Indie Music in Post-bomb Bali

Dissertation Website In the Works!

2010-07-14T07:56:00.004+08:00

Well, a lot has happened since my last post in November. I wrapped up research in April, with the exception of a few remaining interviews. I began writing and have already submitted my first chapter to my dissertation chair. The second chapter is due in about two weeks. So things are proceeding quickly and on schedule.

In the last few months I've been frustrated by the number of spam messages I have received and been forced to moderate. I have also been considering if a blog is the best option for sharing information about my dissertation. In the end I have decided to move on from this current blog format and create a dissertation website. I hope to have the site up and running before I return to the States in October.

So stay tuned! I will share the site address as a final farewell on this blog in the near future.

Photograph: Bobi Superman Is Dead at Live Earth Run for Water in Bali. Photograph by Rebekah E. Moore

I'm Still Here...

2009-11-17T13:16:00.007+08:00

Well that was quite the delay between posts! I've just been working on applications for writing grants again, and thought I might share what I came up with for a project statement. This after a failed attempt to compose a revised proposal that ended up being 100 pages in length!! FYI: it is very difficult to write a dissertation proposal after one has completed half the research, but a very good tactic to refocus on the core objectives of the project. I'm getting there. I want to submit the revised proposal December 1 so that I can hammer out an outline mid-January and start writing in February. That gives me ample time (I think) to wrap things up by June 2011. Anyway, so this is the proposal I submitted to AAUW for their dissertation fellowship competition:

"Indie Music in post-Bomb Bali: Participant Practices, Scene Subjectivities"

During Bali’s last decade of social and economic uncertainty, residents struggled to recover from terrorist bombings, a SARS epidemic, and the global financial crisis. Despite these challenges, a distinctly non-commercial indie music scene is thriving. The indie scene (sken indie), comprised of music producers and fans united by DIY ethic and disdain for the monolithic mainstream of the Indonesian popular music industry, has established a local music market comparable in output and genre diversity to the major indie markets of Java. Commercial recognition and financial success are tangential issues for scene members, however. What, specifically, preoccupies them is key to understanding the scene’s historical growth and staying power.

This dissertation examines indie scene participant practices including rehearsals, performances, recording sessions, album production and promotion, tours, and ritual “hanging out” (nongkrong) as the conduits by which core ideals of social and musical difference are created and shared. Through a theoretical framework derived from sociological phenomenology, I demonstrate that habitual, music-related activities, as social interaction, establish subjectivities that, as they come to be mutually valued, are directly implicated in the process of strengthening social alliances.

Research Method and Theoretical Framework

This research engages ethnographic methods for a two-part analysis beginning with the collection of qualitative data. Data collection involves twenty months participant observation in all focus activities, formal interview, feedback interview—the review, together with scene participants, of video, audio, and photographic documentation of scene activities (Stone and Stone 1981)—and examination of promotional materials including posters, stickers, t-shirts, and web-based promotions media.

In order to interpret my ethnographic record, I employ theories on the social constitution of experience drawn from sociological phenomenology (Schutz 1964[1951] and Berger and Luckmann 1966) and Blumer’s seminal work on symbolic interactionism (1993 [1969]). A combination of these theories treats individuals as pragmatic actors who deal with the things they encounter in daily life through communication with fellow actors. Scene activities are analyzed as examples of joint action to which scene participants assign meaning and from which they elucidate thematic preoccupations. Individuals, thus, actively interpret their social worlds rather than passively conform to overarching social structures. This theoretical framework opposes a structuralist or functionalist analysis which would treat the indie scene values examined here as “constructs” governing behavior rather than as dynamic ideals resulting from an ongoing cooperative effort to interpret shared experiences.

Research Scope

This project focuses on primary facilitators for scene sustainability, including musicians, band managers, sponsors, music journalists, publicists, recording producers, sound engineers, roadies, and venue owners, as well as informal support teams comprised of band members’ families, fans, and friends. Together, scene members engage in a number of frequent practices that determine overall scene dynamics and values.

Scene Practices

Band rehearsals take place in home-based studios owned by scene participants or at formal rehearsal studios available for rent. During rehearsals, bands meet to prepare for a concert or recording session and discuss upcoming events and general logistics, such as scheduling issues and budget. Performance opportunities range from large-scale music festivals to university events, special community outdoor gatherings like a motorcycle rally or neighborhood bazaar, paid performances for large music venues such as Hard Rock Café, unpaid gigs at smaller clubs owned by scene members, store openings at shopping centers, political rallies and fundraisers, and special events at favorite indie hangouts, including family compounds and independently owned cassette/CD distribution outlets (distro).
Song recording and album production preoccupy a band and a production house’s staff for months. Indie bands release their albums independently; they raise the financial capital to record, mix, and master audio tracks, as well as produce, print, and distribute their albums without a contract with a Jakarta-based national or international major label. Promotional activities for a new album can include local performances and nationwide tours, design and distribution of band merchandise, print and broadcast media interviews, and a range of self-promotion activities on the Internet. Tours most frequently bring senior bands to Jakarta and Java’s major cities, including Bandung, Yogyakarta, Surabaya, and Malang. Touring is not only an essential means for indie bands to widen their fan-base and distribute their albums and merchandise, but it is also a strategy for strengthening bonds with indie scene participants in other parts of Indonesia. Thus, tours help to develop a national network of indie music producers and fans.

A final indie scene activity intersecting all others is nongkrong, hanging out. Together at cafes, music stores, the beach, friends’ houses, or studios, scene members smoke, joke, strum guitars, and talk about music. Nongkrong may be the activity least focused on music production, but it is critically important for deep, mutual reflection about scene ideals.

Scene Subjectivities

Ethnomusicologists frequently argue that music performance can strengthen social bonds by communicating shared values based on factors like, nationality, religion, race, gender, and class. This project suggests people also form social alliances based on their shared understandings of music-related practices. The indie scene is characterized by demographic heterogeneity; it includes the relatively affluent and poor, the university educated and high school dropouts, Javanese and Balinese, Hindus, Muslims, Christians and Agnostics. Women, who are largely excluded from active participation in many types of music making in Indonesia, are performers in the indie scene as well, and are even more frequently afforded crucial supportive roles as managers, publicists, and members of support teams. Principally, notions about music, rather than ethnicity, religion, or some other aspect of members’ social backgrounds, establish social connections in the indie scene.
Based on research to date, I have identified five shared—although flexible and frequently debated—scene subjectivities that are emergent within scene members’ habitual, music-related practices. Work ethic (etika kerja), artistic integrity (kejujuran artistik), genre (aliran), creativity (kreativitas), and talent (bakat) are collective values and, collectively, a primary means of identifying and sustaining the scene.

Work ethic is the most prominent preoccupation for scene members. While different artists have different professional goals, all indie musicians value a code of artistic independence they call the DIY (do-it-yourself) ethic. Musicians and their often-unpaid managers, publicists, and roadies must work hard to pursue their artistic and professional visions, and hard work becomes a primary value in the scene. The designation “indie” is a badge of honor for many artists, an indicator that powerful entertainment conglomerates do not influence one’s artistic vision. Being indie, thus, is a matter of artistic integrity, and this directly impacts aesthetic parameters. Scene members establish genre ideologies, aesthetic criteria by which they determine whether or not an artist’s music is considered indie. Certain genres, generally falling under the umbrella term pop, are considered mainstream, diluted, or commercial; these genres are not indie. Diverse genres, including blues, grunge, hard rock, death metal, grindcore, punk, hardcore, rockabilly, psychobilly, and electronica coexist within the indie scene because they are acceptably antithetical to mainstream music.

While scene members expect artists to meet certain expectations based on genre standards, they also tend to value musical creativity over strict adherence to a particular style. Artists should create something new or different—an alternative to the mediocrity of carbon-copy pop hits they identify with the national recording industry. Finally, indie participants take pride in the quality of indie performances. They have developed specific vocabulary for commenting upon the skill level of vocalists, guitarists, drummers, and other players. It is not sufficient, however, for someone to be a “good” vocalist; one is judged based on the genre(s) with which one identifies, so that one must be a good vocalist within the parameters of one’s chosen genre.

These various preoccupations are implicated in processes of differentiation; subjectivities are a means for scene members to determine who belongs. Who the “Other” is for indie participants varies: it may at once be an artist whose pedestrian pop ballad becomes a number-one hit on the radio, a club owner who only hires top-40 cover bands or foreign DJs, or even members of a “former” indie band who compromised their artistic integrity in order to secure a major label contract. Scene membership is a matter of choice, and continued “enrollment” is contingent upon individuals’ engagements with key subjectivities. The subjectivities are not fixed scaffolding on which individuals hang their own interpretations. Rather, they are emergent within individuals’ interactions with one another.

This project is critical for illustrating the importance of musical practice as a strategy for communal bond forging. Through a phenomenological lens, I observe that interaction between individuals through habitual activities, rather than predefined social frameworks or codes of behavior, generates social meaning. The practices that give rise to these meanings are directly responsible for a scenic atmosphere of camaraderie and social closeness locally, and for a deeply felt allegiance to likeminded indie scene participants elsewhere in Indonesia.

Photograph: Wah Agus, lead vocalist for Orgasmatron during a guest spot at Kuta Carnival. Photograph by Rebekah E. Moore

A Short Film

2009-09-20T22:00:00.000+08:00

As I mentioned in previous posts, a few weeks ago I took part in a Pecha Kucha night for Sanur Village Festival here in Bali. My presentation broke all the formatting rules, save the time limit (each presenter is supposed to create 20 slides or images, each 20 seconds in duration, for a total presentation length of 6 minutes), but luckily the merciful organizers allowed me to proceed with a viewing of a short film about my ethnographic research. In it I introduced the basic focuses of the project and the main bands with whom I am working. Essentially, the film highlighted the business of making indie music in Bali--it introduced scene participants and their goals, scene challenges, and possible new directions.

I always enjoy fiddling with photographs, audio, and video so much more than sitting down to write anything meaningful (that dissertation is going to be a bitch); and so instead of submitting a new dissertation proposal as I promised my dissertation chair I would this month, I have spent the last week or so playing around with my Pecha Kucha film--editing clips, adding photos, highlighting more bands--in an effort to make something that would serve a promotional function for the focus bands, as well as provide a simple introduction to my project. My plan, as soon as I have finished the Indonesian language version, is to get the thing up on Facebook, tagging performers, producers, and consultants featured.

Facebook is the number one, most popular forum for band promotion in the indie scene right now. I've actually been networking with scene members for the last year on Facebook, and I have won major brownie points for posting performance footage and photographs there. Now, I recognize potential problems with this. Most importantly, I can't highlight each and every indie band equally, nor can I include every single indie band in Bali in this 7-minute film. And I can imagine the finger-wagging State-side by a few colleagues who insist on a more "diplomatic" approach to research relations, one in which the ethnographer avoids direct impact on the lives of the people with whom she works. But I've never really agreed with that, nor have I ever thought that was possible.

So...a research progress report, this is not. It's a total indulgence...But what the hell. I've never been keen on neutrality.

Enjoy!

