Samir Balayev

Fixing cars was never the plan, but life doesn’t ask for permission. It moves forward, drags you along, and sometimes, if you’re lucky, drops you where you need to be.

I was born and raised in Baku, a city that hums with the rhythm of both tradition and modernity. As a teenager, I spent hours locked in my room, headphones pressing against my ears, listening to everything from classical mugham to Western electronic beats. I wanted to create something of my own, blending the old and the new. But my father had a different vision. In our house, music was a hobby, not a profession. “You need something solid,” he’d say. And so, at eighteen, I found myself in an auto repair shop, oil under my nails, tools in my hands.

I didn’t hate it. There was something meditative about fixing an engine, understanding how each part fit together. But music never left me. At night, I’d sit at my computer, piecing together sounds, layering beats, sculpting melodies. It was my escape, my quiet rebellion. I shared my tracks online, hoping someone would hear them.

One afternoon, a woman walked into the shop. Or, rather, her car limped in, sputtering like it had taken its last breath. I recognized her immediately—Fidan, a singer known throughout Azerbaijan. She handed me her keys with a sigh. “I need this running by tomorrow,” she said. “Big show in Ganja.”

While I worked, we talked. I told her about my music, about how I spent my nights crafting sounds. She was curious. I sent her a few of my instrumentals, not expecting much. But the next morning, she called me. “Come to my studio,” she said. “Now.”

We recorded a song that week, and it took off faster than either of us expected. A few months later, it was on every radio station. Then came the TV appearances, the live shows, the festivals. At 38, I still can’t quite believe it.

My parents, once skeptical, now beam with pride whenever I’m on screen. My father even jokes about how my “hobby” turned out. And I—well, I’m just grateful. If I hadn’t been in that shop that day, if I hadn’t learned to fix cars, I might never have met Fidan. Life, in its strange way, always finds a rhythm.