Türkiye became acquainted with the instrument of santur, a hammered dulcimer of Iranian origins, through street musicians. As a santuri, a term used for someone who plays the santur, here is the journey that I embarked on, unfurling the history of the santur through my recollections based upon my eight years of street music performances.
In 2007, filled with dreams of pursuing a career in music, I embarked on a life-changing journey from my beloved hometown of Şanlıurfa to the bustling city of Ankara. Accepted into the history department at Hacettepe University, I carried my cherished cura, a plucked string folk instrument, and guitar with me, ready to embrace the opportunities that awaited. Growing up in the countryside, I was fortunate to have a qualified teacher who introduced me to the beauty of music through the bağlama, a traditional Turkish string instrument. Their guidance sparked a passion within me, fueling my desire to become a musician.
As a young student hailing from a rural background, I eagerly settled into the state dormitory, hoping to find comfort in familiar faces. For a brief period, I was surrounded by the company of three trusted friends from my hometown. However, after only three months, they made the decision to return to the dormitory, leaving me alone and faced with a daunting predicament. With no alternative accommodation and lacking the financial means to return to the dormitory, I found myself at a crossroads.
In the wake of being left alone by my fellow townspeople, I found solace in a few brief conversations with my neighbor. Encouraged by our fleeting connections, I mustered the courage to knock on their door one day and make a heartfelt request: "Could I stay with you for just a week?" To my surprise and relief, they kindly responded with open arms, saying, "Of course." However, what started as a temporary arrangement turned into a life-altering journey, as I ended up living with them for an entire year.
My new housemates, both musicians and avid philosophy students, became my friends in no time. Life in that house became a symphony of experiences that changed me in profound ways. Thanks to their influence, I was introduced to countless musicians, poets and writers. I immersed myself in books, constantly exploring new ideas and eagerly honed my musical skills. Together, we took to the streets, sharing our music with the world. It was during this time that a friend introduced me to an enchanting instrument called the santur, and from the moment I heard its mesmerizing sound, I was captivated.
The reason I embarked on this journey to Tabriz was simple: Nobody in Türkiye knew about the santur. The instrument was virtually unheard of, and the idea of finding someone who sold or crafted santurs seemed like a distant dream.
As time passed, a profound realization dawned upon me. Intellectual knowledge, while valuable, paled in comparison to the importance of embracing humanity without judgment or division. It may sound unconventional, but I came to understand that the wisest person I had ever known was my own mother. I admired her unwavering attitude toward life. She had single-handedly raised seven children, tended to countless livestock, and managed the household with grace and determination. How could I not be in awe of her? In her, I saw a reservoir of wisdom derived not from books or theories, but from the act of living itself.
After learning to play the santur in Iran, I returned to Türkiye. I spent nearly a year and a half in Tabriz, where I not only learned to play the santur but also gained a considerable amount of knowledge about Iranian literature.
Then I played music on the streets of Ankara for a full eight years. I was tired and wanted to perform not only on the streets but also in concert halls. I had composed around a hundred pieces with my santur. For this purpose, I applied to numerous municipalities in Ankara and Istanbul, but unfortunately, no one knew what a santur was. The instrument was so unfamiliar that some cultural directors mistook it for a tourism company due to the "tur" syllable at the end of its name.
My biggest supporter in promoting the santur was Hasan Saltık, the owner of Kalan Music. He sponsored my albums, and I released five albums. Prominent music critics in Türkiye, such as Doğan Hızlan, Naim Dilmener and Murat Beşer, wrote praise-filled articles about my music. I hosted and produced programs featuring my santur performances. I also wrote a book called "Santurnâme – The Story of Santur from the Past to the Present" about its history.
