Metamodern Oscillation and the Artisan Ethic: The Poetics and Practice of the Band Adamlar

The first quarter of the twenty-first century has been defined by interlocking global crises – ecological disasters, economic turbulence, geopolitical instability, and the tremors of the digital revolution. This volatile context challenges the postmodern condition and its “End of History” thesis (Fukuyama 1992). The core tenets of postmodernism as analyzed by Fredric Jameson (1991) – depthlessness, the waning of affect, and the weakening of historicity – prove inadequate for the new wave of sincerity and existential searching that has emerged, especially in Turkey post-2010. As history resumes and ideological conflicts sharpen, a new cultural logic is required to understand the contemporary “structure of feeling” (Van den Akker and Vermeulen 2017, pp. 1–3; Williams 1977). This study employs the theory of metamodernism, pioneered by Timotheus Vermeulen and Robin van den Akker (2010), as a framework for analyzing this new sensibility, which consolidated throughout the 2000s (Van den Akker et al. 2019, p. 43).

The fundamental dynamic of metamodernism is a continuous oscillation between modernist sincerity and postmodern irony (Vermeulen and van den Akker 2010, p. 6). This is not a synthesis but a pendular motion, giving rise to what can be understood as a postironic project: a broad cultural effort to move beyond the “disturbing dimensions” of postmodernism while preserving its “critical insights” (Konstantinou 2017, p. 88). One prominent artistic strategy within this project is the New Sincerity, a performative “commitment to emotion” where artists adopt a “deliberate naiveté” (Siltanen 2020, p. 980) in an attempt to be “at once ironic and sincere” (Saltz 2010). The ontological source for this is Plato’s concept of metaxy, a state of being caught “in-between” opposing poles like perfection and imperfection, or meaning and meaninglessness (van den Akker and Vermeulen 2017, p. 10). Suspended in this “both-neither dynamic,” the metamodern subject acts with an “informed naivety” or “pragmatic idealism,” proceeding “as if” a grand narrative could be true, even while knowing it may be unattainable (Vermeulen and van den Akker 2010, p. 5).

The literature on metamodernism, however, reveals three fundamental gaps. First, a geographical gap: analyses have focused on Western Europe and North America (e.g., Holland 2013; Toth 2010), leaving contexts like Turkey mostly uncharted. Second, a generic gap: studies have privileged narrative fiction like the novel (Gibbons 2017; James and Seshagiri 2014), while the implications for poetry remain under-investigated (Siltanen 2020; Yousef 2018). Finally, a methodological gap is apparent: analyses often focus on the artistic “product,” overlooking the production practice and the artist’s ethos of craftsmanship. This study addresses these three lacunae by integrating the analysis of aesthetic form with the ethics of production. It applies metamodern theory to Turkish lyrical poetry to analyze the text, while employing Sjoerd van Tuinen’s (2017) concept of the “artisanal turn” – a key feature of the metamodern sensibility – to analyze the creative practice behind it.

Music, which offers an ideal case study to fill this tripartite gap, has been one of the mediums that most directly articulates the affective intensity of this new condition. This article aims to analyze the artistic production of the band Adamlar, one of the most notable and poetically rich actors in Turkey’s post-2010 alternative rock scene, through the theoretical lens of metamodernism. Although the band’s origins can be traced to vocalist Tolga Akdoğan’s 2011 solo project, Halimden Konan Anlar, the collective identity that emerged in 2014 under the name Adamlar (The Men) can be read as an initial sign of a metamodern sensibility (Yapıcı 2024). Akdoğan explains that the name was inspired by Cengiz Üstün’s cartoon “Adamlar Anti Klişe Timi” (The Men Anti-Cliché Team) and maintains an ironic distance from the masculine cliché of affirmation “adamsın” (lit., “you are the man”), prevalent in popular culture (“Derdi, Tasayı Paylaşıyoruz,”, 2024, ‘Hepsi Çok Değerli’ section, para. 5). While this reflects a postmodern anti-cliché stance, Akdoğan clarifies that the name’s intention is not masculine but rather universal, a point he supports by tracing its etymological root to “âdem” (human being), which points to a modernist focus on humanity (“Derdi, Tasayı Paylaşıyoruz,”, 2024). Thus, from its very inception, the band’s name encapsulates the oscillation between postmodern irony and modernist sincerity.

While Adamlar, led by Akdoğan, presents a musically eclectic structure (blending rock, funk, blues, and traditional motifs), the band’s true originality lies in the dense, complex, and contradictory narratives of its lyrics. This study’s treatment of these lyrics as poetic texts is justified by Akdoğan’s own description of his creative process. He states, “Everything that happens with us develops through poetry,” and defines his work not as conventional “lyrics” but rather as “more of a poetic narrative” (Meriç 2019, para. 18). The band’s lyrics explore the existential crises, social absurdities, relational deadlocks, and the search for meaning of the contemporary urban individual, employing both sharp irony and profound sincerity and vulnerability. At the core of Adamlar’s poetic output is a constant search for a message, whether overt or implicit; this study therefore undertakes a thematic analysis of their lyrics to uncover this discourse on society and the individual. These messages are delivered through various modes, such as internal reckonings, critiques of social hysteria, or metaphors of escape. Although a sense of burnout – generated by postmodern superficiality and alienating conditions – is palpable in the lyrics, the band’s artistic constitution invariably retains a potential for hope and perseverance. This represents a stance that, as Vermeulen and van den Akker (2010, p. 5) note when defining the metamodern discourse, exhibits the persistence to pursue an “impossible possibility.”

Through close reading of selected lyrics from albums Eski Dostum Tankla Gelmiş (2014), Rüyalarda Buruşmuşuz (2016), Dünya Günlükleri (2019), and the EP/album Harekete Kimse Mâni Olamaz (2021/2023) and interviews, this article advances a two-part analysis. It first examines Adamlar’s poetics to reveal the core dynamics of the metamodern sensibility. It then analyzes the band’s production practice to show how their ethos of craftsmanship grounds this aesthetic. The central thesis is that Adamlar’s work represents a holistic metamodern attitude, residing not only in a poetics of oscillation between cynicism and sincerity but, more fundamentally, in a production philosophy that regards the creative act as a practice of “reconstruction.” This analysis thus contributes to metamodern theory by demonstrating how this contemporary sensibility exists in both aesthetic expression (poetics) and a production ethic (craftsmanship).

