Mercan Dede believes that when you put digital, electronic sounds together with hand-made, human ones, you can create a universal language capable of uniting old and young, ancient and modern, East and West.  It’s a bold claim, but the Turkish-born and Montreal-based musician/producer/DJ has the career and the music to back it up. When he takes the stage with his group Secret Tribe, he hovers at the side behind his turntables and electronics, occasionally picking up a traditional wooden flute, or ney to float in sweet, breathy melodies, while masters of the kanun (zither), clarinet, darbuka (hand drum) and whatever other instruments he’s decided to include that night, ornament his grooves and spin magical, trance melodies to match the whirling of the group’s spectacular dervish dancer, Mira Burke. 

This contrast between electronica and classical or folkloric arts cuts to the core of the Sufi philosophy that guides this one-of-a-kind artist. “Those things are not really separate,” says Dede. “The essence of Sufism is counterpoint. Everything exists with its opposite. On one side, I am doing electronic music. The other side of that is this really acoustic, traditional music.” Dede doesn’t just bring in any traditional sounds and sights as adornment to his techno beats. He is ever on the lookout for new collaborators, and they might come from any tradition, any country, any generation. For Secret Tribe’s U.S. debut in January, 2004, he flew in three, teenage prodigies of Turkish classical music from Istanbul and two of the pieces they played were improvised during the concert.  “When I choose a musician,” says Dede, “I need to be connected with them in terms of personality, heart-wise we say in Turkey. We should have a similar energy and feeling about life.  The second thing is they need to be down with the technical part of music. Once they’ve done that, you don’t need to worry. They can play anything.”

Mercan Dede and Secret Tribe’s splendid 2002 release Nar realizes this elegant marriage of old and new stunningly. Along with the groups’ spellbinding performances, it is helping them build a worldwide following.  When the group plays in Turkey, they can draw as many as 20,000 people. But for Dede—whose name comes from a minor character in a contemporary Turkish novel—it has been a long, highly unconventional road to success. Raised poor in a Turkish village in the 1970s, Dede recalls the moment when listening to the radio as a six-year-old, he fell in love with the sound of the ney. But even when he moved to Istanbul to study journalism, he could not afford an instrument, so he made his first one from a length of plastic plumbing pipe. Although he eventually found a ney teacher, Dede did not pursue music as a career. He was more deeply involved with photography, and by chance, an official at the Saskatoon Public Library in Canada saw some of his work and invited him to come and do an exhibition.