After a while, I found myself performing concerts not only in Türkiye but in numerous countries around the world. I cannot help but feel a sense of pride. I have become one of the leading figures associated with the santur in Türkiye, and this brings me immense joy. A decade ago, I took part in a popular Turkish TV show called "Who Wants to Be a Millionaire." At that time, my aspiration was to win some money and perhaps record an album. Regrettably, I only won a modest amount. However, exactly 10 years later, I had the honor of becoming a question on the show: "What is the name of the musical instrument being played by Sedat Anar?" It was a true testament to my accomplishments. Presently, I continue to dedicate myself to music, creating compositions, recording albums and performing concerts, as I strive to further develop my craft.
The person who plays the santur is called a santuri or santurzen. Santuri İbrahim Çelebi, whom we come across in Ali Ufki's work "Mecmua-i Saz ü Söz," is one of the first individuals mentioned in sources with the name "santuri" in Turkish music history. He lived in the 17th century. Unfortunately, santur players were scarce during both the Ottoman period and the present day. According to Evliya Çelebi's "Seyahatname," while there were 500 tanbur performers in Istanbul during that time, the number of santur players didn't even reach 10. Evliya Çelebi only mentions santur players in hospitals.
So why have there always been so few santur players throughout history? Because, initially, the santur is not a suitable instrument for performing Turkish music. One of the most important reasons why the santur did not take root in Ottoman-Turkish music culture and eventually became forgotten is the absence of movable frets, as in the kanun. When performing a piece on the santur in a particular mode, a santuri cannot transition to another mode within the same piece. To change modes on the santur, one must stop playing and adjust the bridges. Due to the limited number of frets and the fixed chords of the santur, in a piece requiring transitions between modes, there is a necessity to stop and adjust the frets, which is not possible during the performance. However, Turkish music compositions often involve frequent transitions between modes.
The santur was played both within and outside the Ottoman palace. When it comes to Ottoman music, one of the most prominent names associated with the santur is undoubtedly Santuri Ali Ufki Bey, a Polish-born court musician who lived in the 17th century. Ali Ufki Bey acquired the name "santuri" after learning to play the santur in the palace's music room and served as a musician in the boarding school (enderun) for 18 years. Enderun, which was the most significant official educational institution outside the madrassa from the 15th to the late 19th century, produced numerous musicians alongside civil and military administrators. Ali Ufki Bey learning to play the santur in there indicates that there were santur players in the palace before him. However, it is not certain whether the santur was learned in the Enderun before Ali Ufki Bey. He does not provide any information about this in his memoirs.
After santuri Ali Ufki Bey, the santur regained interest and attention in Ottoman music in the late 19th century. One of the first names that come to mind among recent players is Santuri Ethem Bey. Ethem Bey was not only a santur virtuoso but also a composer of nearly 500 pieces of music. Unfortunately, apart from a few known compositions, his works are not performed today.
It is an ancient instrument with sources and findings dating back to before B.C. It is played in many countries worldwide and is even older than the qanun and piano, considered their ancestor. It is also mentioned in four different places as the psaltery in the Torah.
It can be adapted to the music of any country in which it is used. As you may recall, we mentioned earlier that santur does not have frets like the qanun, which are necessary for playing Turkish music. However, masters such as Ümit Mutlu, Paki Öktem, and Ozan Özdemir have added frets. In fact, after a while, these santurs began to be called Turkish santurs.
This instrument is known as santur or Turkish santur, but it has different names in other countries.
Just like in the past, Iran is still the country where the santur is most widely used today as it is an indispensable instrument in Iranian classical music. While preparing my book, I examined the poems of hundreds of Divan poets who lived in Iran and the Ottoman Empire. Although I frequently came across the mention of the santur in the poems of Mevlevi poets, I surprisingly found very few references to the santur in Iranian poetry, except for a few poems. Great poets like Hafiz and Sadi have never mentioned the santur. Initially, I thought that the santur came to the Ottoman Empire through Iran before Ali Ufki Bey, but I was amazed to learn from some sources that the santur came to the Ottoman Empire through Jews who migrated from Spain.
