Faruk regards his life as a slowly maturing tree. He calls it his Tree of Patience. Its roots reached deeply into the black soil of rhythm, scales and basic notation when he studied under the instrument maker in the small shop in Adana. The shop keeper's day job was with the Agricultural Ministry. Faruk would open the store after school. Quite naturally, he imbibed the heady airs of a musician's life simply by interacting with other musicians. He sold them strings and other items and listened to their conversations until Avdin returned after 4:00 o'clock to take over and teach Faruk the foundation skills of music.


The trunk of his Tree of Patience, composition, grew under the guidance of Orhan Gencebay in Istanbul. Orhan was one of the most famous Arabian-style composers, at a time when acceptance for the arabesque mode first reared its head in the shadows of the traditional sukul style of Classical Turkish music. Stemming from Southern Turkey, Europe's gateway to the Arab world, Faruk and brother Hadji Ahmet were experienced playing in these modalities and suffered no narrow stylistic allegiances. They started to work with Gencebay on the second day of their arrival in the metropolis.


Faruk recalls that for the next ten years, he followed Genebay's admonition to not frequent the gazino coffee houses but study daily composition in his office instead. Whenever Orhan recorded a new album, Faruk and Hadji Ahmet performed on it. It was a time of celebration and actualization, living the life of well-paid, much-in-demand successful musicians at the cutting edge of developing trends. What prompted Omar Faruk to leave for America when his star was rising so quickly?


During a 1971 concert tour, I met my future wife in Rochester/NY. I had to return to Turkey to serve my mandatory military term. Afterwards, she came and we got engaged. America was calling because at the time, Turkey needed to digest all the new diversity of cultural borders crumbling. We had to recover from a lot of political upheavals and economic changes. Still, I was very worried. If I couldn't play my music in America, I was certainly going to die. I rushed to Baba to ask his advice.


Now you have to understand that when Burhan was 35, a US-based troupe was performing in Turkey and about to leave for America. They had lost their drummer and were holding auditions. Baba had studied under Gene Kupra, could read scores and was in the recording studio all the time. He played for them and was hired on the spot. Meet us at the pier in three days, they told him.


Within those three days, Baba had a change of heart. He couldn't leave behind his old mother. Later in life, he regarded this decision as a mistake and missed opportunity. Now he told me: "Even if you quit music, music won't quit you. Go and don't worry. Play your Kaval like a saxophone. You'll be fine."


And fine you were, eventually. But for your tree to grow its sheltering branches of today, much patience and perseverance were required.


(Laughs) True. There were periods when realizing my dream seemed like a faint and distant fata morgana - ever elusive. But much inner agitation quieted down when I realized that my own body was the real instrument.


How so?


Even doing my work at the textile firm, I could make secret sounds with my body - sing a melody in my mind, listen to my breath, tap a rhythm with my fingers on my thighs. Once I understood that music would never leave me if I just paid enough attention, she remained close to me even during those times when the instruments weren't.


Gregg Albracht, "The Offering"
(click on image for gallery website)
Tell us about your experience in America.


It's wonderful. I'm living in a very idealistic state. This country has such an appreciation for cultural diversity. I can cultivate myself without being bothered or bothering anyone else. You know, like certain Buddhist teachings or the whispering heart practice of Christianity, Sufism places the name of God into the heart of its devotees. By cultivating awareness of the breath and reciting the name of Allah with the tongue of the mind, the heart eventually begins to chant His name on its own.


Our teachings say that everything in the universe salutes the Creator except man who gets confused in his mind. But you can be right in the middle of the street minding the traffic. Tune inside. If you have practiced diligently, you can hear it there like a murmur inside your heart - Allah, Allah, Allah. This gives proper perspective. It reminds us to see the Creator in everything. I'm reminded of the Roman Empire, or the times of Süleyman. Diverse peoples interacted along the trade routes, intermarried and lived together in harmony and prosperity over one vast unified area.