The lyrics of the band Adamlar, penned by Tolga Akdoğan, present the existential crises, social alienation, and the search for meaning experienced by the urban subject in the first quarter of the 21st century amidst a state of intense affective and cognitive turmoil. Emerging in the post-2010 era, Adamlar’s lyrical approach operates within a documented historical trajectory of Turkish rock, which evolved from the overtly political, counter-hegemonic lyricism of its modernist phase (c. 1960–1980) to the more individualized and often depoliticized narratives of the post-1980 neoliberal, postmodern era (Ongur and Develi 2022; Söylemez 2022). Their poetics, as analyzed below, can be understood as a distinctly metamodern negotiation of these legacies. The abrupt shifts frequently encountered in these texts – between ironic distance and sincere expression, despair and naive expectation, a desire for depth and an awareness of superficiality – constitute the fundamental dynamic of this poetics. This section of the analysis will demonstrate how selected poems from Adamlar’s discography combine a modern desire for meaning with a postmodern awareness, and how, in the process, they stage a metamodern sensibility by persistently searching for a stable identity while simultaneously acknowledging its impossibility.

“Bi Öyle Bi Böyle” (One Way, Then Another), from the band’s debut album Eski Dostum Tankla Gelmiş (2014), addresses the metamodern subject’s identity crisis and ontological uncertainty on an almost programmatic level. A close reading reveals how the poem’s content embodies the precarious subject of contemporary capitalism, while its form performatively induces the metamodern oscillation in the listener. The poem reveals the futility of the subject’s effort to define the self and the contradictory attitude toward this condition in the following lines (Adamlar 2014):

One way, then another, tell me who I am if you figure it out

A stone on my back, an empty box in my hand

I can love this game, if I so choose

[…]

Sometimes I say one thing, sometimes I say, “Kadir!”

Would I be happier if I were a monkey?

Or am I already the ass of a monkey in human guise?

[…]

A standard lout?

A secret resolve?

Black white, straight crooked, Ahmet Mehmet, who am I?

The poem’s title and refrain, “Bi öyle bi böyle,” immediately signal the metamodern oscillation, but this is not merely a philosophical problem; it is a socio-economic one. The plea, “tell me who I am if you figure it out,” is the quintessential cry of the flexible, precarious individual whose identity is no longer stable or self-determined but is contingent on external validation. This subject is burdened by insecurity (“a stone on my back”) yet simultaneously presented with the constant, hollow potential of the next opportunity (“an empty box in my hand”). In this context, the declaration, “I can love this game, if I so choose,” becomes a profound articulation of the postironic survival strategy. It is the voice of the project-based worker under neoliberalism, who is required to perform “a certain engagement, albeit temporary and partial” (Boltanski and Chiapello 2007, as cited in Konstantinou 2017, p. 101). The subject knows his condition is an arbitrary “game,” but he must actively choose to invest in it with a form of “contingent belief” to remain functional (Konstantinou 2017, p. 102). This stance, a blend of cynical awareness and willed sincerity, is the very core of the postironic project.

While the poem’s content portrays this precarious subjectivity, its poetic form actively stages the experience for the listener. The most striking moment is the violent tonal rupture between the philosophical question, “Would I be happier if I were a monkey?” and the vulgar retort, “Or am I already the ass of a monkey in human guise?” This deliberate vacillation between sincere existential inquiry and aggressive self-deprecation distinguishes the poem from the more singular lyrical stances of previous eras in Turkish rock; the overt protest songs of the 1970s often posed social questions with an unwavering gravity (Söylemez 2022), while the post-1980 neoliberal turn saw a marked increase in more fragmented, apolitical lyrical content (Ongur and Develi 2022). By refusing either pure sincerity or pure irony, the song builds an expectation of sincere vulnerability, prompting the listener to model a particular mental state for the speaker (thoughtful, pained), only to shatter that model with an aggressive, ironic self-deprecation. This forces the listener into a cognitive bind, making it impossible to stabilize the speaker’s intent. This creates a “coercive frame” (Eshelman 2008, as cited in Siltanen 2020, p. 990) that traps the listener in the very oscillation being described, inducing the metamodern tension rather than just narrating it. The irony here is not the detached, apathetic irony of postmodernism; it is a desperate coping mechanism for a sincere existential pain. Thus, when the subject concludes with a list of irresolvable binaries (“A standard lout?/A secret resolve?”), it functions as a direct challenge to the listener, who, having been cognitively destabilized, is equally incapable of fixing the speaker’s identity. The subject’s state of being in metaxy – that perpetual tension between opposing poles (van den Akker and Vermeulen 2017, pp. 10–11) – is thereby transferred from the text to the receiver. The poem’s content embodies the postironic subject of project-based capitalism (Konstantinou 2017), while its poetic form constructs the metamodern experience through cognitive-performative strategies (Siltanen 2020), demonstrating how a structure of feeling is translated into a tangible, lived reality.

The identitarian oscillation established in the first poem is transposed to a more internal and emotional dimension in “Ah Benim Hayatım” (Oh, My Life), from the second album Rüyalarda Buruşmuşuz (2016). In contrast to the “depthlessness” and “waning of affect” that Jameson (1991) associated with postmodernism, metamodernism is characterized by a distinctive return of affect and depth (van den Akker and Vermeulen 2017). “Ah Benim Hayatım” showcases the complex nature of this return (Adamlar 2016):

How beautifully I grieve sometimes, like gazing at a shop window at night

A fault line in my heart, oh my life

I filled it up, emptied it out, it still remains incomplete

A fault line in my heart, oh my life

I measured it, sized it, weighed it, it fits nowhere

[…]

I told myself to let it be, but it wouldn’t

You and I, we were utterly burned

[…]

How beautifully I grieve sometimes, like smelling an ornamental flower

The song’s central metaphor, “A fault line in my heart,” is a direct challenge to postmodern depthlessness. While such a phrase could, in another context, be a straightforward romantic lament, its function here is distinctly metamodern because it is immediately juxtaposed with the self-aware, aestheticizing performance of that pain. This approach is neither the direct, unmediated sincerity of the folk-inspired themes of the modernist Anatolian Pop era (Baysal 2018), nor is it the complete “lyrical unresponsiveness” that characterized much of the post-1980 period (Ongur and Develi 2022, p. 125). Instead, Adamlar actively performs the search for depth. A fault line signifies a deep, unseen geological tension beneath the surface, capable of rupturing it at any moment; it thus emphasizes the depth, instability, and fragility of the subject’s inner world. The subject attempts to rationalize this inner world with objective terms (“I measured it, sized it, weighed it”), but this effort fails (“it fits nowhere”), as the internal experience transcends rational categories. This condition can be explained by Timotheus Vermeulen’s (2015, 2017) concept of “depthiness,” where depth is experienced not as an objective reality but as a performatively constructed or enacted possibility. According to Vermeulen (2017), “the modernists excavated depth from the surface, the postmodernists flattened it by means of the surface, the metamodernists apply depth onto the surface” (p. 149). The “fault line,” in this sense, is the performance of an internal depth that is felt but cannot be fully mapped or controlled.