Video: Indie Music in Bali: A Status Report

Photograph of Scared of Bums at Twice Bar, Kuta. Photograph by Rebekah E. Moore

Response to Comments for "More Good News"

2009-09-03T20:23:00.005+08:00

Professor Andrew McGraw posted a great comment to my latest post. Rather than responding directly to the comment, I thought I'd create a new entry. That way it's a bit easier to access for followers and passersby. I include his comment below:

"It would seem a good idea to try to account for folks like Balawan and attempt, if only tangentially, to discuss those artists that bridge the band and gamelan worlds. (since, apparently, Western researchers have thus far been unable to, including Baulch). this would seem all the more important considering contemporary listening habits; most Balinese young people I know listen to both gamelan and superman is dead. If sometimes the former only passively. but this is a really interesting blog. thanks!"

So to Professor McGraw: Thanks so much for your response. Important suggestions. Jeremy Wallach also brought this up in his recent review of Baulch’s book (Journal of Anthropological Research vol. 65). I’ll do my best to respond now, but with the disclaimer that I’ll most certainly be better prepared to address your points after several more months of research.

Your comments suggest to me two potential, fascinating lines of inquiry. The first would examine indie artists experimenting with a combination of Balinese musical worlds, that of Balinese gamelan and Balinese popular music. The majority of the artists with whom I work do not play gamelan. And incorporating a gamelan orchestra into performance or recording is time consuming, compositionally challenging, and frequently prohibitively expensive. So this impacts the frequency of encountering hybrid experiments. But there are several indie artists who have experimented with combining some elements of gamelan with their own stylistic endeavors. For example, Superman Is Dead features the suling (flute) on their latest album Angels and the Outsiders. Navicula featured gamelan on Alkemis, their one and only album released with Sony-BMG. Lolot experimented with kecak (I would note that in all these cases, these bands feature majority Hindu Balinese personnel. And in two of the three cases the bands were signed with a major record label. So religious background and market demands certainly influence cross-genre experimentation).

I asked a few performers what is their motivation for experimenting with gamelan. Most responses suggest that artists naturally take advantage of the musical material available to them. In other words, it is just as natural for them to be influenced by the music they hear at a temple ceremony in their home villages as by the globally circulating popular musics they encounter on the television, radio, or internet. Robi, the lead singer of Navicula, says that artists who have been playing for years together will inevitably experiment with gamelan as their careers progress. So including Balinese traditional music is like an indicator of artistic maturity. Other artists say a hybrid project is a deliberate strategy to increase marketability outside of Indonesia. These artists are well aware that they’re only real shot at making it into a record store outside of Indonesia is to play up their regional distinction…that is, cater to market demands and international genre classifications such as “world,” or “ethnic” that would place an Indonesian band like Superman Is Dead on the world music shelf, rather than in the rock section. It is no coincidence that Superman Is Dead’s promotional materials for the recent U.S. tour featured photographs of the band mates wearing pakaian adat (customary clothing for Balinese Hindu worship) rather than their typical punk performance regalia. They (or their managers, or their sponsors) anticipated a more positive reception in the States for a Balinese punk band that looked Balinese.

The second focus I draw from your comments would examine reception of both “traditional” and “popular” music performance in terms of the ways in which listening habits bridge these two distinct musical worlds. Until now, I have focused on artists, producers, managers, studio owners, sound engineers, band support teams, and media folks as key scene agents. Unfortunately I have only examined audience habits through observation at performance rather than through interview. But I realize the crucial part fans play in community sustainability, and with the next year of research I hope to examine their agency more carefully. I can cursorily suggest some trends in terms of reception.

First I’d just like to clarify who the listeners are. By “most Balinese young people” I think you mean “most Hindu Balinese young people”. The current study is focused in the demographically diverse urban environment of Denpasar. Here, Hindu Balinese still comprise a majority of the population (as much as 85%, according to a 2005 census). But statistics aside, locally circulating discourse suggests a strong Muslim presence in the provincial capital. This is a unique environment for the production and consumption of music. I raise this point because artistic projects and listening habits vary widely in Bali, due in part to the religious background of participants—the average young Muslim or non-practicing Hindu living in Denpasar does not listen to gamelan and the average Muslim popular music artist is more likely influenced by popular musics from Bali and Java than by Balinese gamelan—and in part by residence—the musicscape of the kota (city) is very different from the kampung (village) (for example, most of the bands I research rarely perform outside of the Badung district in Bali; so a young person living in Tabanan could only experience this band’s music through audio recording or video clip).

As I wrote in “Some Characteristics of the Indie Scene,” my focus community is much more ethnically and religiously diverse even than the profile of the demographics for this region. Indie scene participants are bercampur…there are practicing and non-practicing Hindus as well as Muslims, Christians, and atheists. Javanese, Balinese, Medanese, and even expats consider themselves part of this indie community. The ethnic and religious diversity leads to a diversity of artistic agendas and listening habits. Further, with the exception of the bands Superman is Dead and Navicula, indie bands have had difficulties securing a strong fan base of Hindu Balinese young people living outside of the Badung province. That fan base tends to demonstrate loyalty for a) pop Bali bands such as Nanoe Biroe, Bintang, and XXX or b) well-known bands from overseas. So my project focus actually doesn’t include the “average” Balinese young person, if by that I mean a demographic majority—most Balinese are Hindu and don’t live in Denpasar. The indie scene is kind of an alternative community in this way, too.

Now, about Balawan: Balawan’s projects “Batuan Etnik Fusion” and “Bali Guitar Club” experiment with combining Balinese gamelan and “modern music,” as he phrases it. His projects are classified as pop Bali or lagu pop Bali rather than “indie” or “alternatif” music, according to my informants and genre classifications for local music charts (in Bali Music Magazine, Radar Bali, etc.). Balawan self-identifies as a “jazz ethnic musician.” While several of my focus artists indicate their immense respect for Balawan as an innovative composer and phenomenal guitarist, they distinguish their own projects and target audiences from those of artists performing subgenres of the pop Bali category. I address this a bit in the posts “Some Characteristics of the Indie Scene” and “Remodeling,” but I’ll try to go in more depth here:

For the most part, indie artists do not identify with lagu pop Bali musicians, Hindu Balinese artists who more frequently experiment with ways of “gesturing locally” (Baulch 2007)—such as by including the instruments or compositional elements of gamelan in performance, nostalgic images of Hindu Balinese life in video clips, or lyrics in the Balinese language—than is characteristic of the indie scene. According to research consultant and local indie music heavyweight Rudolf Dethu, Balinese popular music can be divided into two camps: the Balinesia camp, as he calls it, or musicians singing in English or Indonesian who generally form artistic and fan alliances across Bali and Java rather than only locally, and the Bali-Bali camp, or pop Bali artists, exclusively Hindu Balinese. Indie musicians would fall into the Balinesia camp. Thus, genre identification becomes a key means for all of these artists to define the boundaries of their socio-musical communities. Balawan, as a Bali-Bali artist, would not be considered an “indie” or “alternatif” artist by scene participants.

Further, the DIY ethic is an important value within the indie scene, and Balawan has signed with Sony-BMG. Thus, he is further distanced from this community. In fact, quite a number of artists and fans have suggested Superman Is Dead is no longer an indie band because they, too, are currently signed with this major label. But while he may not be a member of the indie scene, Balawan and similar artists are already a part of my project in that they constitute an Other for the indie music community on which I primarily focus.

Professor McGraw, thanks for reading and contributing. You have inspired me to think more critically about my project scope and key research themes, particularly those of genre and reception.

Photograph of Chalie and Deddy Said of The Wheels during their last performance at Twice Bar, Kuta. Photograph by Rebekah E. Moore

More Good News...

2009-08-27T10:31:00.007+08:00

Media Support

This is a continuation of my previous post on scene challenges. Here I'd like to address formal means of promotion. Band promotion tends to proceed smoothly and cheaply. Media support for indie music is generally good. Locally and nationally-broadcast radio stations such as Oz Radio include an indie hour featuring local musicians, and musicians frequently secure slots for on-air interviews or live performances (particularly during a nationwide tour or following an album release). National magazines like Trax, Hai, and Rolling Stone Indonesia, as well as locally distributed magazines like Bali Music Magazine, independent zines in Jakarta and online (see IndieGO!), as well as the phenomenal Musikator site (which includes detailed profiles of local and national bands, songs for download, a social networking feature, and events calendar) feature articles, editorials, and reviews of bands, tours, and concerts. While in the past television was a somewhat important medium for building a fan-base through the broadcast of band video clips (and while today local stations continue to feature local music videos), the internet—and particularly the social-networking sites Facebook and MySpace—is, by far, the most popular and successful medium for DIY album and concert promotion, as well as for sharing audio files, video clips, and other audio/visual documentary materials.

And then there is the Ring-back Tone

A few bands are able to secure contracts with telecommunications companies for the creation of ring-back tones as a profitable means of promotion. A ring-back tone is a customized ring purchased by individual hand phone users that callers hear when they dial the user’s number. Users dial a special code, depending on their cellular service provider, which they find in the liner notes of purchased albums or, more recently, on bands’ official websites or social networking pages. A band can create a ring-back tone for each song on their album, or a small selection of singles. Many bands think of the ring-back tone as more of a necessary evil than a positive medium for promoting a single; but at a charge of IDR 5,000-9,000 per song purchased by the SIM card owner, profits from ring-back tone sales can substantially supplement a band’s income (See interview with the Indonesian singr Oppie in the last issue of Insight Bali for more her comments on the ring-back tone).

Photograph of Nymphea at the Merah Putih Motorcycle Rally and Sunset Road 2009 Concert Series, Kuta. Photograph by Rebekah E. Moore

Indie Scene Challenges

2009-08-25T11:28:00.006+08:00

I've had some time to recover, but also think more deeply, about the remarks of Mr. Europa after Pecha Kucha night (see the previous post), and I've realized I shouldn't disregard everything he had to say. One important and useful point I think he was trying to make is that my passion for these artists might make it difficult for me to identify the dark underbelly of the scene. It is good to be reminded that I, too, must think critically about scene discourses. These artists are my friends, but they are also my research consultants. And we are mutually obligated to examine carefully the indie scene characteristics we take for granted.

Mr. Europa is also right, that not every artist is committed to artistic innovation, community sustainability, or even hard work. But I would still argue that most of the bands with whom I work are. Maybe that has something to do with why we found each other in the first place--shared values. But in fact, creativity, community, and work ethic are recurring topics of conversation. Indie artists, producers, and fans frequently contrast their own values in terms of these three categories with those of other spheres of music making in Indonesia, particularly the sphere of what they call pop or mainstream music.

I'll have much more to say about local discourses and values throughout the next year of research, but here I'd like to address some of the scene challenges I may have failed to explicitly outline previously (maybe in part because I was trying to validate this scene as a worthy and fascinating new topic for my dissertation research). Several of these points made it into the Pecha Kucha presentation that unleased the wrath of Mr. Europa. But maybe I didn't emphasize enough that these challenges create an environment characteristically unstable--the Balinese indie scene always appears (from the outside and from within) to be on the verge of complete collapse, whether due to a band's breakup, participant gossip, poor album sales, a lost gig, or other factors.

