Mehmet Aslan - The Sun Is Parallel

The Quietus

The Sun Is Parallel may be one of the finest debuts of 2022, though it seems odd to credit Mehmet Aslan as a debutante when his rising star set off into the heavens several moons ago. The Berlin-based, Swiss-Turkish DJ memorably reworked ‘Mechanical Turk’ by the chess-obsessed Romanian synthpop outfit Karpov Not Kasparov in 2014, and he’s released a number of 12”s since then and rocked Istanbul and Abu Dhabi for Boiler Room, to note just a few of his activities.

None of this is likely to prepare you for the accomplishment of The Sun Is Parallel though. Mixing traditional Turkish and Middle Eastern folk with electro might not be anything new (the dabke of Omar Souleyman; the sonic métissage of Acid Arab, to name but two), but the dovetailing of elements is done with such tasteful panache that at times the cohesive tapestry is simply breathtaking. The textural synthesis works best on tracks with live instrumentation: the distorted break beats of Alican Tezer on ‘Domo’ enhanced by vacillating arpeggios and all nailed down by the spaghetti western guitar twang of Daniel Pankau.

The flamenco singer Niño de Elche heightens the drama on ‘Tangerine’, with Pankau dampening guitar lines as an ominous drone of doom builds the awesomeness as we move into ‘Tangerine Sun’, the second part of the suite. Much sought after drummer-composer Valentina Magaletti also enters the fray, bringing an almost free jazz sensibility to ‘Garden’, though the waves of ambient synths take it to a place that’s even more otherworldly.

There’s a playfulness and a capriciousness to ‘The Sun Is Parallel’, with enough corridors leading to different dimensions to cause a welcome sense of disorientation. The acid funk of ‘Rowndbass Acid’ is followed by an abstract soundscape called ‘If I Can Belong Anywhere’; with the denouement, ‘Everyone Is Also You’ (it’s title taken from an earlier James Baldwin sample) collapsing in on itself like a disintegration loop.

Perhaps the only thing that doesn’t quite work is the use of samples from James Baldwin and R. Murray Schafer; the album seems to espouse openness, understanding, internationalism – laudable but amorphous aims, with the recordings feeling like the aural equivalent of conspicuously-placed brainy quotes. Aside from that small qualm, Aslan is clearly a sonic connoisseur, which is evident in the music he makes. The music by itself speaks volumes. More volumes please, monsieur Aslan.

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A Closer Listen

If rays of sunlight were continuous lines, they would converge at the core of the sun. But considering the great distance between the Sun and Earth, sun rays can more or less be considered parallel from a human perspective. Ancient Greek philosopher Eratosthenes used this premise to prove that the Earth is round (by observing that rays of sunlight hit the Earth at different angles depending on location, which means the Earth’s surface can’t be flat assuming the rays are all parallel). From a humanitarian perspective, the implications of a round Earth shape our existence– we are all together on a single finite sphere, limited by its confines and united by its cohesion. Mehmet Aslan explores this idea of global identity on his debut LP The Sun Is Parallel. Aslan is the perfect man for the job– having been born in Switzerland to Turkish parents and now residing in Berlin, he has connections to three major junctions of international culture. 

The album’s first couple tracks are foreboding and industrial. Uptempo “Rowndbass Acid” serves as a chaser, though it may only be accessible in contrast, perhaps most appealing to a regular Berlin techno raver. Still, it’s light enough for any casual listener to appreciate the punchy beat. The “Rowndbass” party comes to a sudden halt though, as “If I Can Belong Anywhere” creeps in slowly and hauntingly. A section of tribal sounding drums emerges, segueing into a sample of a James Baldwin speech. “Everyone you see is also you,” Baldwin declares, conjuring Eastern ideas of the continuity of all life and consciousness. Baldwin goes on as a lugubrious soundscape rises in support. “No one’s ever wanted, really, to be free,” he says. 

Niño de Elche wails quiveringly on “Tangerine,” “Los lamentos de un cautivo”– the cries of a captive. This captive certainly appears keen on freedom. He sings of a sea which seems to swallow lives as its waters rise. Are humans the captives, the captors, or both? Intriguingly, “Tangerine Sun” follows “Tangerine,” the former a longer instrumental version of the latter, sounding more desolate as it’s devoid of human voice, like a desert parched by an orange burning sun. 

The record is full of eclectic cultural allusions. “Private Soundscape” samples R. Murray Schafer, a Canadian composer known for his study of acoustic ecology– the relationships between sound and the natural environment. “Kakasui” is a reference to an anime character– an environmentalist monk who retreats to the mountains. While internationality is a motif here, the album draws even more attention to a different kind of bond. What unites all of humankind is our planet, our shared reliance on shared resources. The outro returns to James Baldwin’s speech, refraining “Everyone you see is also you,” and thus The Sun is Parallel comes full circle. The end is just the same as the beginning, like a journey around the world. If one walks in a single direction from a point on Earth, one will end up right where one started; proof of the limits of our terrain– so easily and alarmingly overlooked.  (Maya Merberg)