The performative nature of this feeling of depth is further clarified in the song’s recurring lines: “How beautifully I grieve sometimes, like gazing at a shop window at night/… like smelling an ornamental flower.” Here, the profoundly sincere emotion of grief is paradoxically aestheticized by being labeled “beautiful.” Experiencing this grief “like gazing at a shop window” implies that the subject is observing their own emotions from the outside, as an object on display. The subsequent image of “smelling an ornamental flower” – an object that evokes artificiality rather than nature, often with a synthetic or non-existent scent – takes this performativity a step further. To “smell” it is to mimic an authentic experience (smelling a natural flower). The subject thus not only watches their sorrow but also enacts a gesture of authentic emotion through an inauthentic object (Vermeulen 2015). This paradoxical aestheticization of grief marks a clear departure from both the unadorned emotional expressions of early Turkish folk-rock and the often-cynical detachment prevalent in the postmodern era. It represents an emotional manifestation of the metamodern oscillation: the subject is both genuinely grieving (modern sensibility) and, by distancing the self, observing that grief as an aesthetic object and performing it through an artificial gesture (postmodern distance). This contradictory state exemplifies what Huber and Funk see as the fundamental paradox of authenticity: “mediated immediacy” (Zeller 2010, as cited in Huber and Funk 2017, p. 155). As they note, citing Culler, for an authentic experience to be had, it “must be marked as authentic, but when it is marked as authentic it is mediated, a sign of itself, and hence lacks the authenticity of what is truly unspoiled,” (Culler 1988, as cited in Huber and Funk 2017, p. 155). Consequently, the song’s subject can only experience their most immediate emotion through the very aesthetic gestures that render it mediated.

The sincere confessions in the poem’s later sections (“I told myself to let it be, but it wouldn’t/You and I, we were utterly burned”) indicate moments where ironic distance is abandoned in search of more direct communication. Such a raw confession shifts the listener from a passive position, demanding a response. Huber and Funk (2017) argue that structurally complex novels trigger the reader’s responsibility to “reconstruct” (p. 152) the text. This poem, however, achieves a similar effect not through formal play but by creating a moment of emotional vulnerability. The abrupt suspension of ironic performance, replaced by naked pain, issues a call for empathic witnessing from the listener. This is the lyrical text’s own method of realizing what theorists define as the goal of “intersubjective communication for human connection” (Huber and Funk 2017, p. 153). In “Ah Benim Hayatım,” the subject’s direct articulation of failure is an attempt to convey an authentic experience without an ironic shield, and thereby, to construct a shared depth with the listener.

The metamodern oscillation, previously explored through individual identity and emotional depth, is reframed in the context of urban space and social relations in “Doldum” (I’m Full), from the third album Dünya Günlükleri (2019). The poem treats the alienation created by the contemporary city and the search for an exit from its chaos through dense and complex imagery (Adamlar 2019):

We’re intertwined, but not really together

Our very existence is rented out to lies

[…]

Fishing lines are cast in the crowd, there’s a seesaw in my mind

Fire and rain, one after the other

[…]

The rich are sly, the oppressed ambitious, darkness became our kin

If only it were spring, we’d be lying on the roof

[…]

Brains are boiling, endlessly for the seesaw

Clocks are the alarm for the race, the end of the marathon is a swamp

The poem opens by positing the fundamental paradox of urban experience: “We’re intertwined, but not really together.” This line depicts a state where physical proximity coincides with emotional distance, and authentic social bonds are replaced by false relations (“Our very existence is rented out to lies”). Differing from postmodernism’s playful and superficial relationship with the city, this expresses an intense discomfort with urban depthlessness and a feeling of being overwhelmed (“Doldum”). This discomfort is embodied by the poem’s central metaphor of the “seesaw” (tahterevalli). The line “there’s a seesaw in my mind” and its repetition is one of the most explicit and powerful representations of metamodern oscillation. The seesaw signifies a constant, dynamic movement between two extremes, underscoring the impossibility of equilibrium (Vermeulen and van den Akker 2010, p. 6). The subject experiences this continuous back-and-forth between opposites as “Fire and rain, one after the other,” reflecting not only the chaotic nature of the external world but also the subject’s internal response to it: “Brains are boiling, endlessly for the seesaw.” The mind is brought to a boiling point by this perpetual oscillation.

The poem’s social critique is also subject to this oscillation. The lines “The rich are sly, the oppressed ambitious, darkness became our kin” sharply delineate social polarization and moral decay. Yet, this critique is immediately followed by “If only it were spring, we’d be lying on the roof,” a line that expresses an unexpected sincerity, naivety, and a desire for simple happiness. This abrupt tonal shift is characteristic of metamodernism. It gives meaning to the concept of the “aesth-ethical,” a term used by Vermeulen and van den Akker (2010, p. 2) to describe a new artistic tendency that moves away from postmodern aesthetic principles toward notions like reconstruction, myth, and metaxy. According to Gibbons (2015, p. 31), this aesth-ethical commitment characterizes metamodernist writing that opposes the injustices of global capitalism, is conscious of changing social relations in a globalizing world, and hopes for a sustainable future, however unattainable. The subject in “Doldum” does not hesitate to express a longing for pastoral simplicity while simultaneously critiquing social darkness a move that contrasts sharply with the direct, counter-hegemonic lyrical style of 1970s Anatolian Rock, which was often more uniform in its denunciatory tone (Ongur and Develi 2022; Söylemez 2022). This is not the singular cynicism of a conventional postmodern protest song but a sincere desire for an alternative mode of being. This desire can also be explained through the concept of “relationality,” which Gibbons emphasizes (Moraru 2011, as cited in Gibbons 2015, p. 31). Relationality signifies the ethical indebtedness and the need for connection among people within the complexity of a globalized world. Although overwhelmed by the city’s chaos, the poem’s subject underscores the importance of interpersonal bonds and solidarity with the line “I have friends who give color to my winter.” This is an attempt to reconstruct meaning and emotional depth through relationality amidst the chaos. The end of this search, however, remains uncertain: “the end of the marathon is a swamp.” This line highlights the tragic dimension of the metamodern endeavor; the effort is constant, but success is not guaranteed.