Finding Gigs

Musicians working in the tourism sector in Bali include gamelan performers, top-40s bands, and nightclub DJs. Indie musicians are almost completely excluded from the tourism industry and, thus, the financial security of working within one of the most profitable sectors within the local economy. Indie musicians, venue owners, and event organizers site a number of similar reasons for indie music's exclusion. For example, some are concerned tourists will not be interested in hearing unfamiliar, local popular music, particularly the harder genres and songs performed in the Indonesian language. Venue owners also prefer to hire bands whose music is most likely to move the most drinks (in other words, whose music will create a "fun," "party-like" atmosphere that will encourage patrons to increase their bar tab throughout the night). For this, venue owners typically turn to what they describe as the "party" music; reggae bands that evoke a carefree, island lifestyle or top-40s bands spinning out the latest hits to which audience members can sing along. The typical bar or club in Sanur, Kuta, Tuban, Legian, or Seminyak, the Balinese neighborhoods most frequently trafficked by tourists, is designed to generate sufficient revenue from food and beverage sales. And the average bar or club owner is not yet convinced the indie musician will help facilitate that.

For indie musicians, opportunities to perform are scarce, and of these, even fewer are paid. Musicians playing harder genres, such as thrash metal and grindcore (but even grunge), face particular difficulty securing permission to play local venues. Once a space is secured, artists then must contend with the limitations of local venues. Some bars, like the longstanding Twice Bar or Peanuts in Kuta, are too small for the audience capacity of many well-known indie artists; other venues, including the corporate giant Hard Rock Café feature sub par sound systems or (in other cases) inattentive sound engineers.

Production and Distribution

Distribution places a huge financial burden on artists and their support teams, and album sales are quite low, especially with the ever-rising problem of CD piracy. Album production can also be incredibly expensive, in Bali or in Jakarta. While ideally these bands pool resources from previous album and merchandise sales, live performance, and tours to pay for production, most bands come up short. Some artists overcome this challenge by securing a sponsor or music producer who agrees to foot the bill for production in exchange for a percentage of gross profits later. Others (as a result of previous demonstrated success or the personal musical tastes of local music industry heavy-weights) are able to sign a contract with a local PH (production house) to produce an album without pay.

Tours

Touring both island-wide and nationally (usually to Jakarta or other major cities in Java) becomes an essential means for Balinese bands to widen their fan-base and distribute their albums and merchandise. But this, too, is prohibitively expensive for many bands. There are two primary ways to secure the financial capital for a tour: a) find a sponsor or b) secure paid gigs locally to defray the cost of future tours. Income earned from performance during tours is almost never sufficient to cover promotions, travel and per diem expenses. In any case, even the most well-known artists will necessarily live meagerly on the road; they will overnight at friend’s houses and only in the rarest of cases at cheap hotels. They will eat at street-side stands and generally drink beer or hard alcohol only when it is offered for free by the performance venue or fans. They will frequently travel exceptional distances by ferry, rented van, public bus, or train to save money on airfare.

Day Jobs, Personnel, and Fanbase

While the majority of indie musicians maintain paid jobs of various types—such as playing for a top-40s band, working at a local recording studio, bartending or owning a local bar or café, freelancing in graphic design, or developing a career in a totally unrelated field—a small number of artists are attempting to work full-time as indie musicians or producers. Given that so little money can be made within this market, full-time musicians and producers place quite the financial burden on the their families. Further, album production and live performance, as time-consuming activities, lead some artists to neglect their familial duties, which in turn leads to marital problems and, in some cases, divorce. Work and family responsibilities also result in a rather fluid personnel line-up for many of these bands—substitute guitarists, bassists, and drummers are a common feature of live performance—which subsequently poses a challenge to the long-term sustainability of bands and their fan-base. And a loyal fan-base continues to be difficult to secure in Bali; in general, loyal fans (or fans fanatik) in Bali generally follow artists recording lagu pop Bali, pop music in the Balinese language. Almost all indie music artists, for a variety of reasons (such as a lack of fluency in Balinese, the hope of expanding their fan base to Indonesia and beyond, or an implicit or explicit desire to disassociate with the language of Hindu Bali), record their songs in Indonesian or English.

Other Bumps in the Road

Finally, there are many unforeseen challenges for indie artists: a tour might be canceled after the ink has already dried on venue contracts because a bassist is unable to leave his day-job for a week in Jakarta. A coveted Dobro purchased by a friend overseas is damaged, and there is no way to secure replacement parts or a new instrument locally. A paid gig is canceled because the venue closes unexpectedly. A band's support team (tim) breaks up as a result of negative gossip, jealousies, miscommunication, or simply waning interest.

The Good News...

Despite the apparently insurmountable challenges of making music on the fringe, the indie music community in Bali continues to survive. In fact, the scene has received a lot of attention from Jakartan musicians, producers, and label owners alike who have visited the island and noted (in magazine and radio interviews, conversations with scene participants and this author) the musical diversity and characterstic cameraderie of this small alternative community. I believe this is due, in large part, to the individual agency of its members. Indie musicians and their managers, publicists, assistants, runners, and roadies work hard and, frequently, without pay to produce albums, contract with venues for live performance, and build a network of loyal fans. They literally build venues, scrape together the financial capital to record and release albums, open sites for distribution or hand deliver their albums and merchandise to local distro (independent CD and merchandise distribution outlets usually owned and operated by former performers and/or current scene participants), and contact radio and television stations and magazines and newspapers for media coverage. Their dedication to meeting the challenges of the Balinese and national music markets demonstrates a high level of commitment to community sustainability and artistic development that cannot be explained simply by an end goal of commercial or financial success (as Mr. Europa suggested).

Photograph of Dadang, lead singer of Dialog Dini Hari and lead guitarist for Navicula, during a studio recording session at Pregina Studio, Sanur, Bali.

“Thoughtlessness is a child’s most basic right.”--Paul Carvel

2009-08-14T13:26:00.005+08:00

Ahh, running across this quote helps me to come to terms with my close encounter of the expat kind last night. I took part in a Pecha Kucha night in Sanur. I made a short film about my dissertation research on indie music. Immediately after the presentation I received a slew of name cards from various media folks and fans; and my friend Robi, lead singer of Navicula, was able to move quite a few of the CDs he brought with him (a compilation album from the latest Granat Fest, a huge metal festival here in Bali). So I was feeling not a little bit proud of the reception, when I was approached by a European "blues" guitarist who has been living on the island for more than fifteen years. He wanted to bend my ear about all the things that were wrong with my portrayal of the indie scene.

Intrigued, I caught up with him at the beer break. He proceeded to berate me for displaying such passion (and compassion) for musicians he described as "stupid" and "lazy." He said they were nothing like the Jakarta musicians he gigs with (his favorite is the pop-reggae group Steven and the Coconut Treez), and there wasn't one local musician who wouldn't shed his artistic integrity to make a buck. He said the reason none of them can make a buck is because they know nothing about music or how to make an album.

I was surprised by his candidness, but not by his opinion. I'm quite accustomed to meeting the kind of egotistical and ethnocentric person incapable of critical thinking. It's not just the expats, of course. Thinking outside our very small boxes of personal experience is a challenge for each and every human being. And the best way to succeed? Engaging with other human beings so that we may hear different ideas.

So...instead of blowing him off as a privileged but uneducated colonialist asshole, I proceeded to engage him. I explained that just as he cannot make music without passion, I could never conduct research without my full heart. I admitted that I was completely head-over-heels for these bands, but that my subjectivity would only enrich my ethnography (provided I fess up). I suggested that Indonesians might have different perspectives than his own on "work" the "consumption of music," and "professional success." I asked him many questions, like has he ever worked with any of these artists (nope, none of my informants know him) or does he realize that Jakarta-based artists have different opportunities and access to resources than Balinese artists--in other words, the difference in character and size of the two indie markets is quite large--(that went in one ear and out the other)... The man continued to describe his disdain for local musicians (and, really, Balinese in general) with such vehemence that I finally asked him, "do you like living here?" He said "of course, I love it. I go surfing everyday."

Hmm...The angry child in me must retort. Mr. Europa: these so-called "lazy" artists will outshine you every time. They have talent, intelligence, and class. They work hard and work willingly for free. They play their guitars until their hands are numb and bleeding; hand deliver their CDs to local distros; scrape together enough rupiah to take a 24-hour bus trip to a gig; go days without sleep working on their albums in the studio; juggle their musical careers, day jobs, family and religious obligations; and even make time to answer the many questions posed by this bumbling ethnomusicologist. You know nothing about the indie scene here, sir. And you don't know much about music or humanity either. But I cannot blame you or hate you. You are simply a thoughtless child.

Photograph: Made Muliana Bayak, lead guitarist for Geekssmile, during his Pecha Kucha presentation combining live music with photographs of a selection of his visual artworks.

Some Characteristics of the Indie Scene

2009-07-25T19:52:00.006+08:00

Recently I've been thinking about identifiable characteristics and trends within the current indie scene, and I thought it was about time to share them here. The first has to do with scene definition: Scene participants differentially define the designator indie, an abbreviation from English of "independent," that most generally indicates artists who independently-produce their projects rather than releasing albums under contract with a major music/entertainment label such as Sony Music Entertainment Indonesia. In actuality, “going indie” is the one and only possible career path for the majority of these artists. The only band from Bali playing musik keras currently signed with Sony is Superman Is Dead. All other bands playing genres such as punk, metal, rock, grunge, etc., are independent; in other words, they are either signed with a smaller independent label based in Bali or Jakarta or they produce and distribute their own albums.

However, the term indie also indicates a host of individual and communal values that extend far beyond its association with DIY projects: for example, most scene participants agree that to label oneself as indie is to define oneself as an outsider or nonconformist. The designation indie is like a badge of honor for many artists, an indicator that their artistic vision is not compromised by the demands of corporate entertainment networks. For many indie scene participants, to create indie music is to explicitly avoid participation in mass consumerism.

Scene participants have also suggested a series of binary, and largely, oppositional relationships with more dominant scenes and discourses, outlined in terms of:
a) Genres performed: Scene participants frequently comment that certain genres, generally falling under the umbrella term “pop,” are considered mainstream, diluted, or commercial, and are unrepresentative of the indie scene. Thus, identifiable indie music genres, such as blues, grunge, punk, and metal are distinguished from these other mainstream genres. Further, indie artists and their audiences tend to value musical creativity and individualism over a strict adherence to a particular style. This trend distinguishes current aesthetic values from those of mid-1990s grunge and punk bands in Bali (and some niche punk and grunge communities in Java today), who received their accolades for skillfully replicating the aesthetic values of particular genres, or accurately reproducing songs by their favorite artists. Balinese indie musicians today are expected to create something new, or different, an alternative to what one may typically hear on mainstream radio or on MTV or what might be released by a major recording label. Scene participants suggest this indicates that Balinese indie music has developed beyond a period of imitation toward the creation of a uniquely Balinese meta-genre, based on local, individually expanded and communally defined aesthetic values.
b) Demographics of performers and fans: The religious and ethnic diversity of indie scene participants contrasts with the largely homogeneous, Hindu Balinese demographics of both lagu pop performers in Bali, as well as “traditional” performing artists specializing in classical Balinese arts. While the heterogeneity and openness of their community is not a frequent topic of discussion, scene participants have indicated to me they are satisfied that particular religious or ethnic affiliations are not grounds for exclusion from the scene. This characteristic results, in part, from the indie scene’s concentration in southern Bali in the kabupaten of Badung and city of Denpasar, where as much as 60% of the population is composed of non-Hindu residents.
c) National rather than regional alliances: Indie artists in Bali tend to form strong professional, artistic, and personal relationships with other indie artists and fans outside of Bali (particularly in Jakarta, Bandung, and Surabaya) rather than with musicians associated with other spheres of Balinese performing arts. This suggests an inclination to identify with a larger national scene rather than with a local, island-wide music movement.

