When Iranian-born musician Parham Potki decided to drop the stage name Sezar and start releasing music under his real name, it wasn’t some mid-career rebrand.

It was an act of self-clarity. "I came to believe that my real name offers a more complete reflection of both my personal and artistic identity," he says. Think less Prince to TAFKAP and more someone simply deciding to speak without a mask.

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Potki relocated from Rasht to Antalya three years ago—not for escapism, but for peace and professional grounding. "This change allowed me to meet new people, gain a broader perspective on life and art, and carve a new path," he reflects. The move wasn’t just geographic. It was a shift toward what the Romans might have called veritas: truth.

The artist, now based in Turkey, creates in multiple capacities—rapper, singer, producer, composer. His approach avoids chaotic multitasking and instead reflects deliberate integration.

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"I believe that today’s artist must go beyond a single role and participate in all stages of creation," he says.

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The idea? Art that is neither diluted by committee nor shackled by genre.

Tracks like "Maria" and "Caroline" emerged from collaborations with Mojan YZ. The former carries a Latin hip-hop party energy; the latter, a grittier, gang-revival edge. Potki doesn’t romanticize either. He calls Caroline "a sense of comeback and new beginnings." These days, when even the word "comeback" has become algorithm bait, his phrasing feels refreshingly unstrategic.

Then there’s "Shaleki," a diss track with teeth. Aimed at an individual who insulted a specific region in Iran, the song was less about self-promotion than linguistic precision. "Although I don’t consider it one of the works I’m particularly proud of, the lyrics are rich in rap techniques and literary devices," he says. Call it his lyrical magnum opus, reluctantly.

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Pop culture has no shortage of reinvention narratives—Zayn leaving One Direction, Childish Gambino toggling between actor and philosopher. Potki’s version is less glossy but arguably more grounded. He's not making moves for approval, but to stay aligned with his evolving sense of purpose.

Maintaining mental health, particularly within music’s ego-industrial complex, is not a footnote. Potki speaks with an even tone about the pressures.

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"Patience and perseverance are among the most important factors for success in this field," he says.

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Rather than rebelling against audience expectation, he adapts: staying current while preserving emotional fidelity.

His perspective on social media is notably...sane.

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"Social media is a tool," he says. "But I also make my choices thoughtfully."

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He doesn’t see performance and authenticity as mutually exclusive. His posts are curated, yes, but not contorted. The goal is resonance, not reach.

That clarity is evident in his aspirations too. Potki wants to build bridges between cultures, between genres, between people. "Every change is an opportunity for learning and advancement," he notes. His words echo the increasingly transnational reality of music: in 2023, Spotify reported that more than 40% of its Top 200 tracks came from non-English-speaking artists—a sharp increase over the previous five years.

It would be tempting to call Potki a boundary-breaker. But really, he’s someone who refuses to accept boundaries as fixed in the first place.

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"Flexibility, patience, and perseverance are key to success," he insists.

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As for legacy? "Art and culture that reflect authenticity, innovation, and genuine emotion," he says. He's more concerned with building structures that last than chasing applause: laying the foundation for something future artists can build on.

The pop world may still reward flash over form, but Parham Potki continues to record, produce, and evolve. Not for virality. Not for validation. For connection.

What could be more subversive than actually meaning it?

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