The band’s 2021 EP, Harekete Kimse Mani Olamaz (No One Can Impede the Motion), exhibits a metamodern historical stance from the outset, taking its name from a line in a poem by Âşık Veysel.⁽¹⁾ This choice is not an act of postmodernism’s detached, ironic “recycling” of the past, but rather a metamodern “upcycling” – a re-contextualization of past cultural elements within present conditions, viewing them as a potential for the future (van den Akker and Vermeulen 2017, p. 10). Vocalist Tolga Akdoğan’s explanation of this choice affirms this search for historical continuity and transformation, describing the line as having “a talismanic quality that can explain everything in any situation… It can also narrate change, development, the transition from one state to another” (Koçan 2023, “Harekete Kimse Mani Olamaz”ın Tılsımı section, para. 1). This sentiment reflects a metamodern intuition that counters the stasis implied by postmodernism’s “End of History” thesis (Fukuyama 1992), suggesting instead that History is once again in motion, albeit in an uncertain but ineluctable way. The EP’s title thus functions as a “talisman” inherited from the past to cope with the “bend of History” (Arquilla 2011, as cited in van den Akker et al. 2019, p. 44) that began with the crises of the post-2000s. In this context, the track “Gelir Geçer” (It Comes and Goes) stands out as an artistic expression of this new “regime of historicity” (van den Akker 2017, p. 21), as it can be seen in its lyrics (Adamlar 2021):

The roads are getting blocked, one by one

The slogan “us and them” is worshipped

They’re constantly preparing for a war

They can only exist by destroying

[…]

Eras come and go

Look, it topples the whole world

What’s left is this dust, this soil

One step forward, one step back

Have you found your place?

[…]

If you’re going to be a cop, be your own

Set up the station in your heart

[…]

We were already masked, we just put on at least one more

Do the halay in the pit of darkness

The lyrics, in the first quatrain, sharply critique the polarizing and superficial nature of the contemporary political atmosphere. These lines directly correspond to the identity-based divisions created by the rise of right and left populist movements on a ground of discontent with neoliberal globalization – conditions which van den Akker and Vermeulen (2017, p. 13) count among the emergence of the metamodern era. It is a depiction of a period where the “big questions” Fukuyama (1992, p. xii) once claimed were resolved have returned with full force, and social consensus has been replaced by a state of perpetual conflict. In identifying this political reality, the song does not fall into postmodern cynical indifference or modernist naive utopianism. Instead, the text offers a more complex and oscillating perspective on historical processes. The song’s chorus rejects both the teleological idea of progress in modernism (futurism) and the ahistoricity of postmodernism, defined as “presentism” (van den Akker 2017, p. 22). History is moving again, but its movement is described as “One step forward, one step back,” emphasizing its unpredictable and oscillating nature. This is compatible with the metamodern understanding of dialectics; the dialectic is in motion again, but this process is an unstable oscillation that “continuously overcoming and undermining hitherto fixed or consolidated positions” (van den Akker and Vermeulen 2017, p. 6). Rather than being caught between modernism’s front door to the future and postmodernism’s back window to the past, the text adopts metamodernism’s “multi-tensed” historical stance by both accepting the cyclicality of the past and taking an uncertain step toward the future (van den Akker 2017, p. 22).

In the face of this historical and political uncertainty, the subjective position proposed by the poem embodies metamodernism’s characteristic “productive contradictions” (van den Akker and Vermeulen 2017, p. 5). On the one hand, the lines, “If you’re going to be a cop, be your own/Set up the station in your heart,” issue a sincere call to establish an internal moral center in response to external chaos. This is a constructive and hopeful stance on the need for individual responsibility in a world where external authorities and social slogans have become meaningless. On the other hand, the lines, “We were already masked, we just put on at least one more/Do the halay ⁽²⁾ in the pit of darkness,” offer an ironic defiance that accepts the absurdity of the current situation. These lyrics merge a specific historical moment with a universal critique by referencing how the literal mask-wearing mandated by the COVID-19 pandemic was added to the artificiality (metaphorical masks) of pre-pandemic social life. This layered meaning contains both an awareness of the crisis’s depth (the “pit of darkness”) and an ironic resistance to it (“doing the halay”). Oscillating between modern enthusiasm and postmodern irony (Vermeulen and van den Akker 2010, p. 5), this attitude exemplifies a metamodern structure of feeling that both acknowledges the gravity of the situation and, within it, opens up a space for action and life (van den Akker and Vermeulen 2017, p. 7).

“Döndürüyor” (It Spins Me), from the 2023 second part of the Harekete Kimse Mani Olamaz EP, addresses the metamodern subject’s search for authenticity and the cyclical, often grueling nature of this quest. The poem depicts a subject stuck at a perpetual starting point, unable to reach their own inner truth (Adamlar 2023):

Days run, I can’t catch up

I don’t know what I’m after

I can’t reach its meaning

I’m always on the threshold

We’re obsessed with the nuance

We’re damned by the enigma

It spins and spins, I cannot reach the garden of myself

Hey, it spins me, it spins me

[…]

Hey, it makes me laugh, it makes me laugh

Hey, what kills me is me

The subject is a figure living in a constant state of being on a threshold (“I’m always on the threshold”), a condition of being neither fully inside nor fully outside, which is another manifestation of metaxy (van den Akker and Vermeulen 2017, pp. 10–11). The subject is in search of meaning (“I can’t reach its meaning”), but this search has devolved into a perpetual cycle (“It spins me”). This cyclicality is directly linked to the quest for authenticity at the poem’s core. The desire to reach “the garden of myself” represents a longing for an authentic, unspoiled, and serene inner space, yet accessing this garden is impossible (“I cannot reach”). As mentioned, this predicament relates to the paradoxical structure of authenticity under metamodern conditions, wherein authenticity, by definition, eludes all signification and, once marked as such, becomes mediated and thus loses its authenticity (Huber and Funk 2017, p. 155). The subject in “Döndürüyor” is caught in this paradox: as they strive to reach their authentic self, the effort itself becomes a performance that distances them from the goal.

This process is also related to the concept of “depthiness.” The subject feels the existence of a depth (the garden) but cannot access it, recalling Vermeulen’s (2015, p. 8) metaphor of the snorkeler: while the modernist dives to the bottom to access meaning and the postmodernist struggles with the waves on the surface, the metamodernist senses, imagines, and perceives depth without ever fully touching it. This inaccessibility generates an intense affective response in the subject. The oscillation in the chorus between “it makes me laugh” and “what kills me is me” demonstrates the extreme dimensions of this reaction, simultaneously expressing both the comic/absurd and the tragic/destructive aspects of the existential cycle. The subject laughs at their own helplessness and cyclicality while also being consumed by it. This is the tragedy of the metamodern subject: unlike the postmodern subject, they cannot be indifferent to the absence of depth; unlike the modern subject, they lack a pure faith in their ability to attain it. They live in the tension between the presence and absence of depth. This tension keeps them in constant motion, yet this motion serves no end; it merely reproduces the fundamental contradiction of existence. Vermeulen’s (2017) warning that metamodernism may be “entirely unsustainable” (p. 149) in the long run is embodied in the grueling cyclicality of this poem.