Just a few thoughts.

Photograph of Ed Eddy and Igo Blado playing an acoustic set at Coffeewar, Kemang, Jakarta during an March 2009 tour.

Forrest Club Goes Global!

2009-07-08T17:21:00.003+08:00

A very, very cool event is coming up at my favorite hangout in Denpasar. Had to share it here.

(The following ripped from the event promo for Facebook and Musikator)

Featuring:

Stylish Nonsense (Thailand)
Free-flow, improvised electro with a splash of lounge-pop and jazzy je ne sais quoi. One of Bangkok’s finest acts, this drum and analog keyboard duo is not to be missed…

Muon (Singapore)
Lush instrumental landscapes a la Mogwai or Godspeed You Black Emperor! These two men and their machines create a blissed-out racket most divine

Elena Skoko (Croatia) meets DJ Electrondust (Bali)
Expressionist spoken words on Acid (House). Think Lydia Lunch speeding through Detroit in a (convertible) spaceship.

Navicula (Bali)
The lost Denpasar chapter of the Sub Pop Single's Club. Folksy anthems, flying the flannel of ’90s alt-rock revivalism and … electric accordions! (My readers will know them better as my favorite band in Bali and my closest research collaborators. And god bless 'em for bringing back grunge!)

Album Distribution

2009-06-26T20:05:00.006+08:00

Well, I've been back in Bali for two days after touring throughout Java with my favorite band, Navicula, for the launching of their sixth album, Salto. I returned with a killer chest cold, I lost about 3 kilos from the lack of substantial vegetarian food on the road, and I think I will avoid taking a public bus across Java at all costs in the future--who knew a driver transporting from 13-60 people could pull off F1 course moves on beat-up Java roads during rush hour traffic?! But anyway, the tour was awesome! And I'm so grateful to Navicula for letting me tag along.

I've promised the band a proper tour review, so I'll save the majority of my notes from the road for a future post. But I can summarize by saying that grunge, without a doubt, is alive and kicking in Indonesia! Every single gig was rockin! Much love to the organizers of Grunge Gods Tour 2009, and to all event organizers, venue reps, radio stations, magazines, and friends along the way who helped to make it all possible.

The tour also kicked off national distribution of Salto. Navicula signed with DeMajors, an independent label in Jakarta, for distribution. The way the labels work here is that bands can sign contracts for album production, release, and distribution, or for distribution alone. Navicula produced, promoted, and released Salto independently, but they've opted to go with DeMajors to make the album available for their large fan base in Java. The label takes a cut from sales, of course, but can generally get the album out more widely and efficiently than if a band takes on this task alone. Navicula also plans to distribute Salto more thoroughly around Bali in the coming days. On a side note, Navicula's manager, Lakota, made an interesting observation about distribution while we were on the road; labels handle distribution differently in each city. For example, in Bandung, DeMajors distributed almost exclusively to independently-owned distros, or outlets for local rock fashion, music, and band merchandise. Whereas in Jakarta, all distribution sites were located in malls. Hmm. What does that say about local indie communities? I'll save that topic for future speculation.

Anyway, I thought it'd be a good idea to share the album's current availability here (also listed on Navicula's facebook profile).

The album is available in all Disctarra Nasional outlets.

Jakarta:
- Aksara Kemang
- Aksara Citos
- Aksara Plaza Indonesia
- Aquarius Mahakam
- Aquarius Pondok Indah
- Beatz Music Plaza eX
- Beatz Music Citos
- Duta Suara Senayan 1
- Duta Suara Plaza Indonesia
- Duta Suara Sabang
- Duta Suara Kelapa Gading
- Hey Folks! Distro
- Music+ Blok M Plaza
- Music+ Mall Taman Anggrek
- Music+ Sarinah
- Music+ Citos
- Musiklub PI Mall 2
- Red and White - Grand Indonesia
- WOM - Pluit Mall
- WOM - Citraland Mall

Bandung:
- Arena Experience Distro
- Anonim Distro
- Aquarius Dago
- Duta Suara Mall Paris Van Java
- Eat Shop
- Monik House Distro
- Riotic Independent Store
- UNKL347
- Wadezig Offline Store

Tangerang:
- Duta Suara Serpong
- Duta Suara Lippo Karawaci

Bogor:
- Duta Suara Mall Ekalosari

Yogyakarta:
- Popeye
- Slackers Distro

Solo:
- Belukar Rockshop

Semarang:
- Districtsides Distro

Surabaya:
- Aquarius Sutomo

Malang:
- Firecatz Distro

Bali:
- Suicide Glam, Renon

Makassar:
- Chambers Distro

If you live somewhere else, you can order their album by post. Contact Navicula Management at:
E-mail: navicula.bali@gmail.com
Hp: 08179743034

As a sneak preview for my future post on the tour, I've included a video of Navicula Performing "Zat Hijau Daun" at Matchboxx, Surabaya, East Java. You may want to turn down your volume if you watch this in a public place :).

Photograph of Navicula at their Matchboxx gig. Photograph by Rere.

Remodeling

2009-06-25T19:39:00.008+08:00

Faithful followers will notice a few changes to this research blog of late. New title, revised description and profile, and additional photos. These changes reflect some exciting (and daunting) remodeling of my research project here in Bali.

The 11th of June marked eight months that I have lived in Bali conducting my dissertation research. For more than five months my work has increasingly focused on the fascinating developments in Balinese indie music since the 2002 bombings. As I write this I am currently sitting in a warnet in Surabaya, sipping iced tea and taking a brief break from a hectic schedule touring with Navicula for their sixth album launch throughout Java--we started in Bandung and went on to Jakarta, Yogyakarta and Solo. Navicula is performing in East Java, both in Surabaya and in Malang, before we head back to Denpasar (by bus! Whew!)

Due to the breadth of this indie music focus alone, and the potential it suggests for a critical contribution to scholarship on Balinese music (and Indonesian popular music, more broadly) I have found it rather difficult to maintain a commitment to a multi-sited project. Further, I can no longer argue for the salience of ajeg Bali as an enduring index of Balinese identity—nowadays the term is passé; it tends to exclude more people than it represents.

After careful consideration and in consultation with my dissertation committee, I have opted to shift the focus of my dissertation entirely to indie music in post-bomb Bali. Here is a summary of developments since 2002 (also presented in a previous post):

The 2002 and 2005 bombings in southern Bali catastrophically impacted a thriving tourism industry, plummeting the island into economic recession. In the wake of the terrorist attacks, a budding Balinese popular music market thrived as a rising number of musicians released new albums and performed large-scale concerts and island- or nation-wide tours. In particular, the previous niche market for “indie” or “alternative” music significantly expanded. The submarket’s designation reflects both musicians’ distinction from the popular style lagu pop slow in favor of “harder” genres such as blues, hard rock, thrash metal, punk, rockabilly, psychobilly, and electronica; as well as artists’ tendencies to pursue DIY projects. The bombings financially impacted local bars and clubs where owners had previously hired top-40 bands to entertain tourists. When tourists were no longer coming, owners sought an alternative market in anak mudah, Balinese youth, and more frequently hired local indie bands for their entertainment. An increase in corporate sponsorship for live performance, particularly by cigarette and telecommunications companies, gave indie artists a financial boost where album royalties did not. Finally, with the establishment of reputable production houses and media support by local radio stations, Bali Music Magazine, and Bali Music Channel, the alternative music market continues to grow.

I wish to examine the development of the indie music scene from 2002 to the present, based on a number of prominent bands in Bali (explored through interviews, local gigs, local and national tours, rehearsals, studio recording sessions, etc.), as well as through interviews with band managers, producers, roadies, venue owners, and fans. The counterpoint to this research is the work I completed for the first three months with so-called artistic elites—faculty and students of ISI, high profile Balinese Hindus—whose strategic vision for the development of the arts and Balinese regional identity has consistently excluded the majority of the artists and fans who comprise the indie scene. What I have discovered is that musical performance may indeed become a strategy to promote and strengthen social camaraderie following a cultural trauma, but it may also become a means to marginalize targeted factions of a region or—in the case of the Balinese indie scene—circumvent a hegemonic and homogenizing agenda.

My dissertation committe has raised some important concerns that I intend to address as research proceeds. Most critically, they want to know what unifying thesis will serve to focus my work. Hmm, a thesis. I'm afraid at this transitional point I've been far too overwhelmed by the amassing of data and have neglected in-field analysis. This is an oversight I hope to rectify after the flurry of band tours to Jakarta coming up in the next few weeks. Further, the committee wants to know what, exactly, has changed about indie music since 2002 (i.e., what was it like before the bombings); if I intend to address the diversity in genres constituting the scene (how this notable diversity is nurtured and if genre choices reflect a reaction to the dramatic social change following Bali's cultural trauma), audience participation and artist agency for scene development; and how I will attend to musical sound, in addition to economic and timing factors contributing to scene development.

So there you have it. The rather drastic shift in research focus I suggest makes it impossible to wrap up my work in ten months. So I have opted to remain in Bali for an additional academic year to continue the research. I will be working full-time during this second year of research here in Bali, but I am confident I can juggle my daily work and nightly research responsibilities as well as any other multitasking graduate student.

Oh goodness. Wish me luck.

Photograph of the audience at a special panel discussion at the Forrest Club, Renon, Bali, called "Indie Music 101: Independent, Now What?" Photograph by Rebekah E. Moore

Sebuah Lagu Sedih (A Sad Song)

2009-06-13T14:47:00.005+08:00

A few days ago Forrest Club in Renon featured a panel discussion on indie music in Indonesia (see local events below) called "Indie 101:Independent, Now What?" In addition to panelist presentations by local lecturer Robin Malau and representatives from Jakarta-based indie labels Aksara Records and D'Majors, as well as a general dialogue amongst a crowd of more that 75 people; the event featured performances by several Bali-based indie bands--Dialog Dini Hari, Navicula (acoustic), De Buntu, Ed Eddy & Residivis, and Day After the Rain, among others, performed. The bands helped to prove why Bali is truly an exceptional example of just how musically diverse and communallly nurtured a local indie scene can be, despite a lack of substantial financial capital to foster its growth.

