches of scat, supported by his trio mates stoking the engine room in 6/8.

“Buselik,” features a makam similar to the one chosen for “One Melancholic Montuno,” both of which are close to the tuning and intonation standards of Western music. Sanlikol claims that it is the most carefully designed compositional statement on this album. This piece has the full quintet in tow. It begins with a single, quiet note performed by one person and gradually evolves into wild collective improvisation, maybe better expressed as controlled chaos.

The final piece, “My Blues,”at nine-and-half minutes, closes.  Even though this piece bears elements of the Trukish makam, Sanlikol wrote it two years after arriving in the U.S. before he began his Turkish studies. It moves through meditative, dreamy, and intense stages, with by far the strongest turn from soprano saxophonist Lihi Haruvi-Means as well as stirring lines from Jensen. This, along with the opener, are the two purest jazz pieces, although we do have floating vocals in unison with Jensen’s trumpet to give it that Turkish sheen. Also, listen for the subtle call-and-response sequences.

Sanlikol once again proves, as he has on his previous recordings, that he stands apart with his fusion of jazz, classical, and Turkish traditional music. This smaller unit makes this perhaps his most emotional recording.

– Jim Hynes