A reflection of the inner personality

The interview was conducted by Deniz Bolat, dramaturge for outreach at the Ruhrtriennale.
 

Deniz Bolat: Your music blends psychedelic rock with traditional Turkish sounds. What inspired you to create this unique fusion? What are your musical roots, and how did you arrive at your distinctive style?

Gaye Su Akyol: I grew up in a place where Turkish classical and Turkish folk music, rock, sub genres of rock, and jazz all existed side by side. When I started creating, the sounds that influenced me, music of Anatolia, rocknroll itself, the poets, writers , philosophy, mythology, sci-fi and ideas that inspired me came together and created this music. I let them clash, collide, and eventually create something that felt authentic and honest. These were the voices that came out of me when I started making music and singing at a very young age, this fusion happened naturally—not as a formula, but as a reflection of who I am deep inside. It’s a way of building my own musical galaxy out of metaphors and contrasts.

It consists inner conflict, my political statement, cultural hybridity and also a journey between times. I grew up in İstanbul, listening to Nirvana, Miles Davis, many psychedelic and rocknroll bands, while at home, Zeki Müren, Müzeyyen Senar, and Ruhi Su were always in the air. When I started making music, a new identity that embraces both the street sounds of Istanbul, the sound of Anatolia and the cosmic echoes of the universe came together.

Many of your lyrics and performances carry strong political and social messages. Do you see your art as a form of resistance? How central is the political dimension to your music?

Art has never been just art. The water you drink and the water you cannot drink, the body you carry, equality of opportunity or opportunities that cannot be reached… Everything is political. So being your authentic self is a manifesto against a world where society tries to make you conform to mediocrity.

In a world where being a woman, being yourself, or simply dreaming of another world is still seen as radical, art becomes an act of resistance. I don’t separate the political from the artistic. Every lyric, every stage performance, every sound I create is a stand — against forgetting, against silence, against apathy.

You often speak about freedom and self-determination. How does your identity as a woman and an artist in a conservative society influence your work?

Being a woman is again already political. And if you’re not just existing but demanding equality, visibility — taking the stage, telling your story in your own voice — you’re shaking the foundations. I have to say, if you're not a white male westerner, you face similar discrimination in all societies around the world. So, rather than pinning this on individual places, we can say that some societies cover it up more professionally and better disguise their internalized misogyny.

The desire to choose my own path and live freely isn’t just personal; it’s part of a collective battle for thousands of years. This desire seeps into every aspect of my work — the words, the visuals, the sound. It makes me both more creative and more defiant.

Which artists have had the biggest influence on you? Are there any specific figures who continue to inspire you today?

People who don't seek approval, who create and don't wait for permission to be themselves are inspirational and inspiration isn’t limited to icons. Sometimes it’s a poem, sometimes a weird film, sometimes a stranger dancing.

But I’m most inspired by the ones who fight those in power in their own way, those who follow the truths they believe in, those who do not mince their words, never repeat themselves, who keep reinventing, album after album, art after art, era after era.

Visual aesthetics play a big role in your work, from your album covers to your stage presence. What does the visual side of your art mean to you?

To me, the stage is a form of universe — not just a concert. Costumes, lights, set design, video art — they’re all part of the narrative. Sometimes so punk, sometimes very poetic, whatever the story of that concert or album is, My brain has a synesthetic mechanism and I want the world to feel and experience it too.

So the album covers, my look, the symbolism I create— they’re all threads in the same tapestry. I’m not just making music — I try to build my own mythology.

In times of political tension and cultural suppression, do you feel a responsibility to speak out through your art? Has that ever put you at risk or made you reconsider your message?

Silence is more dangerous than censorship.

Yes, I’ve faced threats, censorship, pressure. But that doesn’t silence me — it fuels me. 

I know the visibility I have isn’t just mine. I carry voices that have been muted. Because the real danger would be saying nothing at all.

What gives you hope right now; musically, politically, or personally? And what keeps you going in the face of challenges?

For me, real power is this: People who can find their authentic version, make a sound, create, produce, come together with love, act solo or collectively. Hope is hiding there.

Every time we play live, something transforms — even if it’s just for a moment, it’s a tiny, splendid revolution. Whenever someone throws a stone into the sea, these waves come together.

And if we carry that revolution with consistency, passion, and stubbornness, fantasy becomes reality. That belief is my fuel.