I've uploaded a video from Dialog Dini Hari's performance that night, featuring vocalist/guitarist Dadang's newest song, "Aku dan burung" (The Bird and I). DDH's performance of this penetrating ballad about a man caught in a cage of his own making incited numerous comments on facebook and via sms the following day that detailed audience member's personal reactions to the performance and what the song meant for them (with lyrics like "Aku tidaklah bebas sepertmu" (I'm not free like you), who couldn't relate this song to intimate experiences of feeling trapped?). In addition to my video camera I recorded the audio for the Indie 101 performances with my handheld Sony PCM. The sound quality, I have to say, is outstanding (and makes up for the poor video quality--it is so dark at Forrest Club during night performances!). This video is also featured on DDH's facebook page.

Enjoy!

Dialog Dini Hari Performs "Aku Dan Burung"

Photograph of Dialog Dini Hari performing at Indie 101, Forrest Club, Renon, Bali

New Events Calendar on Musikator

2009-06-03T22:35:00.004+08:00

I am now managing the events calendar for the fantastic site Musikator I have mentioned before. Scroll down to "Upcoming Events," site menu on the right. I'm doing my best to include all major music events in Bali and Indonesia. Any of you players out there who happen upon this: send info for your upcoming events my way and I'll be sure to get them listed on the Musikator site! Between Musikator and Facebook, one would be hard pressed to overlook the countless indie gigs in Bali these days!

Local Events: Indie 101

2009-06-03T16:35:00.006+08:00

I'm banking on having all my burning questions about Balinese indie music answered at this incredible forum. The event brings together the best musicians, artist advocates, and thinkers in Bali to discuss, well, the current indie predicament--the term's meaning, today's pioneering indie artists, the advantages and disadvantages of indie projects, etc. Could I ask for a more research-appropriate event? I'll surely post videos and photos from INDIE 101 later. Stay tuned!

INDIE 101: INDEPENDENT, NOW WHAT?
Keynote Speakers: David Karto (demajors Records), David Tarigan (Aksara Records), Robin Malau
Moderator: Rudolf Dethu
Hosts: Robi & Dankie Navicula, Wiz Hydrant, Ajie Sinatra, Prima Geekssmile, Sari Nymphea, Dizta Discotion Pill, Ghigox Parau, Rude Boy Dodix, Igo Blado
Venue: Forrest Club at Suicide Glam Clubhouse, Renon, Denpasar
Day/Date/Time: Sunday, 07 June 2009, 5 PM
+ Navicula, Ed Eddy & Residivis, & Day After the Rain unplugged
& open mic session

Note: This is a free event. No cover charge

Local Events: Celebrating World Environment Day

2009-06-03T16:20:00.006+08:00

Cintai Lautku & Lingkunganku bersama NAVICULA
Celebrating World Environment Day

When: Friday, 5 June 2009, 7:00 pm
Where: Forrest Club - Suicide Glam, Jl. Cok Agung Tresna, Renon-Denpasar, Bali, Indonesia
Featuring: Film viewing, Mola-Mola; Presentation by ecoBali; special acoustic performance by Navicula

Photograph by Lakota Moira

Video: Navicula at Grunge Gods II, Jakarta

2009-04-27T18:45:00.005+08:00

Time for some more great music! Just a week after I accompanied Dialog Dini Hari to Jakarta for their Beranda Tour, I headed back with Navicula. The band played at Jaya Pub, The Black Hole at Prost for Grunge Gods II in Kemang, and BB's Blues Bar in Menteng.

You'd be hard pressed to find any indie music lover in Bali--or in Indonesia, for that matter--who hasn't heard of Navicula. They've been playing together for twelve years, and they're scheduled to release their seventh album sometime in June. A few years ago they signed with Sony, but have found much more satisfaction pursuing their personal musical ambitions free from the constraints of a major label. Their music is a self-described combination of grunge, psychedelic, and "straight forward rock." Their lyrics frequently feature socially conscious messages; they encourage their fans to become social critics and activists. In my opinion, they put on one of the best rock performances. In the world. Seriously, these guys are phenomenal performers, as this video clip will demonstrate. There's a reason rumors spread in Jakarta after the boys left town that Navicula may be the best rock band in Indonesia. Navicula will return to Jakarta in June for their album launch.

Photograph by Lakota Moira. Navicula lead singer crowd surfing (and singing!) at Grunge Gods II, Black Hole at Prost, Jakarta

Singalong at the Forrest Club, Suicide Glam, Renon, Bali

2009-04-27T15:36:00.009+08:00

This is too sweet not to share.

One of my favorite places to get wireless internet, work on field notes, hold interviews and meetings, hang out with friends, and drink beer is the Forrest Club in Renon, just a five minute motorbike ride from my apartment. The Forrest Club, run by the tattoo parlor/rock fashion retailer/music distribution center Suicide Glam is, as its name suggests, like a grown-up clubhouse where many of my favorite musicians come to conduct meetings and relax. It's nothing more than a little outdoor terrace with a small kitchen and tables and chairs, attached to SG. FC frequently features live music performances (like Musikalisasi Puisi promoted below) and special interest group meetings. I'm there or next door, at the tasty rumah makan Warung Kampoeng almost everyday.

The other night I met with Om Dank of Navicula and Dialog Dini Hari to work on DDH's music video "Aku Dimana" (also below). As usual, the place got pretty crowded as the evening wore on, and some of my Jakarta friends (who have long divided their time between their homes in the capital and in Batu Bulan) showed up with their unbelievably adorable son, Karim. Karim is perhaps one of Dialog Dini Hari's biggest fans. He knows practically all the words for every song from their album. That night we all sat around as Karim entertained us by singing DDH's hits while Dankie strummed his guitar in accompaniment and sang "back-up." I took some audio and Nuniek, Karim's mother, snapped a few photos. Below is a podcast of his rendition of "Sahabatuku Jadi Hantu," My Friend Becomes a Ghost.

Sometimes I just get overwhelmed with how warm and welcoming people have been in the indie music scene. I guess I wanted to share this podcast to demonstrate, at least aurally, what my new indie music "family" is like.

Event: Musikalisasi Puisi Pekerja dan Atmosfir Tipis

2009-04-26T13:58:00.002+08:00

Video: Dialog Dini Hari's "Aku Dimana"

2009-04-24T15:40:00.011+08:00

Time to share some more music! A few weeks ago I went on tour with the acoustic trio Dialog Dini Hari, a project of Dadang SH Pranoto, guitarist for Navicula. Their music combines their musical influences of blues and folk with Dankie's spectacular songwriting. Bassist Zio is former member of the Balinese rockabilly group The Hydrant, and drummer Deny balances his time between other music projects and his job at Antida Studio. The band took part in a whirlwind tour of some of the hottest spots for live music in Jakarta, including The Black Hole at Prost, Star Deli, and Coffeewar in Kemang, as well as BB's Blues Bar in Menteng. They were interviewed by various magazines (including Rolling Stone Indonesia) and radio stations (including OZ Radio and Trax Radio). They also spent two days at Pos Studio in Tebet recording three new songs. I don't know how the boys did it all. I was completely wrecked by the end of the tour, and I can only imagine how exhausted they all were. But from a research standpoint, the opportunity to tour with one of the newest (and most successful) bands in Bali was, well, luar biasa. I learned a great deal about various aspects of the Balinese indie music industry, such as issues of promotions, management, studio recording, album distribution, and touring. I really can't thank Om Dank enough for allowing me to tag along.

Below is a link to a music video I created for the band. It documents their tour in Jakarta, set to their latest song, "Aku Dimana?" The song has been a huge hit at all of their gigs. Vocalist Dankie had this to say to DDH's fans about the video:

"Ada sebuah kado perjalanan Tour Beranda Jakarta dari Dialog Dini Hari buat kalian semua, video dokumentasi, penuh keringat sukacita, keakraban penuh ikhlas, kerelaan yg tulus, berserah diri utk musik, dr panggung kepanggung...Ketika sebuah pertanyaan menjadi sebuah pernyataan kita tdk akan bertanya lagi 'Aku Dimana?'..

Watch: "Aku Dimana? Di Jakarta, Mas"

Photograph of Dialog Dini Hari at D'Place, Jakarta. Photograph by Rebekah E. Moore

Shifting Focus

2009-04-19T20:41:00.008+08:00

I think it’s time for a research update. A month ago I presented at the regional Fulbright conference in Kuala Lumpur, and preparing my paper required some reassessing of research progress. My original project design concerned the intersection of various discourses about music and identity in post-bomb Bali, with a focus on the rise of the concept ajeg Bali, or Bali erect/strong. My work was originally multi-sited and multi-genred in scope. But for a variety of reasons I am considering shifting focus almost exclusively to the indie music scene. Discourses about Balinese “tradition” and “spirituality” which informed the original thesis continue to serve as a reference point for my understanding of indie music’s import within a variety of communities in southern Bali, but my chair and I are in agreement that a new focus on a broadly considered post-bomb indie scene could prove much more fruitful and practical in the long run. Allow me to elaborate further. I recently contacted my dissertation chair to ask for his advice. Here is what I shared with him:

The most important bit of news of late is that ajeg Bali is no longer a very fruitful focus [hence, the change in blog name]. While it was a very important concept for a lot of folks between the years 2002 and 2006, today it’s passé. I also find it very difficult to argue for any enduring, new verbal or musical discourses following the bombings when it comes to my research on karawitan. And if the bombings continue to be the linchpin for this project that’s rather problematic. So I’ve hit sort of a wall with my research at ISI, because I just don’t see any sort of significant, enduring change that would warrant a focus on “post-bomb music” in the classical performing arts program there. I’m not sure how to proceed with the karawitan focus. I don’t know what I can really add about ISI or “traditional” music in Bali. I think there are many more qualified people to continue researching within this sphere of musical performance.

But research on popular music, particularly within the indie scene in Bali, is going amazingly well. Basically the last few months have focused—through interviews, local gigs, island- and nationwide tours, rehearsals, studio recording sessions, etc.—on a number of prominent bands in Bali, including Navicula, Dialog Dini Hari, Ed Eddy & Residivis, De Buntu, Discotion Pill, Nymphea, Superman Is Dead, The Last One, Scared of Bums, Suicidal Sinatra, and others; as well as interviews with band managers, producers, roadies, venue owners, and fans. I’m in touch with a few folks in Jakarta (from Rolling Stone and local zines) who are helping me to understand the history of indie music more broadly in some key locales in Indonesia. I’ve learned a great deal from my new friends, including their theories on the various reasons for the expansion of the indie scene after the first bombing and what, exactly, “indie” means to scene participants. I’ve got a wonderful, mutually-beneficial relationship with the musicians because they benefit directly from my documentation of their gigs—I hand over just about everything for promotional purposes and am even in the process of making promotional videos for two of the bands (they frequently introduce me to people at their gigs as their photographer). I hope the abstract I recently submitted for the next SEM conference will demonstrate how interesting this line of the research is. Most critically for my original project design, the substantial growth of the indie music scene is truly a post-bomb phenomenon.

