Fehmi Kavakcioglu’s Vol. 2: A Folk Odyssey You Didn’t Know You Needed
Man, oh man—this album snuck up on me like a quiet sunrise. Fehmi Kavakcioglu's Vol. 2, released way back in '86 in Switzerland (on no label, which is kinda badass), isn’t just another world music record. It’s one of those hidden gems that feels like it was made for you to stumble across years later, dusty and forgotten, only to realize it’s been waiting all along to blow your mind.
First off, let’s talk about the vibe. This ain’t polished studio magic; it’s raw, earthy, and alive. The mix of folk, world, and country vibes creates this weirdly hypnotic tapestry of sound that sticks to your soul. And yeah, sure, some tracks blend together at first listen—but then there are moments where everything clicks, and holy crap, you're hooked.
Take “Ohto Rabtho,” for example. That track hit me right in the chest. From the opening notes, it feels like stepping into an old storybook—a little mysterious, totally immersive. There’s something about how the melody builds so slowly, almost hesitant, but then BAM, it blooms into this rich, layered thing that feels ancient and new at the same time. I swear, every time I hear it, I imagine myself walking through misty mountains or fields full of wildflowers. Like…whoa. Just whoa.
Then there’s “Lebo Kriho.” Oh, man, this one gets me every single time. It starts with this haunting vocal line that sounds like longing wrapped in prayer. By the halfway mark, the rhythm kicks in harder, pulling you forward like you’re running toward something—or maybe away from it. I dunno what Fehmi’s singing about (Google Translate failed me hard here), but honestly? It doesn’t matter. The emotion cuts straight through language barriers, leaving you breathless and a little teary-eyed.
The rest of the album keeps the magic going too—tracks like “Havino Hurfo” and “Shemsho” have these grooves that just make you want to close your eyes and sway, even if you’re standing in line at the grocery store looking ridiculous. But honestly, isn’t that what great music does? Makes you feel alive in the most unexpected places?
Here’s the kicker though: listening to Vol. 2 feels less like hearing songs and more like eavesdropping on someone’s heart. It’s not perfect—it’s got rough edges, tiny imperfections that remind you real humans made it. And maybe that’s why it resonates so deeply. In a world obsessed with polish and perfection, this album dares to be beautifully flawed.
So here’s my random thought to leave you with: What if Fehmi never expected anyone outside his circle to hear this? What if he recorded it just because he had to, like breathing? If that’s true, then wow…what a gift we’ve been given. Go find this album. Let it mess with your head and heart a little. Trust me—you won’t regret it.
