Dev Assolist SEVİM TUNA Kansere Yenildi. At Üstünde Sahneye Çıkan, Soyunup Poz Veren İlk Assolist...

#oldies #nostalgia #art #music #sevimtuna #tsm #turksanatmuzigi #headliner #casino #maksim #cinema #film #series #yesilçam #news #agenda #breakingnews #lastpart The artist, who left her mark on Turkish Classical Music with songs like "He Who Travels to Baghdad Has No Friends" and "God Builds the Nest of the Strange Bird on the Baghdad Road" and "Oh God, Hear My Voice, Who Hasn't Forgotten My Heart with Your Love" and "Love Dream, Hush, Hush, My Love", had three marriages, tying the knot with Mustafa Tuna, Sami Güçlüer, and Halit Pekpak, but she was unable to find happiness in any of these marriages. In the '80s, however, music hall culture had changed, and the excitement it once held was gone. Sevim Tuna, unable to bear this stagnation and disrespect, left the stage. She describes her departure in her characteristic words as follows: "In 1956, I gave my first concert in Ankara and was met with great enthusiasm. My late start in music was because my family didn't approve. I married at 15 and became a mother at 16, and after that, my musical career began. I began performing at the Luna Park Music Hall in Istanbul and became a soloist. There wasn't a single music hall or soloist in Turkey I hadn't worked at. I left the music hall in '85. There were no more music halls like I wanted; the artists changed, the musicians, the music culture itself. Everything has changed from the past to the present. The emotions in the pieces have changed; everything was more beautiful in the past." The audience was better, too; they understood both good and bad. The audience was respectful, and we were very respectful of the audience. But things changed in the '80s. I used to never go on stage without checking in with the families at the front tables, but lately, the presence of some mafia-type men, prayer beads in hand, who would come alone had been bothering me. An incident I experienced had upset me greatly. While I was on stage, a man who was now a well-known figure called me over, and I went. He handed me a bullet; it was the first time I'd ever seen one. I took it and, unsure of what to do, put it in my chest. It turned out he wanted me to sing the song "Kurusun ata ata biter." I realized that the stage wasn't for me anymore, and the casino thing was over for me. Neither I could save the casino, nor could they save me. I lived everything to the fullest. I'll be going abroad to continue the remainder of my treatment. I want to sell my house in Bebek and buy a house with a garden in Güney, where I want to live quietly and surrounded by nature for the rest of my life. I was a woman who dressed sexy on stage. I used to perform oriental shows on stage. But the women who came to see me weren't jealous of their husbands. Because there was no ulterior motive in my gaze. There were many flirtatious people. When I went on stage at the Ankara Göl Casino, I couldn't leave through the main entrance; cars would wait outside. I'd cross the street by boat through the back door. In our time, a flower, a daisy, or a three-cent coin seed were the most beautiful feelings. Material possessions didn't exist back then. The world was more beautiful, the weather was beautiful, the people were beautiful, love was more beautiful, and life was beautiful. These beautiful things continued in the early years of the casino scene. But later, boxes of diamond rings would come to me, but I wouldn't accept them. Once the jewelry started arriving, things went awry. People started expecting more. The latest model Mercedes arrived with its packaging. The era of gifts for artists began with me. There were no televisions or cassettes back then. People were happy with small things. Everything became material, and emotions disappeared. That's why beautiful compositions aren't made as they used to be. People come out and sing meaningless pieces. The pieces we used to dismiss as arabesques are now just diamonds compared to what we have today. Pieces are being made asking where I am, where I am." Years pass, and our longing for the 60s, 70s, and 80s grows ever stronger. During that period, we were losing actors and singers one by one. Sevim Tuna became one of those who joined that bandwagon in 1999. Her hair had fallen out due to chemotherapy. Wearing a wig, she yearned for the good old days. She had been fighting for her life in the grip of lung cancer for a year. On March 4, 1999, numerous artists participated in the Sevim Tuna Commemoration Night organized by the Turkish Heart Foundation at the Levent Kırca-Oya Başar Theater. Tuna shed tears at the night, saying, "I consider myself lucky to be saying goodbye to my art career, to which I devoted 40 years, in such a magnificent way."