“An Alternative Market: Indie Music in post-Bomb Bali”

The 2002 and 2005 bombings in southern Bali catastrophically impacted a thriving tourism industry, plummeting the island into economic recession. In the wake of the terrorist attacks, a budding Balinese popular music market thrived as a rising number of musicians released new albums and performed large-scale concerts and island- or nation-wide tours. In particular, the previous niche market for “indie” or “alternative” music significantly expanded. The submarket’s designation reflects both musicians’ departures from the popular style lagu pop slow in favor of “harder” genres such as blues, hard rock, thrash metal, punk, rockabilly, psychobilly, and electronica; as well as artists’ tendencies to pursue DIY projects. The bombings financially impacted local bars and clubs where owners had previously hired top-40 bands to entertain tourists. When tourists were no longer coming, owners sought an alternative market in anak mudah, Balinese youth, and more frequently hired local indie bands for their entertainment. An increase in corporate sponsorship for live performance, particularly by cigarette and telecommunications companies, gave indie artists a financial boost where album royalties did not. Finally, with the establishment of reputable production houses and media support by local radio stations, Bali Music Magazine, and Bali Music Channel, the alternative music market continues to grow. In this paper I examine the largely under-researched area of Balinese popular music; based on conversations with musicians, producers, band managers, roadies, venue owners, and journalists I trace Balinese alternative music’s history from 2002 through the present and outline the various discursive interests of its participants.

So again, if the bombings are my starting point, change within the indie scene in Bali is measureable. And someone really, really needs to pay some serious attention to it. I am very tempted to put all my eggs in this basket and redirect my focus to this thriving industry because the research is much more interesting (and feasible) within the sphere of popular music than it is within karawitan. Then again, as illustrated in my Fulbright conference paper (see below), the conflicting discourses about music (coming from the side of “traditional” music and popular music) are also intriguing, and if I could continue to trace the contrastive opinions about what music best serves a regionalist agenda, it might just be worth it to continue making trips over to ISI.

I don’t suppose any of my readers have any thoughts on these matters?

Photograph of Bobby of Superman is Dead at a concert in Negara, Bali. Photograph by Rebekah E. Moore

Farabi Music Forum, Kuta, Bali (26/4/09)

2009-04-19T19:57:00.001+08:00

Earth Day Celebration, Ubud, Bali (25/4/09)

2009-04-19T19:53:00.002+08:00

Don't miss Navicula unplugged!

Art Cafe Opening, Seminyak, Bali (23/4/09)

2009-04-19T19:51:00.002+08:00

Upcoming Events

2009-04-18T13:59:00.004+08:00

Wow, so many new insights to share, so little time! Oh well, until I get a few free hours to sit down and actually write something for this thing, I'll share a few upcoming events in Bali. First off, tonight the UNUD campus (Denpasar, Bali) is featuring some great local bands for a great cause. Events start at 5:00 pm.

Green Bazaar

2009-03-21T09:40:00.003+08:00

For those in the Denpasar area, don't miss the Green Bazaar tonight, 9:00 pm, in Banjar Lukluk, Denpasar. Navicula, a Balinese band hosting and performing at the event, writes, "Green Bazaar, the concept is like a "traditional" Balinese Bazaar but with a GREEN THEME. A percentage of profits raised will be donated to an organization with a focus on environmental issues."

Shifting Research Questions

2009-03-20T15:48:00.015+08:00

In the last four weeks my research has shifted focus to pop Bali, and that has kept me incredibly busy! I am so grateful to the many new friends I have made and for their willingness to indulge my endless pursuit of research objectives, whatever those may be at any particular moment. In the last few weeks I've gotten to know the band members of Navicula, Dialog Dini Hari, Nymphea, Discotion Pill, Ed Eddy & Residivis, and The Last One; as well as the staff at Musikator and One Dollar for Music. I've completed quite a few formal interviews and attended more rehearsals and gigs than I can count. What these various activities have taught me is how overwhelmingly expansive the Balinese popular music market is nowadays, and how much work I have to do to try to get a handle on how to approach it in my research. I was forced into a preliminary analysis of pop Bali recently when I presented a paper on my research progress for a special mid-year Fulbright conference for researchers in Southeast Asia. I thought this might be yet another nice opportunity to repeat my research objectives here, illustrate how these objectives have changed, and summarize my first impressions of pop Bali. But most importantly, in preparing for the Fulbright conference I realized a core focus of my research would likely have to be abandoned: that is, I have been all but pressuring my interlocturs into caring about ajeg Bali when, in actuality, the concept isn't really all that interesting to many people today. Now I have to decide if it's even worth pursuing as a study object or emic theoretical frame at all. Hmm, a big issue with which to contend. Have I managed to sufficiently frightened my dissertation committee yet? Anyway, I include that Fulbright paper here in its entirety:

"The Pursuit of an Ideal Bali in Modern Musical Arts"

This paper presents ongoing research in Bali, Indonesia, with an initial focus on changes to research design and analytical frame. My current aim is to trace changes in discourses surrounding (and discourses within) musical performance after the 2002 and 2005 terrorist attacks. As an ethnomusicologist I engage ethnographic research methods developed within my own field, as well as within anthropology. These methods include participant observation, structured interview, and casual conversation. My project is also multi-locale in design, as I seek to understand a range of not only distinctive, but frequently conflicting musical discourses, rather than a single genre or performance venue. According to George Marcus, within multi-locale ethnography,

“by sequential narrative and the effect of simultaneity, the ethnographer might try in a single text to represent multiple, blindly interdependent locales, each explored ethnographically and mutually linked by the intended and unintended consequences of activities within them” (Marcus 1986:171).

My research schedule to date has focused on the two broad “locales” or spheres of traditional and popular music performance in Bali (with a particular focus in the latter case on musik yang keras or hard music). These spheres are locally distinguished and generally segregated by context and specialization—thus, they were not arbitrarily chosen, but were guided by their polarization within Balinese discourses. My activities are quite varied: I attend Hindu temple ceremonies (odalan) around the province of Badung in order to document Balinese orchestral (gamelan) performance. I visit the Indonesian College for the Arts Denpasar campus (known hereafter as ISI) to attend student rehearsals, exams, and performances, as well as arrange and execute interviews with students and faculty. I attend live popular music performance through large-scale concerts and local bar and café gigs and interview popular performers in various genres, including blues, hard rock, thrash metal, punk, rockabilly, psychobilly, alternative, and electronica. I correspond with organizers of the Bali JamFest, an immense annual popular music festival featuring more than fifty performing groups, as well as editors at Bali Music Magazine and Bali Music Channel—all of which were established in the last two years.

Original Project Design

I first formulated this research topic after visiting Bali shortly before the second bombing. Bali’s citizens were still reeling from the tourism industry’s near devastation. The 2002 and 2005 terrorist bombings and subsequent economic recession culminated in a cultural trauma (Alexander 2004) on the island, and thus stimulated new discourses about Balinese regionalism.
In response to a paramount material, psychological, and social crisis, local academics, politicians, and news media contributors mounted a movement to consolidate, promote, and maintain the interconnected Balinese concepts of adat (tradition; social order), agama (religion, referring to the majority Balinese Hinduism), and budaya (culture; artistic expression). This campaign for the identification and consolidation of cultural values developed into a prescriptive theoretical principle called ajeg Bali (roughly translating to Bali erect or Bali strong). For years ajeg Bali was a prevalent topic in news media, political campaigns, graduate seminars, and casual conversation. It was variably interpreted, but generally maintained the single objective to restore balance (keseimbangan)—cosmological, economic, and social—to the island in order to secure Bali’s collective future. Its ubiquity appealed to me in late 2005, and I determined to make the concept a central focus of my research.

Musical performance, which falls under the domain of budaya, was central to discourses about ajeg Bali. Following the bombings, not only did discourses about ajeg Bali interpret and, thus, impact performing arts, but performing arts were also a primary medium for shaping discourses about ajeg Bali. Popular musicians island- and nation-wide participated in post-bom benefit concerts. ISI faculty created new wayang, shadow theatre performances, which functioned both as coping strategy and educational tool to encourage proper social behavior and, thus, help avoid such a catastrophe in the future. Debates abounded about the importance of the arts in education, as a means to attenuate cultural trauma and as a path toward civil unity.

But today ajeg Bali as an amorphous buzzword for Balineseness, is in fact, dead. For the majority of my current informants, ajeg Bali no longer resonates with the vehement island pride it once did. But the private and public concerns about Bali’s future that ajeg Bali indexes, particularly within the current global economic crisis, still prevail. Further, musical performance remains a chief setting for the pursuit of an ideal, future Bali. But just as multiple regionalist discourses coexist on the island, so multiple types of and settings for musical performance can communicate particular objectives. In settings as varied as the State-sponsored arts conservatory, a Hindu temple, a bar, and a rock concert, musical performance is a manifest way in which Balinese shape musical and social ideals, informed by primary allegiance to the island and secondary to the Nation.

Musik tradisional

So what are musical discourses like today? From here I’d like to move into a summary of my early findings within my two spheres of research. I’ll begin with musik tradisional. Most of my conversations with musicians and audiences within the sphere of traditional music reveal an underlying debate distinguishing arts that are considered examples of cultural heritage (warisan budaya) and arts resulting from what my interlocutors call the impact of globalization or globalisasi—globalisasi here is locally defined, either neutrally, as the current state of things in the wake of dramatically improving and expanding communications technology, or more critically, as the increasing domination of Bali by non-Balinese values through modern communications media and foreign tourists. At least since the 1990s, coinciding with a dramatic expansion of Bali’s tourism industry, a divisive debate amongst “Balinese authorities,” as Picard would call them (or people with the financial or moral capital to speak “on behalf” of the Balinese people) (Picard 1996), has raged over the impact of globalisasi on the performing arts. Arts considered warisan budaya are distinguished from those resulting from the impact of globalisasi (see ibid.). And this distinction mirrors two views on the future of performing arts: the first is an inward-looking discourse of separatism, and the second an outward-looking one focused on modernization (modernisasi) and cultural exchange at the global level.

By and large, ISI-educated musicians adopt a position within this debate that reflects the university’s mission to promote warisan budaya (see Picard, ibid.). More specifically, they argue that those musics that fall under the broad category of karawitan, or music for Balinese gamelan, most appropriately represent Balineseness. They contend that if Balinese are to maintain their regional distinction while simultaneously answering a perceived cultural crisis like the current recession, they must strive to develop and maintain karawitan. This is not only due to its identification with distinctively Balinese music and, thus, as a marker of a distinctive Balinese identity; more significantly, performing karawitan means simultaneously maintaining customary obligation (adat) and artistic (budaya) and Hindu religious (agama) praxis. To elaborate, karawitan frequently accompanies customary obligation and religious ritual, thus synthesizing these three types of Hindu Balinese practices. I’ve prepared a sample of some of the range of performance styles emerging from ISI’s karawitan program to give you an idea of the soundscape within this sphere.

Musik keras

One might assume that Balinese popular musicians, whose music is excluded from the ISI party line on warisan budaya, might present contrastive opinions about music and the strengthening of Balinese solidarity. But in reality, most of my interlocutors within this second sphere are simply not engaged with the same debates as ISI students and professors. They are not disinterested in Balinese regionalism, however. In fact, a number of performing artists are vocal advocates for the promotion of the Balinese language, protection of Balinese social and ecological resources, and improvement of Balinese communal relations. But popular musicians remain unthreatened by ISI discourses. There simply is not direct communication between these two spheres.