In the Ottoman Empire, the santur fell out of favor shortly after Ali Ufki Bey left the palace. Professor Owen Wright describes the decline and exclusion of the santur and kanun from the palace music as follows: "One of the popular instruments of the 15th and 16th centuries was the qanun. It entered Ottoman music as an Arab instrument. Jews who migrated from Spain and settled in Istanbul in the 16th century also brought the qanun back to the Ottoman Empire as a folk instrument, which they had learned from the Arabs of Spain. In the 17th century, it gave way to the Iranian instrument, the santur, but over time, the santur also fell out of favor and was used less and less. The decline of these two instruments signified the Ottoman music's desire to purge itself of Arab and Iranian elements."
Similarly, the oud has experienced a similar fate. The oud, which has been a significant instrument in Arab and Middle Eastern music, was replaced by the tanbur in 17th-century Istanbul. Competition between the Ottoman and Iranian states is one of the reasons for the removal of the santur from palace music, as the santur was known as an Iranian instrument during that time.
Once an important instrument in Turkish music, the santur has not been completely forgotten; interestingly, it has regained popularity in music circles and the palace since the late 19th century. Santuri İsmet Ağa, Hilmi Bey, Hasip Efendi and Santuri Ethem Bey were musikişinas (musicians) who played santur and also served as santur instructors in the Ottoman palace. Additionally, santur was also performed by unofficial janissary band members.
Ethem Bey was a virtuoso who played a crucial role in reviving the popularity of santur in Turkish music. He composed nearly 400 pieces and invented two new maqams. Ethem Bey's santur was considered equivalent to Tanburi Cemil Bey's tanbur (long-necked lute). However, there are limited sources of information available about Santuri Ethem Bey. One of his internationally renowned compositions is "Şehnaz Longa." Another famous composition of his, "Kürdili Hicazkar Longa," was featured in the film "Tosun Paşa," directed by Kartal Tibet and featuring Kemal Sunal, Müjde Ar, Şener Şen, Adile Naşit and Ayşen Gruda. This composition continues to captivate many people to this day. Some of Ethem Bey's works are occasionally performed in musical gatherings.
To ensure that the santur's fate does not befall it like other forgotten instruments, santuri Ethem Bey taught santur lessons and trained many players. One of the most important figures among these is Ziya Santur. After Ethem Bey's passing, Ziya Santur, in order to prevent the santur from being forgotten, trained players such as Zühtü Bardakoğlu, Sabiha Tekand, Cevdet Kozanoğlu, Hüsnü Tüzüner and Vecdi Seyhun. He was the first person in Türkiye to write a method book for santur. Furthermore, out of his love for santur and concern for its decline, he chose Santur as his surname in 1934. It is hard not to admire Ziya Santur as a santuri. In my opinion, all santur players should know him and be grateful to him. Unfortunately, he could not publish his santur method while he was alive, or rather, he couldn't find a place to publish his work.
Due to being gradually forgotten over time, there are very few performers of santur today in Türkiye. Who could have imagined that santur would resurface in Türkiye in the early 21st century through street musicians, leading to an increasing number of players day by day?
Fatih Akın's 2006 film "Crossing the Bridge: The Sound of Istanbul" dedicated a separate section to street musicians, which contributed to a noticeable increase in the popularity of street music. The main reason for this was that many people became acquainted with the ancient instrument called the santur, which had very few performers except for a handful of individuals since the establishment of the republic, through this film.
Santur, an indispensable instrument for street groups like Siya Siyabend, Kara Güneş, Alatav, Light in Babylon, Samsara Istanbul and Masala, is like an instrument specifically designed for the streets with its powerful acoustic sound. Of course, street music was also performed with other instruments, but santur played the biggest role in making street music more widespread in Türkiye. Nowadays, there are santuri instructors teaching santur lessons and luthiers making santur instruments. Artists such as Ümit Mutlu, Zühtü Bardakoğlu, and myself, Sedat Anar, who have released solo santur albums, are increasing day by day.
While writing this, I also see that Ziya Santur's decision to take the surname Santur was not in vain.