For my latest album, we had this concept of unifying all the Mediterranean peoples. When you look at this area from outer space, Europe, the Middle-East and Northern Africa are all centered on the Mediterranean. In fact, the word translates as Middle Earth - the center of the world. Alif creates this panorama in musical form.


So we decided to bring together artists to represent its various cultures, with Steve Shehan the perfect catalyst between the traditions and modernity. We sing in all the different languages -- Glykeria from Greece, Mamak Khadem from Iran, Zehava Ben from Israel, Suzy from Turkey, Galina from Bulgaria, Jose Antonio Rodriguez from Spain -- and I was at first concerned about the language barriers.


Then I realized that if we sang with the same deep feeling, the message would be clear. Even if you can't follow the words, just listening reminds you that we're all one. How fitting, I thought, since Turkish culture has always been a melting pot of different civilizations - a bit of Slavic, Turkmen and Mongols from the Far East, Arabian strains, Greek influences, Gipsy...


You get inspired, don't you?


I've been reading Ibn'Arabî of late and just realized the other day how I am the living example of all these teachings and traditions. In this mortal form of Omar Faruk, the prophets, saints and sheiks of the past now play the Ney, the baglama, the oud, the drums - continuing their teaching through music in this vessel. And I had a vision of calling with their combined voices to all the volunteers, to all the lovers of God, to come forward and serve mankind. It will be a song on a future project.


In some of my music reviews, I'm fond of saying that music as the language of feelings bypasses the mind and cultural barriers more quickly and directly than almost anything else. While the politicians make desperate attempts to emphasize commonalties and curtail strife and enmity, musicians are doing it already, each time they perform for a mixed audience that responds strongly to their music.


Yes, that is happening. I get so many e-mails. It makes me cry, people sharing how the music makes them intuit the Divine, or embracing me after a concert and telling me how they could feel what I felt.


My life's purpose now is simply to polish this treasure, to shine its truth into the world. Insh'allah.


We are all like a river joining each other.


I see it as the mystical fire. All of us musicians are like wood throwing ourselves into the fire offering. (Laughs). But the wood has to be dry to burn or else there will be lots of smoke. So you have to get out of the way and make room for the greater power to take over and sing its song.


How about your family? I understand they're all artists as well?



Yes. My brother-in-law is a drummer and was part of my first group, The Sultans. My younger son plays the darbuka and joins me on stage. My wife and younger daughter are very accomplished bellydancers. My older daughter sings. Sometimes we have four Tekbileks on stage. (Makes a contentedly gurgling sound on the phone.) I feel so blessed.


An old proverb now comes to mind - about the fruit not falling far from the tree. And there's also an image of a huge and ancient Banyan tree that has weathered many a storm. Its dense canopy and arcing branches provide shelter and shade and a good reason to gather together, nestle for some succor into the gnarly roots and take some time out from the bustle of the world.


They say that the word gossip and gospel enjoy a common linguistic root. That seems relevant. Sitting underneath a mighty tree, sharing tales from the heart is true gospel, simple, unadorned, no fancy words needed. And Omar Faruk Tekbilek's Tree of Patience keeps growing, inviting more and more to enjoy its rejuvenating shade. Were you to take a close glance at his opened flute box, you'd discover an inscription, similar to that of the Caliph's famed ring that said "This too will pass".


Except in Faruk's case, the chosen reminder is a favorite of my own teacher's: "Life is a mystery to be lived, not a puzzle to be solved." Faruk replaced the word puzzle with problem. Same thing - a powerful reminder to embrace everything with a sense of wonder and acceptance, opportunities to grow, learn and share. With his life, Omar Faruk Tekbilek has certainly set an example for this, and how to translate personal religious beliefs into benevolent practice. God willing, he isn't done yet.


Insh'Allah as he would say - deep thanks to the Creator for making it all happen.


performing in Central Park, NYC
Artist Website