Balinese popular music today ranges the gamut of performance styles and agendas. For my own clarity, I recently developed a cursory reduction of popular music scenes, not distinguishable by genre, but by overall discursive or intersubjective interests. For example, a number of performance artists explicitly indigenize so-called global music styles such as metal and punk by synthesizing them with local traditions, such as gamelan. Others perform socially conscious music, prescribing, within lyrical material, Balinese social ideals. Social messages include lyrics discouraging illegal drug use or violence or encouraging community service, positive social relations, and general human respect and tolerance. Many of today’s bands explicitly address (and often celebrate) the local through language choice, lyrics, imagery in music video material, and onstage commentary. Finally there are bands that are not easily analyzed as local hybrids of globally circulating musical codes, but rather as groups that push the boundaries of what is considered Balinese music. Rather than gesturing locally, they gesture elsewhere, as Emma Baulch would put it (2007), adeptly engaging musical styles circulating globally, and thus making hard rock, punk, electronica, metal, and hip hop as much a legitimate part of the Balinese soundscape as Balinese gamelan. I have also prepared a brief sample from the popular music sphere in Bali.

To summarize, most ISI students and faculty whom I have interviewed argue that their music constitutes warisan budaya, while musik keras constitutes the aesthetic result of globalisasi, and is assessed as counter to Balinese ideals. Musik keras musicians are generally neither surprised nor threatened by these discourses. They are simply uninvolved. But within their own sphere they develop discourses about an ideal Bali as well, discourses circulated within a massive audience of young people.

Music in post-bom Bali

So what changed about music in post-bom Bali? Within the sphere of traditional music performance, I can argue for no enduring formal change in discursive material. Rather, the bombings provoked a revitalization of 1990s debates about warisan budaya and globalisasi. But the bombings are also frequently sited as evidence of what can happen when things are out of balance, and karawitan as a means for Balinese to remember who they are and how to protect their island. These discourses, led primarily by Hindu Balinese elites at the highest level of formal performing arts education, are hegemonic, and they also exclude a number of Balinese residents, including Balinese Muslims, Christians, and Buddhists; Javanese immigrants; and participants in the second sphere of musical performance examined. By contrast, the sphere of musik keras is much more religiously and ethnically integrated, as Hindu, Muslim, and Christian Balinese frequent the same concerts and sometimes play in the same bands.

Within the popular music sphere, change since the bombings is measureable. Most interesting is the growth of the sphere: Before the bombings only a small number of Balinese artists specializing in musik keras managed to secure recording contracts, whereas today I find it even difficult to keep track of the number of recording artists. A sizeable Balinese popular music market is truly a post-bom phenomenon. My interlocutors site a number of reasons for this: First, the bombings, as already noted, served as a reference point for regionalist discourses about Balinese identity, which fed a market for songs written in the Balinese language or songs that gestured locally. Second, the bombings financially impacted local bars and clubs where owners had previously hired top-40 bands to entertain tourists. When the tourists were no longer coming, owners had to seek an alternative market. They turned to anak mudah, young people of Bali, and started bringing in local bands for their entertainment. The trend even caught on at the corporate giant Hard Rock Café in Kuta, which began featuring Balinese bands in 2004. Third, some argue that the Balinese popular music market boom resulted from the success of the nationally and internationally-known metal group Lolot and punk rock group Superman is Dead. Lolot and SID’s achievements stimulated local musical creativity island-wide. Rising stars worked hard in the years following the bombings to get signed with record labels, and an increase in the number of recording albums lead to the establishment of reputable production houses on the island. Finally, in the new millennium, artists saw an increase in opportunities for corporate sponsorship for live performance, particularly by cigarette and telecommunications companies. Since royalties were, and remain, ridiculously meager in Bali, corporate dollars give Balinese bands a financial boost where album sales do not.

Conclusion

I would be remiss to attempt a conclusion when I am but halfway through my research. So I will close by reiterating what my shifting research questions have helped me to understand: Like most overused, catchall slogans, ajeg Bali could not maintain a salience for Balinese forever, and today the concept is passé. But the long-running debates about Balinese “tradition” and “modernity” to which it frequently referred continue to intersect aesthetic practices. Musical performance, in particular, remains an effective tactic for the development and communication of diverse discourses on Balinese ideals. Finally, I would argue that examining multiple locales, or spheres, of musical performance, while intellectually and physically demanding, can reveal the frictions within particular regions that a singularly-focused project might overlook.

References

Alexander, Jeffrey C. 2004. “Toward a Theory of Cultural Trauma.” Cultural Trauma and Collective Identity. Jeffrey C. Alexander, ed. Berkeley: University of California Press. 1-30.

Baulch, Emma. 2007. Making Scenes: Reggae, Punk, and Death Metal in 1990s Bali. Durham and London: Duke University Press.

Marcus, George E. 1986. “Contemporary Problems of Ethnography in the Modern World System.” In Writing Culture: The Poetics and Politics of Ethnography. Edited by James Clifford and George E. Marcus. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1986.

Picard, Michael. 1996. “Dance and Drama in Bali: The Making of an Indonesian Art Form.” In Being Modern in Bali, edited by Adrian Vickers. New Haven, Ct: Yale University Southeast Asian Studies. 115-157.

Ramstedt, Martin. 2009. Personal correspondence with the author. Bali, Indonesia.

Photograph of a concert stage at the Bali JamFest 2008. Photograph by Rebekah E. Moore

Musikator Site

2009-02-17T17:40:00.007+08:00

I've mentioned the Musikator sites several times, but I just want to make sure it doesn't get lost amongst my long-winded entries. This is a phenomenal source for information on music in Bali and Indonesia. It was founded by three Balinese interested in musik mudah di Bali (Balinese youth music) as a chat room, and it expanded to become, first a directory, and now a veritable authority of Indonesian music. Not only can fans discuss the posts and their favorite bands on the site, but they can also access founder blog entries, photos, concert reviews, tour schedules, bios, official websites, and mp3 files for a substantial number of Indonesian performing artists. This month Musikator also launched a site dedicated to video material, Musikator.TV. I can really think of no parallel for this incredible resource in the States.

Logo lifted from the Musikator website. Ok, I really must start asking permission first.

Young Sounds of Bali Grand Finale Saturday, 21/2

2009-02-17T15:16:00.004+08:00

I think it's about time my research blog started serving more than just as a site for my self-indulgent, often short-sited ramblings about the progression of my work. For those of you who have taken the time to read my posts thus far, I am eternally grateful for your patience. But in an effort to forge a reciprocally beneficial relationship with my Balinese interlocutors, I'm going to start promoting local music events here as well (and hope that more than my four followers run across this thing--no offense four followers. I am so, so glad to have you!). So let's kick things off...

I hope anyone reading this who happens to be in Bali this weekend will join me at the grand finale for the Young Sounds of Bali competition, a project of the organization One Dollar for Music Indonesia in which 81 contestants competed for the chance to record a collaborative album of their original compositions (and the unprecedented opportunity for intensive training in the form of performance coaching and participation in workshops about the recording industry). The young contestants (ranging in age from 15 to 20) were asked to draw from their own musical influences as well as the sounds of their home environments in Bali to create their new works. The grand finale is preceded by a festival featuring a variety of music workshops (including one on copywriting, contracts, and royalties led by a representative of the World Intellectual Property Organization) and a bazaar on Friday, 21/2. On Saturday night, the finalists will perform.

When: Saturday, February 21, 8:00 pm.
Where: The Arts Centre, Jl. Nusa Indah, Denpasar, Indonesia

More information about Young Sounds of Bali and other projects of One Dollar for Music Indonesia is available on the web.

Boma image lifted from Young Sounds of Bali site. Sorry, but it's such a great icon, I had to use it. To the graphic artist: Brilliant!

Initial Thoughts on pop Bali

2009-02-15T13:01:00.005+08:00

After attending the Bali JamFest, I found it necessary to catalogue the groups with which I hope to work in the future, in order to make sense of the tremendous variety evident within Balinese popular music today. What follows is certainly a dramatic reduction of the aesthetics and agendas of these groups and, without doubt, a depiction of my own naïve attempt to define “scenes” (see Baulch 2007) in Balinese popular music (with very little experience in such scenes to date). But let’s see where this little catalogue leads…

Socially Conscious Music:

A number of the artists who performed at Bali JamFest explicitly state ideas about the improvement of Balinese society and, thus, at least in terms of lyrical material, most explicitly prescribe Balinese ideals. Thus, they most certainly fall within the parameters of my original research project; whether or not they use the term “ajeg Bali,” they certainly share opinions about how best to strengthen Balinese society through their music. Such groups include Bintang, Nanoe Biroe, Navicula, Parau, Di Ubud, Ed Eddy & Residivis, and Lolot.

Addressing the Local:

Many of today’s bands explicitly address the local, through language choice, lyrics, images in music video material—including reference to traditional art, religion, and custom in Hindu Bali—onstage commentary, and even band name. This contrasts with the Balinese death-thrash musicians with whom Baulch worked in the 1990s who chose not to refer to “locale” in their songwriting (2007:63). Bands gesturing locally (ibid.) include Nanoe Biroe, XXX, Bintang, Di Ubud, Lolot, and Ed Eddy & Residivis.

“Gesturing Elsewhere”

This is an idea raised by Emma Baulch in her book, in which she theorizes that the Balinese death metal scene presents a case example of the ambivalence with which some musicians engage “the local” in their music. She writes, “Commonly, locals are held to lay claim to dominant cultural forms by hybridizing them, often by melding ‘traditional’ sounds with foreign musical codes (Lakha 1999; Lent 1995). Significantly, however, Balinese death metal musicians did not indigenize the genre in this fashion. Rather, they nestled into local spaces by gesturing elsewhere, thereby accentuating their marginal status in the local tourism industry” (2007:52-53). I identify a number of bands that, to greater or lesser degree, are in congruence with this analysis, including Discotion Pill, Nymphea, The Hydrant, Superman Is Dead, Kanan Lima, and Joni Agung & Double T.

Although, as I write, I’m starting to doubt the applicability of the idea of “gesturing elsewhere” to explain the genre choices of these artists in recording and live music industries that have dramatically changed since the 1990s. For example, Balinese reggae has been around for nearly twenty years and has served an important role in Bali’s tourism industry, which, furthermore, has contributed to the local economy for the better part of the last century. Does this not suggest the successful territorialization of the genre? And I’ve discussed with Baulch and come across a few articles about the unique Balinese rockabilly scene, of which the only parallel I can draw is a comparably niche market (in terms of a global music industry) of Finnish rockabilly. Are these not “local” scenes, in every sense of the word? If I borrow from Baulch’s analysis the idea that members of scenes become empowered through territorialization, then perhaps the capability of these artists to experiment and innovate, engaging the latest in popular music codes worldwide, to release albums and perform concerts, constitutes, not, gestures elsewhere but confirmation of the authority to adeptly shape diverse codes and, thus claim them. Localize them. Hmm. I’ve confused myself. I’ll have to think this through more deeply.

