Benim Adim Orman (I, The Forest) is not a remake of her previous effort, Can Kiriklari (Pieces of a Shattered Soul) nearly 4 years ago. That work was a heavier form of metal, more pronounced guitars, harder vocals. Not that they don’t appear here, they do, just not as often. Sebnem is an intellectual’s vocalist; her lyrics are the heart and soul of her music. They tell stories; they reflect an intellectual perspective on reality, driven by life’s events and by one musician’s reactions to and interpretation of those events. Consequently, we in the West lose much by not understanding those lyrics. But the emotion is universal, as is the music. Sebnem crosses the divide of cultures and her music transcends the limitations of language. And this is the magic of Sebnem Ferah.

Most of my information for this review comes from a Turkish source at the Sebnem Ferah Fan Club. They have an English version which makes it a little easier to get specific information and get a look and a listen. Of course, YouTube is full of her music, we’ll point to a few of the appropriate locations shortly.

The title cut, Benim Adim Orman, is a slow, sultry ballad. It speaks to the forest, a different direction from her previous release, which largely focused on water. The song begins with a restrained instrumental line, with Sebnem quietly singing in the background. The vocals are carried over that line as the instruments become more pronounced; Sebnem’s vocals work harder as the song moves forward but return to the soft and melancholy as the song moves ahead. Lyrically a translation may not be exact, but generally follows this direction:

It’s difficult to pick a favorite song with a Sebnem Ferah production, even the artist admits to having difficulty there. Generally, I prefer some of her harder songs, however, the mood developed in some of the more gentle works is hard to ignore. In Yalniz (Alone) Sebnem introduces us to one of the more prevalent themes in this work. Lyrically she asks:

And it is this interest in the stories of life that drive much of the music here. Sebnem admits to a fascination with those who refuse to give up on life, no matter what they have lived through. And this song, which begins with the soft sound of an accordion over lapping waters, moves to the harshness of life. . . and back again, as if explaining this interest. It is this ability to take a story to a complete musical interpretation that is the genius of the artist. A video produced for this song captures this fascination.

Ucurtma (Kite) is another melodic sound, sung over a haunting guitar. Here the songstress talks to her own reality, suggesting she has not written her best song yet. This title is one of the few that features a guitar and it is a good one. The melody is almost a 40s American standard, I can see a certain Chicago redhead singing with a Big Band, only here, that band is a metal band, with an accomplished guitar taking much of the lead. And never was there a singer in Chicago in the 40s looking like this. The dark hair, the eye makeup that enhances the look is found nowhere else in metal. But there is always the far away vision, the attempt to see beyond the close up. And that attempt at vision appears here, as the song suggests an association with a murder, one not known to us in the west but known to those in the Middle East. Beyond that, the song talks to the conscious, a concept Sebnem calls "the only truth in life". Lyrically, she sings:

Istiklal Caddesi Kadar (As Much as Independence Avenue) again moves to a slow waltz. In  the video we are provided a glimpse of the singer, and the band. The song speaks to her love for her local environment in Turkey, one that serves to direct much of her music. And the song reflects that environment, with sounds from the city. Sebnem sings softly, almost wistfully, again over subdued instruments. As the song progresses, the intensity mounts, the flavor moves to a more intense level, but returns to the subdued structure over time. But the movement back and forth continues, this song captures much of the structure of the work, moving back and forth between softer and harder components.

Eski (The Ancient) returns us to the artist’s interest in the understanding of life. It’s interesting to note that many of the songs here feature different instruments, especially at the beginning. Here it’s the guitar and a keyboard selection that introduces the music. There is a Middle Eastern influence here, the guitars sound different than much of what we’re use to in the West. The vocals also offer a different tone and approach to melody. It’s not entirely different from our standard fare; just enough to let you know you’ve left Western Europe and landed somewhere somewhat different.

Atese Yakin (Close to the Fire) talks about death. It’s a personal statement, one that Sebnem refuses to discuss at length. But it is clearly one of the more emotional and beautiful songs on the CD. A soft piano serves to provide structure while a tortured vocal serves to drive the music. Here, we are reminded of the humanity that drives much of Sebnem’s music. Again, it is universal music, something we can understand without understanding a word.

Benim Adim Orman has been a long time coming. But it was worth the wait. And for those not familiar with the work of Sebnem Ferah, there couldn’t be a much better introduction. This is a top female artist, a top talent in any environment. And this work continues to cement the name Sebnem Ferah with those at the absolute top of the genre.

9 / 10