This analysis has demonstrated that Adamlar’s poetics are a quintessential artifact of the metamodern structure of feeling. From the fractured identity of the oscillating subject to the performative staging of “depthiness” and the aesth-ethical critique of a polarizing world, their lyrics articulate a state of perpetual in-betweenness. This poetics of unsettlement, however, is by its very nature unsustainable. A sensibility founded on the grueling cyclicality of a “seesaw” and an endless spinning at the “threshold” risks collapsing into incoherence or exhaustion. The tragedy of the metamodern subject, so vividly captured in “Döndürüyor,” is that they can neither be indifferent to the absence of depth nor hold a pure faith in their ability to attain it. This raises a crucial question: on what foundation can such a radically unstable aesthetic be built and sustained? What anchor prevents the centrifugal force of oscillation from shattering the artistic project? The answer lies not within the poetics itself, but in the material and ethical ground of its production. To understand how Adamlar perseveres within this crisis, we must turn from the text to the workshop, from the what to the how – from the poetics of oscillation to the ethics of craftsmanship.

The heightened contemporary cultural focus on craftsmanship and manual skill points to a phenomenon Sjoerd van Tuinen (2017) identifies as the “artisanal turn” (p. 69). This trend should be interpreted not as a simple form of postmodern nostalgia, but as a marker of a metamodern sensibility emerging from what van Tuinen (2017) calls a fundamental change in “our very experience of time,” (p. 69) allowing what is old to reappear as authentically new. To define this new type of craftsperson, van Tuinen (2017) employs the term “cosmic artisan,” a concept he borrows from Deleuze and Guattari (1987). This figure pursues craftsmanship as “the only way to become cosmic… [instead of being] an artist, creator or founder” (Deleuze and Guattari 1987, p. 345). The cosmic artisan operates outside of pre-established divisions of labor, understanding technical abilities as liberated actions intrinsically tied to a material process that envelops and surpasses the individual. In this light, the creative practices and statements of the band Adamlar – and specifically its main songwriter, Tolga Akdoğan – provide a compelling case study for van Tuinen’s framework. The band’s eclectic musical style, their process-oriented narratives, and their artistic identity demonstrate a complex engagement with the figure of the cosmic artisan, showing points of both alignment and divergence. This section will therefore critically analyze the musical practice of Adamlar through the conceptual lenses of van Tuinen’s artisanal turn, Mannerist virtuosity, and alchemical processes.

According to van Tuinen (2017), a central tenet of metamodern craftsmanship is its refusal to accept the rigid separation between design (as conception) and craft (as execution). This divide has its historical roots in the Renaissance, when figures like Giorgio Vasari established a hierarchy by privileging the arti del disegno (arts of design), thereby framing art as a primarily intellectual domain (van Tuinen 2017, p. 71). This framework presupposes that the genius conceives of the form, while the hand simply performs the labor of bringing it into being. Michelangelo’s view that the artistic idea is already latent within the marble, requiring only a hand obedient to the intellect to release it, perfectly illustrates this hierarchical model (van Tuinen 2017, pp. 71–72). Van Tuinen (2017, p. 72), however, challenges this separation by looking at Mannerist practice, where unfinished (non-finito) works suggest that the idea is not a prefabricated concept. Instead, it emerges from the very manner of its manual realization. This leads to the foundational principle that “making is thinking, and what I cannot create I do not know,” (van Tuinen 2017, p. 72).

Tolga Akdoğan’s accounts of Adamlar’s songwriting process show a strong parallel with this principle. The songs are not formed through the mechanical execution of a preconceived idea, but rather through a collective process of exploration and trial-and-error in the studio. As guitarist Gürhan Öğütücü notes, “We generally find the main structure by playing together in the studio” (Meriç 2019, Denemeler Hiçbir Zaman section, para. 6). This method, where the “main structure” is discovered through collective performance, exemplifies what music scholarship identifies as studio-based improvisation serving as a primary compositional tool – a practice that remains under-explored within rock music studies (Cook 2022). This method indicates that the idea is born from a dialogue with the material itself – with sound, rhythm, and instrumentation. Akdoğan describes this process as a “game”: “We start by asking, ‘What can we do?’ and we constantly add new things to our music” (Meriç 2019, Denemeler Hiçbir Zaman section, para. 2). This “game” metaphor resonates with the open-ended process van Tuinen describes – one aimed at discovering the potentials of a material rather than achieving a predetermined goal (van Tuinen 2017, pp. 72–73, 79). Akdoğan’s admission, “Sometimes we start without knowing what we’re going to do” (Meriç 2019, Denemeler Hiçbir Zaman section, para. 2), underscores the porous boundary between conceptualization and execution.

The idea takes shape during the act of performance, responding to the material’s resistances and affordances. This dynamic became even more apparent during the production of the band’s latest album, Kahırlı Merdiven (2024), for which they went into a ten-day retreat at a house in Sapanca, a rural district near Istanbul (Yapıcı 2024). This isolated environment allowed the band not only to produce music but also to become spiritually integrated (Yapıcı 2024). In the evenings, they nurtured each other’s creativity by listening to music together, with dialogues like, “Look, look there, did you hear that part?” (Yapıcı 2024, para. 70). This collective practice corresponds to what van Tuinen (2017) calls “immanent feedback loops” (p. 72). In such a process, ideas do not spring from a transcendent intellect; rather, they arise from an interactive exchange based on sensitive evaluations. During this retreat, song fragments that Akdoğan had previously dismissed were “organically emerged” through the group’s collective energy (Yapıcı 2024, para. 70). This process, where the band functions as a “creative collective” (Lashua and Thompson 2016, p. 71), is a clear example of how “collaborative emergence” can produce unexpected creative outcomes that transcend individual contributions (Herbst et al. 2025, p. 8). Akdoğan’s “game” metaphor also finds a parallel in the ethos of “playfulness” identified in other contemporary studio practices, such as sample-based hip-hop, suggesting a shared, cross-genre sensibility focused on material exploration (Exarchos 2022, p. 33). This feedback loop, however, is not confined to the studio; its ultimate testing ground is the live concert. Gürhan Öğütücü emphasizes the importance of trying songs out live: “It’s good to see on the spot how the sound resonates, how the song comes across at high volume, how the audience reacts” (Meriç 2019, Denemeler Hiçbir Zaman section, para. 6). Here, the song (the idea) enters into a new dialogue with the venue’s acoustics and the audience’s energy (the material). Berkan Tilavel encapsulates this process of constant reshaping with the metaphor of “making a sandcastle”: “we build a beautiful castle… then it gets ruined. Then we build it again at another concert” (Adamlar 2025, 37:23). This metaphor points not to the notion of “freeing” an eternal form from marble, but to a fluid practice where the idea germinates within the material, the collective performance, and the present moment. This cycle of construction and deconstruction marks a significant departure from a common paradigm in rock music, where the studio recording is often treated as a “fixed recorded track” that subsequent live performances are expected to replicate (Cook 2022, pp. 10, 140). For Adamlar, craftsmanship is not the act of finalizing a definitive product but a continuous praxis of making and remaking. This positions the live performance not as a reproduction of a studio original, but as an integral, ongoing stage of the compositional process itself.

