Who Gets to Feel at Home in Punk? (An Interview With Yaprak Kirdök)

Yaprak Kırdök was still a teenager when she became the singer of Poster-iti in Istanbul’s early 2000s punk scene. Now based in Cagliari, Sardinia, she fronts post-punk band Gentilesky and creates their artwork, from record covers to screenprinted merch.

Also known as VenusBeast or Toprak Basgit, her work spans singing, synths, DJing, and visual art. With Gentilesky’s latest album Dream as a starting point, we talked about her years in Turkish punk, the small but persistent scene in Sardinia, and the experiences of women and queer people in spaces that still have plenty to challenge.

Yaprak also speaks candidly about nationalism within the Turkish scene, facing racism after moving to Italy, and finding solidarity through the scattered community of SWANA immigrants within the current European DIY punk scene.

Yaprak, you were part of Istanbul’s punk scene for many years before moving to Italy. Could you talk about the history and character of the Turkish punk scene, as well as your time in Poster-iti, one of its seminal bands of the 2000s?

Hi DIY Conspiracy! I think, in a way, the punk scene in Istanbul is the same as many other scenes. It has existed since proto-punk times, with people like Tunay Akdeniz in the ’70s (although we didn’t know he existed when we were younger). Jumping into the ’90s, we can talk about a real punk scene with bands like Tampon, Crunch, Radical Noise, Vae Victis, Spinners, Rashit, and so on.

Then we have the scene in the 2000s, which I was part of, with bands like Not Made in China, my band Poster-iti, Cemiyette Pişiyorum, Your Kingdom Is Doomed, The Raws, Leş, Malazlar, Kilink, Truth We Defend, and so on (there are too many bands to mention here). The scenes were mostly based in bigger cities like Istanbul, Ankara, Izmir, and Bursa.

I can talk about the scene in Istanbul in the 2000s: when I first encountered people from the scene, I was 14–15, and in no time I started hanging out with Poster-iti and became their singer for almost four years. Our drummer, Deniz, was still in high school, and we were living a strange double life, which was so much fun but also full of scene drama (lol).

It took me a long time to realize what it meant for a country like Türkiye in the early 2000s to have a punk band with two teenage girls in it. Looking back, it feels like Istanbul has changed a lot since then; the scene has changed a lot as well.

We recorded an album together called Sarı Çizgiyi Geçmeyiniz, with all the lyrics in Turkish, something I would like to do more of again. This album, I would say, is more in the vein of sweet ’70s punk, recorded at our bass player Özgür’s family home; it talks about love, bombs exploding around the city, the punk scene, and friendship.

We started recording another album just after the first, this time more in the direction of the UK82 sound. In the end, it remained only as demo recordings, as we had a fight and I left the band. They had Ersin as their singer for a long time; the band’s genre has changed a lot as well.

We did two reunion gigs, and we obviously stayed friends. Our guitar player, Can, is still very active in the scene, playing with bands like Die In Vain and Reason Why, and he’s organizing concerts and festivals with our forever friends through Wargasm Collective.

In the ’80s, many older punk bands across the Eastern Bloc focused on individuality and resisted state-imposed conformity and the suppression of free thought. More explicitly political ideas associated with Western punk gained influence only in the ’90s. Did Turkish punk develop along a similar path? How did religious conservatism, nationalism, repression within schools and universities, and crackdowns on student protests affect individuality, creative expression, and the political evolution of the scene?

I would answer this question this way: although there are many bands and people in the scene who are politically active, really anti-fascist, anti-authoritarian, and awake, I feel like this scene has been too apolitical since the time when I was part of it.

Türkiye is a country where people call themselves antifa, left-wing, and “anti-nationalist,” but still worship the founder of this country and the flag. And you can see this ambiguity in the flesh in the scene. I remember people we used to call friends from the scene who would wear antifa T-shirts but talk nothing but shit about Kurdish or Armenian people and their right to exist. This is a country built on genocides, and not many people in the scene talk about it, unfortunately.

I remember when they killed Hrant Dink in 2007, millions of people went out in the streets saying “We’re all Armenians.” It was an amazing moment for Türkiye, but as the counter “flag” demonstrations started, we saw a disgusting wave of nationalism, and people from the scene went to these demonstrations.

I know this doesn’t answer your question, but it’s a thing that has bothered me about this scene forever. And it actually says a lot.

Türkiye’s withdrawal from the Istanbul Convention sparked widespread protests. Could you talk about the feminist movement in the country and its relationship with the punk scene? Do you think the broader climate of authoritarianism is one reason why many women and queer people have left Türkiye for Western Europe? I previously interviewed Gizem of Zevk, who also moved abroad, and I’m curious whether you see your experiences as part of a broader pattern.

Apart from there being more women in bands (still a minority) and some bands like Emaskulator and Kim Ki O bringing these topics into their lyrics and presence, I think the feminist movement and the punk scene haven’t met much. We’re still talking about a scene with a majority of cis men, like many other scenes around the globe.

In a country like Türkiye, you grow up with an incredible rage as a woman or a queer person. From home to school to the streets to the scene, you’re always subject to discrimination, and it makes you a bitter person at times.

