Onur Sertel

Onur Sertel is a solitary romantic, shaped by the deepest melancholy of the 80s, the 90s, and the modern age—an artist who translates the bleeding wounds of his heart into keys. Sailing through the dark ocean of boundless dreams, this composer/musician fearlessly reveals the most fragile, most wounded corners of his soul in every piece he creates.
He was born on January 1, 1993, in İzmir—a city where art and emotion intertwine. From an early age, his sensitivity to sound marked him as more than an ordinary listener; it was the first sign that he would become a storyteller who expresses emotions through notes. His deep interest in piano and violin soon evolved beyond a simple passion and became an essential part of his identity. The unexplainable weight that settled within him during childhood would later reveal itself as a destiny written in music.
At just 14 years old, he encountered one of the turning points of his life. Crossing paths with Turgut Iri was not merely meeting a person—it was meeting his own fate. This connection opened a new door in his musical journey. It was more than a teacher-student relationship; it was a transmission of mastery. Around the same time, he was gifted a synthesizer keyboard, which felt like learning an entirely new language. Under Turgut Iri’s guidance, he rapidly developed his skills in piano and keyboard. His fingers grew faster—but more importantly, his soul grew deeper. Because some things cannot be taught… they can only be felt. He learned to merge technical ability with emotional expression.
The music of the 80s and 90s left indelible marks on Sertel’s soul, and his connection to it goes far beyond nostalgia. The nostalgic atmosphere of synth-pop and the deep grooves of R&B became foundational elements shaping his musical world. For Onur Sertel, the 80s and 90s are not just eras—they are a refuge.
Though it may seem like the music of those decades entered his life later, in truth, it had always been within him. As if he had heard those sounds before he was even born… The vibrating textures of analog synths, the faint hiss of cassette recordings, the hazy melodies blending into the night—these were not merely sounds, but memories from a past whose origin could not quite be traced.
There was a certain loneliness in the synth-pop world of the 80s—a loneliness that looked bright on the surface but carried a deep emptiness within. Onur Sertel found himself in those sounds. Those tones, which seemed digital yet felt profoundly human, mirrored the chaos within him. Every arpeggio, every pad sound echoed like the voice of a soul lost beneath city lights. The cold synths of the 80s merge with the warm fragility of the 90s and the melancholy of modern Turkish emotion. What emerges is not just a style, but a state of being—something that belongs neither fully to the past nor to the present, but exists in between, and therefore feels real.
Beyond all these influences, the essence of his music is rooted in the deeply affecting melancholy of Turkish music. For Onur Sertel, music is not merely a combination of sounds—it is the purest form of emotions overflowing from the heart.
Over time, his compositions evolved into more than melodies; each became a story, a memory, a confession. His music carries the night, the rain, unfinished sentences, and unspoken feelings. Every note bears a fragment of his heart.
His music is not a consolation—it is a mirror, a confession, sometimes a silent scream. Through the power of wordlessness, it draws the listener into their own inner void, lost memories, and faded hopes. A devoted lover of the violin’s tone, Sertel expresses himself not through words but through sound, shaped by a deep and lingering weariness. His compositions do not comfort; instead, they invite listeners to confront their own wounds. His music is the voice of unfinished stories, unspoken words, and feelings that came too late. In every note, there is regret, loneliness, and a quiet acceptance of pain. Everyone who listens finds a piece of themselves in it—because he does not simply make music, he pours himself out.
Today, when Onur Sertel looks at music, he does not merely see change—he feels a rupture. For him, the issue is not nostalgia for “the past being better,” but the replacement of emotion with noise.
In his eyes, music—rushing to keep up with the speed of the modern world—has lost its soul somewhere along the way. Everything is brighter, louder, faster… but not deeper. Songs are played, consumed, and forgotten. They leave no trace. And this, for him, is unacceptable.
Because he believes music is an act of emotional release.

And now, he seeks to rebuild that purity.