Sjoerd van Tuinen (2017) locates the precursor to the metamodern “cosmic artisan” not in the classical or romantic artist, but in the “untimelier becoming of the mannerist craftsman” (p. 71). This figure is crucial because, unlike artists seeking to reveal a pre-ordained, ideal form, the Mannerist engages in a direct and often arduous negotiation with matter itself. In this tradition, particularly among alchemist-sculptors like Bernard Palissy, art becomes a process of manipulating and operating on nature to “test the earth,” harnessing its forces through a “liquefaction of its metals” (van Tuinen 2017, p. 74). Van Tuinen (2017) identifies this practice as a form of “metallurgy,” (p. 76) a mode of creation where cognition is understood not as a separate, preceding step but as the very act of tracing and engaging with a material process.

Adamlar’s musical production can be analyzed as a direct contemporary analogue to this metallurgical method. Akdoğan confirms this approach was foundational to the band’s first album, describing his core motivation as an attempt to combine a “buzz of inspirations like Tom Waits… Müslüm Gürses, Sicily, theatrical energy, [and] cinematographic moments” (Kudu 2023, para. 21). The significance of this list lies in its heterogeneity; it comprises not just musical genres but also individual artists, geographical atmospheres, and abstract affective forces, treating them all as equivalent raw materials. His objective was to channel this chaotic and diverse array of forces through a deliberately constrained medium – “a standard rock band format” – in an act of “limitless performance with limited instrumentation” (Kudu 2023, para. 21). This self-imposed challenge is a clear enactment of the Mannerist “will to difficulty” (difficoltà), an “intense exploration of the liminal zone between raw material and pure form” that van Tuinen (2017, p. 79) identifies as characteristic of the artisan’s ethos. The process is one of melting down disparate and seemingly incompatible (cultural) “ores” to see what unforeseen, hybrid alloy might be forged.

This alchemical approach, while distinctive in its specific combination of influences, is a key creative strategy for a range of contemporary artists negotiating genre and cultural memory. A striking parallel can be found in the “sample-creating-based hip-hop” described by Exarchos (2022), where producers meticulously construct new “phonographic” material that emulates vintage sonic signatures in a process of “making records within records” (p. 47). Adamlar’s practice of juxtaposing a distinctly Anatolian cultural element (Neşet Ertaş)⁽³⁾ with a global American one (Morphine) also aligns with the metamodernist strategy of recontextualizing local symbolic material into a “spacetime that is both-neither ordered and disordered,” (Vermeulen and van den Akker 2010, p. 12) a method observed in contemporary Russian music (Morozov et al. 2022, p. 180). This method of “cultural curation,” where inspiration is drawn from a wide palette of sources, further resonates with the remixing ethos of internet-native genres like Vaporwave (Schembri and Tichbon, as cited in Morrissey 2021, p. 69). Moreover, this practice has a significant lineage within rock music itself, echoing the experimentalism of late-1960s groups who, as noted by Cook (2022), created a new “assemblage” by fusing “Blues, Country, Folk, Jazz, Eastern modality and the Classical Avant-Garde” (p. 25). Adamlar’s method can thus be understood as a contemporary, metamodern iteration of a long-standing experimental impulse where the artisan’s craft lies in the novel synthesis of seemingly incongruous material flows.

This metallurgical method is animated by a distinctly “cosmic” sensibility, one that sources creativity from beyond the purely personal domain. Akdoğan gives profound credence to this interpretation when he describes his artistic state as being amidst “inspirations that call out from places independent of time and space” (Kudu 2023, para. 19). This phrasing is analytically critical because it explicitly moves the origin of his creativity from personal biography or immediate context to an impersonal, ahistorical plane. It provides direct textual evidence for framing his work through the lens of the “cosmic artisan,” whose function, according to van Tuinen (2017), is precisely to harness “unformed and unlocalisable… cosmic forces” (p. 70). From this theoretical standpoint, the figures he juxtaposes – Neşet Ertaş and Morphine – function less as personal influences and more as conduits for vast, transpersonal material flows (Meriç 2019; Yapıcı 2024). The former represents a deep historical stratum of Anatolian culture, a force carrying collective memory and idioms of philosophical sincerity. The latter channels a global current of late-20th-century sonic minimalism and noir aesthetics, an expression of urban alienation. Akdoğan, as a “cosmic operator” (van Tuinen 2017, p. 71), facilitates a dialogue between these forces rather than merely imitating them. His artistic cognition is not an imposition of will but a form of deep listening, a search for latent potentials within the material itself. This is powerfully exemplified by his breakthrough of sensing an “incredible rock‘n’roll feeling” latent within the folk tradition (Meriç 2019, Denemeler Hiçbir Zaman section, para. 40). Such an insight is not about superficially adding a rock beat to a folk melody; it is an intuitive grasp of a shared energetic potential between two seemingly disparate material flows (van Tuinen 2017, p. 72).⁽⁴⁾ This process requires a surrender of the ego, a dissolution of the self into the act of creation. He articulates the experiential reality of this immersion, stating that the process is working when, “If you forget yourself in that moment, if you forget time, then it’s right” (Kudu 2023, para. 19). This description of a flow state, where the distinction between maker and material becomes porous, confirms that the artisan is not a sovereign master imposing a design, but a participant within a creative field guided by the forces at play.

Furthermore, this metallurgical practice is not a static formula applied uniformly across the band’s discography; it is an evolving, open-ended process rooted in the principle of following the material (van Tuinen 2017, p. 76). This signifies a rejection of a fixed artistic identity in favor of a nomadic, exploratory craft. Akdoğan charts his own artistic development not as a linear progression but as a series of unplanned encounters with new forces that reshape his work. He characterizes a later phase as a “period of going mad,” an almost involuntary process where “I fell in love with the bağlama, rap became current, my love for reggae grew… and things got really mixed up” (Kudu 2023, para. 23). The use of language suggesting a loss of control – “madness,” things getting “mixed up” – underscores the non-rational, emergent nature of this creative evolution. It is not the calculated execution of a career strategy but a testament to an artisan who remains radically open to how new materials can deterritorialize and reconfigure the craft (van Tuinen 2017, p. 82). This constant willingness to adapt and transform demonstrates a commitment to the process of discovery over the production of a consistent, marketable product. Such a commitment to an open-ended creativity, perpetually guided by the affordances and resistances of the materials themselves, confirms that the artisan’s identity is not found in a fixed destination but is constituted by the continuous, transformative journey of the craft itself.

The aesthetic and philosophical transformation in Adamlar’s career, particularly evident in their latest album Kahırlı Merdiven (2024), can be analyzed through the theoretical framework van Tuinen (2017) develops around Mannerism, craftsmanship, and subjectivity. When viewed through this lens, their journey represents more than simple artistic maturation; it signifies a radical break from the modernist myth of the “original artist” and a conscious effort to construct a mode of existence based on an artisan ethic. This evolution from a search for form to a desire to deepen their own sound is a living example of a subjectivity based on practice, responsibility, and relationality, which van Tuinen (2017, pp. 80–81) defines through the triangle of virtuosity, virtue, and virtuality.

