‘Externalizing the noise in my head’ – a conversation with Lal Tuna

The interview is part of a series featuring artists from the Bordeaux scene, set to appear in both outlets in the coming months. The French version of the interview is available on the Bordeaux-based media outlet Le Type here.

Hi Lal! You have a rather unique background. Could you start by introducing yourself and explaining how you ended up in Bordeaux?

Lal Tuna: My name is Lal, and I’m from Turkey, from Istanbul. I’ve been living in France for two years now. I’m a student at the Fine Arts School in Bordeaux. Music isn’t my primary practice—I mostly work with photography, videos, short films… and also music! I don’t have a favorite medium; I can’t seem to settle into a specific genre.

Your EP Not Until the Innocence Lost is Found was released on September 13. What were your inspirations for this project?

Originally, I’m more of a folk singer/songwriter. But this project has nothing to do with that! At first, I wanted to record my folk album. I’ve been meaning to do it for a while now… In fact, I sometimes sing live in small venues, in basements, open mics. The songs I perform in those settings are the ones I wanted to record.

In the end, I recorded the EP last May. That month was a bit strange—so much was happening in my life. I was really angry about a lot of things. I thought to myself, “Actually, I want to make a drone album!” So, my influences for this project were Sunn O))) and Boris. Boris, in particular, was a project that had made too much of an impression on me as a teenager, to see a drone metal band led by a woman, given that noise music is a very “masculine” field. Then there’s The Microphones, which inspired me to mix drone with folk on the album.

We discovered your project through the track When I Was Six, They Told Me I Had The Finger Of The Devil, which you premiered and we found sublime. What role does it play in your project, and why did you choose it as the first track to introduce the album?

It’s the only track with a violin in it. I actually have a complicated history with that instrument. When I was in Turkey, I was studying classical violin at the conservatory. It was quite a traumatic experience. It left a deep mark on my childhood—the teachers were really abusive, both verbally and physically. Not in the sense of physical aggression, but for example, they’d throw bottles at us…

I left the conservatory when I was 13 and hadn’t touched a violin since. That meant nine years without playing. It was very emotional for me to use that instrument again, one I had neglected for so long. Emotional, but also challenging, because my time at the conservatory really affected me—for example I’ve never seen myself as a musician. That period left me feeling very insecure. That’s why I chose to release this track first. It carries a strong emotional weight and holds deep significance for me.

Can you walk us through your creative process? How long did it take you to make this album?

For this project, I started by experimenting with sounds and finding new ways to play the guitar. Then I moved on to composing. Normally, when I write songs, I begin with the lyrics and then figure out the melody or composition. But for this EP, there’s only one track with lyrics, and that was the last thing I added. I recorded the entire album first, and then I recorded the vocal parts.

This time, I was more inspired by the instruments. I wanted to make an EP solely with my guitar and violin. I even see my EP as a love letter to my guitar. The rest came together in about three weeks—mostly at night when everything was quiet, and I had nothing else to do. It felt like being on a residency, except I was at home for three weeks straight!

Did you aim to explore a specific theme in this EP?

Not really—it was mostly a way to externalize the noise in my head. That might sound a bit edgy, but it’s the truth. I just wanted to let all my emotions out. I wouldn’t say it’s a depressing EP or that I was depressed; it’s more of an atmosphere I shaped in connection with my emotions. I tried to give it a slightly bitter tone—not too depressing, but not joyful either. It’s somewhere in between. Drone music is actually a very meditative kind of music, so recording the album was a relaxing experience.

The video accompanying the track you mentioned is very unique. It has an uncommon and intriguing atmosphere. Can you tell us more about it?

I made that video last December. Video-making is part of my practice, and I create a lot in this style. The Barbie doll is a subject I often work with. I create my own doll—or dolls. In a way, it’s a “perfect” alter ego, but one that’s completely untrue.

I love using the texture of blood—not as something violent, but as something natural. It’s what we have inside our bodies, and I enjoy contrasting that in my videos. Especially in this one, I liked the contrast between a plastic object that bleeds—a very natural process—and the fact that it’s still plastic. This video was an experiment in playing with those textures.

Your EP was released through the Bordeaux-based labels Nothing is Mine Records and amoursisterhood. How did you connect with them?

I got to know amoursisterhood through Bordeaux’s art scene. Since I moved here, I’ve attended many concerts and met lots of musicians, artists, and visual artists. We met in that environment. I was the one who asked them if they were interested, and they said yes. The label releases a lot of experimental albums—things that aren’t very commercial, more “underground,” you could say. So it was a natural fit.

As for Nothing is Mine, it’s the label run by my partner, Hugo Carmouze, the singer of Opinion. He’s also the one who mixed and mastered my EP. They co-released the EP together with amoursisterhood.

How would you describe your musical evolution since you started working on your EP?

I’ve learned a lot about recording/engineering since then! Starting with how to build such immersive soundscapes…  I’ve been playing guitar for 6 years, and I’ve got a lot of habits that I had to break while recording the EP. In rock or folk, we usually have chords played with a specific rhythm. Here, since it’s almost ambient, the pace is much slower. That slowness influenced the entire creative process.

You’re from Turkey, a country you left a little over two years ago. Can you tell us about that decision and your perspective on the Turkish art scene?

I’ve always wanted to come to France, partly out of a love for travel. It’s hard for me to talk about the Turkish art scene as a whole since I mostly know Istanbul, where I grew up. In Istanbul, there’s a very diverse cultural scene, with many different music scenes and a sometimes deeply underground vibe. There are a lot of artistic initiatives. The 1990s are often considered the golden era for the city.

Recently, with the far-right government, artists have started to self-censor. Often, it’s not direct censorship—it’s just that artists begin to lose the energy to express certain things. As a result, the scene hasn’t been very active lately, which is unfortunate.

What role has the Beaux-Arts school in Bordeaux played in the development of your artistic project?

For my EP, I mostly learned through my friends who are musicians. They were the ones who supported me throughout the project. At school, I focus more on my visual art practice. The Beaux-Arts is an interesting institution. It’s very free—you can do and discover a lot of things but it’s easy to get lost in it too.

What are your plans after the EP? Do you already have ideas for another album, collaborations, or concerts?

I’ve asked a few friends to play with me on stage, and we’re preparing a live set to start doing concerts. I’m so excited! And I also still want to record my folk-rock album!