It does not begin like piano music. Kara Toprak is an Anatolian song by Aşık Veysel about black earth: the one friend who never betrays you, since it takes everyone in the end. Say moved it onto an instrument built for something else entirely.
The left hand is not on the keys — it reaches inside the piano and presses the strings. A damped string has no tail: the note arrives and stops, pinched out like a candle. So the same handful of melody notes come out dry and buzzing, closer to a bağlama than to a concert grand.
Give it ten seconds, then wait for the hand to come back out of the instrument. The same figure returns with pedal and full resonance, and the room doubles in size. The surprise is not that a piano can sound like a bağlama; it is how foreign the piano sounds afterwards as itself.