I suppose this is really how it began:

This is my Papa, Celal Ince, doing his dark and Turkish handsome thing, a crackly, out-of-sync reminder of his famous youth. The myth goes that Bela Bartok plucked him out of an olive tree and shipped him to a famous music school, in Instanbul, where he spent his formative years, in disciplined, unyielding training, far away from his home, alone and young, beyond poverty, his only weapon, this voice.

This is what the piano sees when I play.

I am not sure I have inherited such a weapon, but I have inherited something, something that drives me to distraction, something that crops up, even when I have tried to suppress it, a little horse that gallops inside.

I am not famous like my father. I am hardly known in fact.

It may be the material, forlorn, sad, alluding to disorderly mental states, that has been the stave, separating me from legions of fans, or perhaps a perpetual shyness, a pathological insecurity that maybe it is not good. Or I am not good.

Currently my audience is mainly of one (piano), but I was lucky enough to put on a nice show for this guy, asleep, perhaps drunk, outside, taking a snooze on a mattress of convenience.His pants seemed a bit unzipped but it may have been due to the boobs, but I doubt it.

This summer I made an EP, ‘Gabilan’ that contains two singles, Purge & Untrue, with an A and B side each. You can even think of them as 45s if you want to.

Untrue

1)Amnestic (A Side)

2) Song of The Apivore (B Side)

Purge

1) Thrush & Scatter (A Side)

2) Little Hostages (B Side Purge)

If you want you can listen, and let me know what you think, because I am wondering,

Will anyone hear this?

EP (Gabilan) engineered by David Johnson at Tricycle Studios in Chicago.

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