Adamlar’s initial search for formal diversity embodies the contradictory situation created by the modern ideal of “originality,” which van Tuinen (2017, p. 80), drawing on sociologist Richard Sennett, critiques. According to this ideal, the artist emerges from the anonymous collective of the guild to exist with a singular, original voice; yet, this does not bring the autonomy it purports to (van Tuinen 2017, p. 80). On the contrary, the constant pressure to be new and surprising can lead to “social estrangement” and a “motivational problem,” distancing the artist from both their peers and the patient practice that craftsmanship requires (van Tuinen 2017, p. 80). Tolga Akdoğan’s conscious rejection of the superficial praise the band might receive from listeners – such as, “wow, what a crazy band, wow, they’re always changing” (Adamlar 2025, 33:48) – is a defense mechanism against the meaninglessness and psychological burden created by this very fetishism of originality. This stance can be read as a sophisticated, metamodern critique of the romantic ideology of the “autonomous creative entity” that, as scholars have argued, was historically instrumental in producing rock’s artistic value (Regev 1994) and establishing its dominant myths of creation (Lashua and Thompson 2016). As van Tuinen (2017, p. 80) notes, this pursuit of novelty is detrimental to consistency in all relationships, as it severs the artist from the deep and coherent bonds they form with their inner self, their environment, and their materials. In this context, Akdoğan’s early response to the compliment, “you produce so many different sounds,” with the retort, “I wish I could make a single sound that was truly mine” (Adamlar 2025, 34:05), is a philosophical stance. It stands against the dispersion and identitylessness offered under the guise of diversity, revealing instead the profound desire of the artisan for belonging and mastery.

The band’s expressed “desire to deepen” (Adamlar 2025, 33:14) can be illuminated by the core concepts of van Tuinen’s (2017) understanding of craftsmanship. This “deepening” is not an abstract search for style but the process of constructing the band’s own unique manner (maniera) through embodied practice. Van Tuinen (2017, pp. 72, 81) reminds us that maniera derives etymologically from the word for “hand” (mano), emphasizing that it is not merely a mental style but a concrete craft demanding discipline and constant repetition. Mastery in a craft is achieved not by waiting for moments of inspiration but through a dedication to the repetitive exercises that develop skill, much like the Mannerist sculptors. Akdoğan’s words, “whatever my soul wants, whatever my soul craves […] that is what emerges” (Adamlar 2025, 31:58), may at first seem to express a momentary intuition, but they actually describe a state of flow – “more saturated, more aware of what it’s doing” (Atcan 2024, para. 7) – that comes from an internalized mastery achieved through years of practice. This is the point at which the craft permeates body and soul, transforming into an intuitive competence that no longer requires conscious effort. This orientation also turns the craft into a practice of “care of the self” (van Tuinen 2017, p. 80).

In van Tuinen’s (2017) philosophy, the technical mastery achieved in craft practice – virtuosity – is never an end in itself; it inevitably integrates with a moral dimension, namely, virtue. The author’s central thesis that “virtuosity is directly related to virtue” (van Tuinen 2017, p. 81) suggests that deepening a skill not only makes a person technically proficient but also instills in them a sense of responsibility and care for what they produce. Akdoğan’s intuitive connection to this philosophy is evident in his words that place the search for universal truth at the center of craft: “Anyone doing anything, whatever it is, if they do that thing well, if they have deepened themselves in it, we get a taste of truth from it. It doesn’t have to be art… It could be someone shining shoes, or someone cutting fruit…” (Yapıcı 2024, para. 122). This statement implies that mastery, regardless of the field in which it is performed, functions as an ontological bridge connecting the practitioner and the observer to a universal value and truth. From this perspective, music becomes a spiritual exercise that transforms and heals the practitioner, similar to Cellini’s lavori (works), which Akdoğan pursues so that “my soul may expand, and I can be of benefit to myself” (Kudu 2023, para. 5). Akdoğan’s framing of the musical production process as, “Pour out your troubles and make way for the remedy” (Kudu 2023, para. 9), encapsulates this therapeutic process, while the evolution of the feeling behind a song like “Benden Bana” (From Me to Me) into a narrative of “a state of loneliness” becomes an artistic manifestation of this inner journey (Meriç 2019, para. 20).

Akdoğan’s summary of this entire process as an “effort to find my place” (Adamlar 2025, 34:40) corresponds with van Tuinen’s (2017) concept of “relational subjectivity” (p. 80). According to this philosophy, the “subject” or “place” is not a fixed, isolated self to be discovered. Rather, it is a dynamic position continuously reconstructed as the “individuations of the relations of which we are composed and through which we inhabit the world” (van Tuinen 2017, p. 81). Adamlar’s “place” is shaped within the network of chemistry between band members, the dialogue with musical inspirations like Neşet Ertaş, and the reciprocal interaction created with the audience during a live performance. The band’s mastery ceases to be a personal possession and transforms into a “virtual” potential, which is only actualized through its “virtuous use” in a public setting, such as a concert or a recording (van Tuinen 2017, p. 81). This relational existence, however, creates an inevitable tension with the individualistic and marketing-oriented demands of the modern music industry. Akdoğan’s distance from the culture of visibility, expressed in his statement, “constantly trying to be in the spotlight, saying ‘come on, listen to me, come on, love me’ is not something I ever choose to do” (Kudu 2023, para. 7), is not simple shyness but a moral stance aimed at protecting the internal and sincere conditions required by his craft. This resistance is an effort to preserve the integrity of an artisan who chooses to exist through the craft itself and the collective bonds it creates, against the “alienated” persona imposed by the market.

Consequently, the musical practice of Adamlar, with Tolga Akdoğan at its creative center, serves as a compelling contemporary embodiment of the “cosmic artisan” archetype that Sjoerd van Tuinen (2017) theorizes as central to the metamodern “artisanal turn.” Their work demonstrates a consistent rejection of the historical separation between design and execution, instead embracing a collaborative and emergent process where “making is thinking” (van Tuinen 2017, p. 72). This approach is mirrored in their alchemical fusion of disparate musical traditions – from the Anatolian bard to American indie rock – which they treat not as fixed forms but as materials to be melted down and recast, much like the Mannerist craftsmen who sought to “test the earth” (van Tuinen 2017, p. 74). Furthermore, the band’s evolution away from the modernist pressure for novelty toward a “desire to deepen” (Adamlar 2025, 33:14) their sound illustrates a conscious construction of a relational subjectivity grounded in craft. This journey maps directly onto van Tuinen’s (2017) framework where technical mastery (virtuosity) becomes inseparable from an ethical responsibility for what is created (virtue) and finds its true existence in a collective, public sphere (virtuality). The tensions the band experiences with the individualistic demands of the music industry do not expose a flaw in the theoretical model; rather, they highlight the very real-world struggle that van Tuinen’s artisan faces. Akdoğan’s resistance to the culture of visibility is a clear defense of the collective and sincere practice that the artisan ethic demands (Kudu 2023, para. 19; Meriç 2019). Ultimately, Adamlar’s practice reveals that metamodern craftsmanship is not an escape into nostalgia but a dynamic negotiation within contemporary networks. By creating a “futuricity” that “forge[s] new alliances between the oldest and newest of (social) technologies” (van Tuinen 2017, p. 71), they affirm the cosmic artisan as a living, breathing entity in the modern world. This is a musical craftsmanship that is as innovative as it is connected to its roots, nourished by both the wisdom of the Anatolian bard tradition and the energy of modern rock music.