Cis male friends in the scene would say that they’re either feminists or supporters of the cause, but at the end of the day, they seem to get away with their privilege. Obviously, I’m not talking about everyone, but I still feel this is a big issue in the scene today.

The feminist movement is strong and well-rooted, but I don’t feel it is represented in the scene for the reasons mentioned.

It’s been ten years since I moved from Türkiye to Italy, even though it was not for the reasons you’ve mentioned.

I’ve moved to an island that is very traditional and rooted in feudalism, which has similarities with Türkiye. I have also seen many friends like Gizem moving away from Türkiye, not only because of authoritarianism and oppression but because the climate in the country depresses you. It’s a no-future country that has always been and always will be in the middle of conflicts.

Before moving away, I couldn’t see this; moving away from Istanbul wasn’t in my plans, but life happened, and I did.

The problem is, you’re depressed in your home country because of all the oppression you’re experiencing, but when you move away, the problem just switches, because now you have to build a home and find a place to put down roots, but also face racism almost every single day of your life.

After moving to Sardinia, you started the post-punk band Gentilesky. I know you’re also a visual artist, and the band’s name connects to art and painting. Could you talk about Gentilesky’s origins, the story behind the name, and your own visual art practice?

After moving to Cagliari, I became friends with Claudio, Andrea, and Simone. They’re all part of this really mixed-up scene that exists in Sardinia; they’ve been playing in bands like The Rippers, Thee Oops, Raw Rave Groove, Sushi Corner, and so many more.

Around COVID, we started talking about starting a new band, and so it happened. In a short time, we finished writing our first album, and the closing track, “Ways of Seeing,” got us thinking about the band’s name: a salute to the underrated Baroque painter Artemisia Gentileschi. She was incredibly talented, an influence on her contemporaries, yet the world talks about her rape and rapist more than her work. So we chose the name Gentilesky.

Many English-speaking people tend to call it Gentile Sky, but it’s actually pronounced jen-tee-LES-kee.

My visual art practice is based on printmaking. I do silkscreen printing, monotypes, and relief printing, as well as a lot of Xerox art and ink drawings. I make all the artwork for the band, from album artwork to posters to merch, and I also screenprint our merch.

After a few listens, Dream really started to grow on me. Could you talk about the album’s lyrics and the ideas behind Gentilesky’s music? I’ve seen comparisons to bands such as Gang of Four, but what influences have you and the other members brought to the band’s sound?

We’re all influenced by different genres under the punk umbrella, but we all love post-punk bands like Gang of Four, hence the constant mention, ahah. When we first entered the rehearsal room, we had post-punk in mind, but what happened next was that we created our sound in just a few practices together. For me, Au Pairs is a big influence, along with anarcho (post-)punk bands.

Dream is, in a way, a soundtrack for the end of the world; the lyrics talk about heartbreak and living in post-truth times, and the songs are anxious and sometimes transcendental (as punk can get).

What is the local scene in Cagliari like, and does Gentilesky play many shows there? Are there any venues, collectives, or other DIY projects in the city and across Sardinia that you think are worth checking out?

The scene in Cagliari, and in Sardinia in general, is really small but still resisting. I would say the hardcore scene is more active than the punk scene, but in the end, all the scenes are entangled.

Venue-wise, Cagliari suffers a lot, and it’s actually one of the reasons why it’s so hard to organize concerts here. We try to play in Sardinia a few times a year, but we play more in continental Italy.

Piovono Pietre Concerti organizes some cool concerts and festivals. Gheisi Festival is the true DIY organization, I would say.

X-Nipples (our guitar player Claudio’s other KBD/hardcore punk band), Furgone, Collapse, Hold Me Tight, Sbrokko Atipico, Post Coital Tristesse, and Ugly Sounds are some of the many bands I can mention here.

The “Antipode” project has highlighted the immense diversity of artists and punk bands across the SWANA region and its growing diaspora. Do you think people who have migrated from the region have brought new perspectives to the scenes they have joined? Has European punk become less overwhelmingly “white” and privileged as a result, or do many of the same barriers and inequalities remain?

Antipode has done and is still doing an amazing job bringing all these people together, and I am forever grateful to Doğa for the work she is doing.

I definitely think people immigrating to white Europe bring their own perspectives and ways of doing things, and that’s incredibly valuable. But I still believe that even though things are changing slowly, European punk is overwhelmingly white, privileged, and dominated by cis men.

I’m grateful to Antipode, as this project, run by a young woman, brought together a scene that was scattered across the West.

Last month I was at the second Antipode Festival in Istanbul, and I confessed to Doğa something I’ve learned from her and this project: as an immigrant living in a less white part of Europe, when I start to feel lonely, I have to remember that all these people like me exist somewhere on this cold continent, that we’re actually never alone. That is one of the strongest feelings I’ve felt, and it’s based on solidarity and hope.

Thanks a lot for taking the time to answer my questions. Is there anything else you’d like to add?

Thank you so much for this interview; it really means a lot, as I follow and enjoy your work. Thanks for your patience with me, too!

I would simply add: Free Palestine, Lebanon, Sudan, Congo, Yemen, and Ukraine from ongoing genocides and wars, and free the white world from its racism and fascism.