Sounding the Deep River, "Irmak"

Turkish multi-instrumentalist and songwriter Cem Barış Çetinkayalı, releasing music under variations including Barış Çetinkayalı and baris, presents a profound divergence from standard indie folk structures with the release of his single, "Irmak".

Clocking in at 11 minutes and 48 seconds, "Irmak" (translating from Turkish as "River") functions as a single-track release that fuses acoustic fingerpicking, ambient drone architecture, and subtle Anatolian modal influences. This shift is further enriched by his established background in written poetry, where he demonstrates a sustained preoccupation with natural metaphors and temporal flow.

Interview with Cem Barış Çetinkayalı,

“Irmak (The River)” was created through pure improvisation. What inspired you to trust the moment completely rather than work from a structured composition?

Structured composition often forces you to live in the past or the future of the piece, calculating

the next step. I wanted to exist purely in the absolute present. Trusting the moment completely

wasn’t a choice; it was a necessity to capture a raw, unfiltered stream of consciousness. When

you stop controlling the notes, the music starts telling you where it wants to go.

The piece is connected to spring and the awakening of the earth. Were you trying to capture a specific emotional feeling or more of a natural atmosphere?

It is an organic combination of both, because human emotion and natural seasons are inherently mirrored. I wasn’t trying to paint a literal landscape; I wanted to capture the internal sensation of thaw. It’s that exact transitional moment where the cold rigidity of the past melts away to make room for something soft, warm, and alive.

Why did the image of a crocus become such an important symbol for this

improvisation?

The crocus is the definition of silent resilience. It doesn’t wait for spring to be perfect; it pierces through the remnants of cold snow to claim its existence. “Irmak” carries that exact spirit. This improvisation is built on that quiet, unstoppable urge to break through heavy layers and meet the light. It’s a tribute to those rare, profound encounters that silently stir your soul in the dark, forcing you to bloom when the world is still frozen. No matter how cold the surrounding environment might feel, that spark changes everything.

Improvised music often reveals subconscious emotions. Did anything surprise you

when you listened back to the recording afterward?

What surprised me most was the space between the notes. When you are recording in a state of pure flow, you don’t realize how much weight you are leaving in the silences. Listening back, I realized the track wasn’t just about the guitar playing; it was a map of my own internal purification. It showed me that I had finally learned how to let things breathe and trust the space that connects us.

The electric guitar is often associated with power or distortion, yet “Irmak” feels

fluid and organic. How did you approach the instrument differently for this piece?

The electric guitar holds an immense, untapped fluid warmth when you strip away the aggressive expectations surrounding it. For this piece, I didn’t treat it as a weapon of power or performance. I approached it almost like an acoustic or traditional stringed instrument—focusing on the dynamic touch of the fingers and the organic resonance of the tone. I wanted the electricity to feel like nerve endings, not noise.

The title “The River” suggests movement and transformation. What does the river

symbolize for you personally?

Personally, the river symbolizes the art of non-resistance. A river never wastes its energy fighting the rocks or the bends in its path; it simply adapts, flows around them, and moves forward. It is a symbol of leaving the cluttered, heavy rooms of the past behind and trusting the inevitable journey toward a much vaster ocean.

There’s a strong sense of freedom throughout the recording. How important isspontaneity in your wider creative process?

Spontaneity is the core pillar of my entire creative blueprint—it’s what guides my philosophy. Without it, art becomes a repetitive technical exercise. Spontaneity allows me to bypass the conscious ego and tap into a deeper, more authentic well of creativity. It keeps the music dangerous, alive, and entirely honest.

You describe the track as a journey toward a “New World.” Is that idea rooted more

in personal renewal, spirituality, or society as a whole?

It begins as a deeply personal renewal—a shedding of old weights and internal alignment—but it naturally expands outward. You cannot build or envision a “New World” macroscopically until you have found that core frequency within yourself. It’s an overarching concept where personal transformation, spiritual clarity, and a new collective awareness meet at the same shoreline.

Nature seems central to the emotional core of the piece. Do landscapes and seasons regularly influence the way you create music?

Constantly. I see sonic textures visually before I translate them into melodies. The raw majesty of an open, windswept coastline, the stillness of a cloudy evening, or the changing of seasons dictate the emotional humidity of my music. Nature provides the ultimate cinematic canvas; my guitar simply adds the brushstrokes of my internal reality.

Because the recording is so raw and unfiltered, did you ever feel tempted to refine

or edit it afterward, or was preserving the original moment essential?

The temptation to polish and fix “imperfections” is the ultimate trap of modern production, and I completely rejected it. To edit or refine “Irmak” afterward would be like trying to straighten the natural curves of a river. Preserving the original moment, with all its raw honesty and beautiful flaws, was the only way to keep the spirit of the creation alive.

(•)> That's all, Folks! Check out Irmak on the Pigeon Opinion Playlist