This study has examined the artistic production of the band Adamlar, one of the most prominent actors in Turkey’s post-2010 alternative music scene, through the lens of metamodernism – a theory that offers a powerful analytical framework for making sense of the contemporary structure of feeling. The analyses have revealed that at the center of the band’s aesthetic and philosophical stance lie two fundamental dynamics that, while seemingly contradictory, exist in a dialectical relationship with each other: on the one hand, a poetics of unsettlement characterized by a constant oscillation between modern enthusiasm and postmodern irony, ontological in-betweenness, and identitarian uncertainty; on the other, an ethic of settlement, summarized by the band’s own expressions of a “desire to deepen,” a search for mastery, and an “effort to find one’s place” (Adamlar 2025, 33:14, 34:40). The article’s central thesis is that this apparent paradox is, in fact, not a contradiction. Rather, the practice of Adamlar presents an original model for how art and the artist can exist under metamodern conditions. According to this model, craftsmanship functions not to arrive at a stable destination, but as a survival strategy developed to endure within a state of perpetual displacement and oscillation.

As established in the first analytical section, Adamlar’s poems reflect the ontological crisis of the metamodern subject in all its complexity. The identitarian oscillation in “Bi Öyle Bi Böyle,” the state of being on a threshold depicted in the line “I’m always at the entrance of the door” from “Döndürüyor,” and the “seesaw” metaphor in “Doldum” are all examples of the in-betweenness that Vermeulen and van den Akker (2010) define as a “both-neither dynamic” (p. 6). This poetics, contrary to the waning of affect and depthlessness that Jameson (1991) associated with postmodernism, contains a new search for depth that can be conceptualized as “depthiness” (Vermeulen 2017, p. 149). This depth, however, never offers a fully attained, modernist certainty; it remains in a state of constant search and performance. It is at this juncture that the practice of craftsmanship, analyzed in the second section, comes into play as a practical and philosophical response to this poetic instability. The band’s description of their production process in the studio as a “game” and an “experiment” (Meriç 2019, Denemeler Hiçbir Zaman section, para. 2) points to an open-ended process of exploring the material’s potentials, rather than implementing a preconceived idea. This aligns with the artisan ethic of “making is thinking” that dismantles the old hierarchy between design and execution (van Tuinen 2017, p. 72).

When these two axes are brought together, the originality of Adamlar’s artistic strategy emerges. Craftsmanship functions not to impose order on the chaos of the poetics, but as a method for navigating within it. In this context, Berkan Tilavel’s description of their concert practice as being like “making a sandcastle… then it gets ruined. Then we build it again at another concert” (Adamlar 2025, 37:23) is the clearest expression of this dialectic. Craft is not a modernist desire to build a permanent monument, but a practice of constructing temporary structures of meaning under constantly changing conditions and deriving a form of stability from the act of construction itself. Consequently, Tolga Akdoğan’s “effort to find his place” (Adamlar 2025, 34:40) is not about reaching a fixed style or identity, but rather the will to establish the continuous process of making-unmaking-remaking as a “place” in itself. The discipline of craft and the moral dimension that, as van Tuinen (2017, p. 81) emphasizes, links virtuosity to virtue, is the anchor that makes it possible to persevere within the exhausting uncertainty of metamodern oscillation. Akdoğan’s words, “Anyone doing anything, whatever it is, if they do that thing well… we get a taste of truth from it” (Yapıcı 2024, para. 122), confirm that this virtue resides in the quality of the act more than in the product.

In light of these conclusions, this study offers original contributions to the three fundamental gaps identified in the literature. Geographically, it has shown that metamodernism is not solely a Western phenomenon but that it resonates with local dynamics in different cultural and political contexts like Turkey, taking on unique forms. In terms of genre, by analyzing lyrics as poetic texts, it has moved the focus of metamodern literary studies beyond narrative texts and revealed the potential of this sensibility in lyrical expression. Its most fundamental contribution, however, is methodological. This article has broken down the tendency to separate an aesthetic product (poetics) from the practice that produces it (craftsmanship), laying bare the necessary and dialectical relationship between the two. This holistic approach proposes that the metamodern structure of feeling requires a “production ethic” to make it livable, thus offering an analytical model for understanding contemporary cultural production. The artist does not merely passively reflect the spirit of their time; they also develop active strategies and survival techniques to be able to exist within that state of mind.

The findings of this study also open new doors for future research. The poetics-craftsmanship dialectic identified in the case of Adamlar could be the subject of a comparative analysis of how it appears in different forms in the work of other post-2010 generation artists or bands in Turkey (e.g., Büyük Ev Ablukada, Yüzyüzeyken Konuşuruz). From a broader perspective, the potential of the “artisanal turn” as a response to metamodern uncertainty could be examined in different fields of cultural production, such as independent cinema, new-generation publishing, and digital arts. Furthermore, exploring how van Tuinen’s (2017) “cosmic artisan” model is transformed when applied not to an individual artist but to a collective entity like Adamlar offers an area of discussion that could enrich the theory itself.

Finally, the artistic practice of Adamlar can be read as a microcosm of the effort to reconstruct meaning in the turmoil of a world that is once again in motion. This practice offers a potent counter-narrative to dominant trends in contemporary music production, which often prioritize the disaggregated workflow of the “solitary laptop musician” (Cook 2022, p. 132) or the automated processes of “track-and-hook” (Seabrook 2015, p. 200) songwriting where digital files are exchanged between specialists. In an era increasingly defined by digital abstraction and algorithmic creation, Adamlar’s insistence on the collective, the embodied, and the material reasserts the value of craftsmanship not as a nostalgic retreat, but as an active, critical stance. This practice is a manifesto – both melancholic and hopeful – suggesting that in an age where rootlessness and instability have become the norm, perhaps the only way for a person to establish a “place” for themselves is to hold on not to land or a fixed identity, but to the labor of their own hands: to the constantly restarting, resilient, and transformative process of craft.