“Traditional” Music Influences:

And then there are the groups, such as XXX and Navicula, which explicitly indigenize global music codes by synthesizing them with local, longstanding traditions, such as Balinese karawitan. I would note that these groups definitely constituted a minority at the Bali JamFest.

For an interesting article in the Bali Post about the role of popular music in identity discourses, see the editorial “Cinta, Politik, dan Identitas Lagu Pop Bali.”

To learn more about the groups mentioned in this post and to hear their music, see Musikator.com or, to see videos by a number of performers featured at Bali JamFest, check out the newly launched Musikator.TV.

Baulch, Emma. 2007. Making Scenes: Reggae, Punk, and Death Metal in 1990s Bali. Durham and London: Duke University Press.

Lakha, Salim. 1999. “The State, Globalisation and Indian Middle-Class Identity.” In Culture and Privilege in Capitalist Asia, ed. M. Pinches. Pp. 251-74. London: Routledge. Cited in Baulch 2007.

Lent, John. 1995. Asian Popular Culture. Boulder, Colo.: Westview. Cited in Baulch 2007.

Photograph by Rebekah E. Moore. Performance at Bali JamFest 2008.

Bali JamFest 2008, Day 2

2009-02-11T18:22:00.004+08:00

Unfortunately, during the second night of Bali JamFest I was sicker still, and I had to make my way to GOR solo. But I absolutely did not want to miss performances by some of the best-known artists in Bali today, including XXX and the immensely popular Nanoe Biroe, among others. I’ll highlight a few of the night’s acts.

A few acts after my arrival a new group (formed in 2007) featuring some very young, male, Denpasar locals called Kanan Lima took the stage. Their music was a mixture of new wave, British rock, and dance or disco, and they wore these stellar costumes that were sort of a nod to Bowie's Ziggy Stardust, in my opinion, black with gold stripes across the front and very tight. The lead singer, Riyan, executed these fantastically entertaining, wild, spastic, dance moves. Kanan Lima reminded me of the American band Of Montreal and, thus, of the fantastic diversity within popular music performance in Bali. The lead singer was quite magnetic; he chatted and joked with audience members on the front row and frequently played to the video cameras.

Later I got my first taste of old-school Balinese reggae with Joni Agung and Double T. The large, jubilant, dread-bearing Joni Agung has been part of the Balinese reggae scene since its heyday in the early 1990s. In their opening song Joni Agung quoted a few Bob Marley lyrics before moving on to some very cheerful reggae songs in bahasa Bali. I am quite sure Joni Agung and Double T continue to be a big hit at the tempat hiburan or clubs in Kuta where they frequently perform. I wonder if they generally continue to cover Marley classics, or if they able to sneak in a few of their originals when they cater to a primarily tourist audience. This is something I’ll definitely have to check out.

Next up was Di Ubud, an immensely popular group that, in my opinion, successfully transitioned the evening’s vibe from passive enjoyment (with the exception of occasional sing-a-longs for the classic lagu pop Bali singers) to a full-on rock concert boiling over with audience participation in the forms of dancing, shouting, clapping, etc. The group features the exceptional guitarist Gung Gepeng, and their songs are written in Balinese. An earlier album called Bali United (2006) and, of course, their name, which means In Ubud, a popular site for cultural tourism in Bali and (in spite of, or as a result of, depending on how you approach tourism in Bali) a thriving artistic enclave, suggests their proclivity for Balinese regionalist discourses. The band is quite new to me, and I look forward to further research to learn about Di Ubud’s own spin on Balineseness.

Later that evening the emcees introduced both XXX and Nanoe Biroe as the next featured act. I was a little confused at first, but quickly realized that both bands were scheduled to perform back-to-back. XXX was up first. This trio of siblings and accompanying band members has been recording since 2003, and now they sing exclusively in Balinese. They say they’re musical influences include traditional Balinese music, as well as rock and hip-hop. XXX achieves a unique vocal aesthetic by featuring two front men (two of the three brothers), one whose voice provides the tonally based material and the other, the rap interludes or gutteral, growled, non-tonal lyrics. This creates, to my ear, an interesting synthesis of the vocal aesthetics of pop Bali (the tonal material), rap (the rhythmically delivered poetry), and heavy metal (the non-tonal growls). XXX opened (appropriately) with their song “Om Swastyastu,” and they chanted this Balinese greeting over and over, hands in the mudra for greeting and prayer, framing the heads of their microphones. One of their songs featured a recorded loop of the gamelan instrument gender, the accompanying instrument for Balinese wayang kulit (shadow theatre). During this song their recorded music video was displayed on the screen behind the band. The video featured puppets’ silhouettes singing the song’s verses, and then the puppets morphed into two-dimensional images of XXX band members. The video (which I had previously viewed on Dewata TV, one of Bali’s local TV stations) demonstrates that XXX is not only influenced by the soundscape of what they call “traditional” Bali, but by the iconography of “traditional” performance as well.

After a couple of songs, Nanoe Biroe surprised the audience by lighting up the second stage. Nanoe Biroe, without a doubt one of the most popular artists in Bali today (if for no other reason than because practically every male child on the island currently sports a Nanoe Biroe t-shirt awarded through membership in the artist’s youth organization, the sekaa Baduda*), describes his music as indie pop rock. During his performance, NB performed his most famous and recent hits in bahasa Bali (including the megahit, by Balinese standards, “Cewek Café,” a song that continues to delight and horrify, again, depending on who one asks**) and engaged in some impressive head banging (drawing attention to his waist-length dreadlocks). He also commented on the current state of political affairs in Bali. He mentioned the new anti-pornography law (See UU Pornografi below) as a potentially culturally stifling example of the Indonesian government’s continued attempts to exercise social control over budaya daerah (regional culture). He turned the law’s title into a chant, of sorts, repeating “Undang Undang Pornografi” and eliciting a loud, approving response, in kind, from his audience. NB’s solo performance was followed by a collaboration with XXX, during which the two groups took turns singing their counterpart’s hit songs. I found the clear camaraderie exhibited by the two groups suggestive of a close network of Balinese popular musicians who, generally, choose to support one another in their artistic endeavors, rather than to compete.

Who I didn’t mention at Bali Jam Fest 2008:

During my time at this festival, I saw many more groups perform that I have failed to address here. My reader will have to excuse my rock favoritism; I must refrain from substantial commentary about several of the performances during the festival that I just plain didn’t pay that much attention to. I’m not a huge traditional lagu pop Bali fan (or lagu slow, as some call it nowadays), and I definitely wasn’t interested in any of the pop duos or trios that, alas, I know are enormously successful musicians. But it would be unfair to these very talented performers for me to try to contextualize their music, because I am not interested in it. Yet. I know, by ignoring these groups I’m missing an important opportunity to explore the place of ajeg Bali within lagu pop Bali, because many of these popular performers clearly align themselves with reigning regionalist discourses; performances, featuring men in sarong and women in kebaya, Balinese language lyrics as homage to Bali, etc., demonstrate as much. Furthermore, these performers were, without a doubt, the highest paid at the concert, due to their extreme popularity island- or nationwide. Still, I just can’t get into the music, and I have to constrain my focus somehow. There’s just too much music in Bali to cover everyone. So for now I’ll be totally self-indulgent and see where I get, research-wise, by focusing on musik yang keras, the harder stuff.

I was also surprised to find nationally renowned pop and ballad singers featured at a concert bearing the name “Bali JamFest.” My surprise has to do, in part, with my own expectations of what constitutes “jam” or “fest,” based on my experiences concert-going in the United States and Europe. In my opinion, “Bali JamFest” carries certain genre connotations; I associate the concept of a jam fest with rock music. But more specific still, with a particular category of rock performers who emphasize live performance and improvisation, boast an immensely dedicated fan base, and engage such genres as blues and psychedelic rock—bands reminiscent of Phish and Grateful Dead. In the States these groups are frequently glossed as jam bands. My reaction also has to do with how the festival was promoted. To me, the marketing material (see the poster featured in the previous post link) exudes rock, and not pop. The material, black and red in color, featuring silhouettes of performers with long hair and electric guitars and an exuberant audience with hands outstretched toward the sky—doesn’t mesh, in my mind, with such famous performers as Nyanyian Dharma. But wasn’t this lineup of contrasting (in my opinion) genres jarring for other audience members?

I already suspect large-scale music concerts are few and far between in Bali, so perhaps this odd assembly reflects the necessity for any and all popular acts, no matter how diverse their styles, to perform together whenever an opportunity arises. Or perhaps concert organization based on genre distinctions isn’t so important in present-day Bali. Maybe there’s a trend of bringing in the big name groups in order to secure sponsorship capital and, thus, provide gig opportunities for lesser-known groups. All of this, so far, is just conjecture. I’ve got an interview scheduled with the chief editor of Bali Music Magazine next month, so I hope I can pose some of these questions to him and to concert organizers in the near future.

When Balawan & Batuan Ethnic Fusion took the stage on the last night of the festival around 11:00, I had to take my leave. As I departed GOR I was left with the image of Balinese dancers sporting hot pants cut from ceremonial kain (cloth), gyrating across the stage in front of a collection of gangsa (metallophones), large kendang (drums), guitars, and keyboards. I was bewildered by what I interpreted as an incredible clash of styles that constituted the festival. Performances ranged the gamut of rock, pop, heavy metal, jazz, electronica, and, as the last performance indicates, “ethnic fusion.” I was painfully aware of how much I have to learn about Balinese popular music today, but also relieved that there is no shortage of artists with whom to work in the future. And by far, I was most surprised by the number of well-known performers who are afforded the opportunity to record their albums in bahasa Bali. Certainly this constitutes a huge change within the Balinese recording industry and live music scene since the 1990s, when the groups Emma Baulch examined (2007) had no such recording opportunities and performed exclusively in English or Indonesian.

*For more on NB’s Baduda, see NB's official website. NB has modeled this organization after the traditional Balinese Hindu sekaa, a volunteer association that meets the various customary needs of the banjar (hamlet) or desa adat (customary village). I’ll address this in more detail later.
**Many of Nanoe Biroe’s songs contain explicit prescriptions for ethical behavior for his Balinese audience, such as anti-drug and anti-violence messages. Additionally, NB has adopted a slogan, of sorts, “Cewek Café juga manusia” (the café girls are people, too), in an effort to humanize women who work at Balinese cafes. Cewek café represent, for many, the Balinese cultural underbelly, because no small number of cafes are sites for Bali’s sex industry and for acquiring illegal drugs.

For more information and to hear songs by the groups featured in this post, see the Bali-based website and music forum Musikator.com.

Also see great photos from Bali JamFest at Musikator.

Baulch, Emma. 2007. Making Scenes: Reggae, Punk, and Death Metal in 1990s Bali. Durham and London: Duke University Press.

Photograph by Rebekah E. Moore. Performance by The Hydrant, Bali JamFest 2008.

Bali JamFest 2008, Day 1

2009-02-10T22:23:00.004+08:00

Well, so much for a timely concert review. I was hoping to write about Bali Jam Fest 2008 within days of its execution; but, alas, over two months have passed since the December concert. My interviews with several BJF performing artists are scheduled to commence next month, so I’ll (more or less) refrain from mere speculation about performative meaning for now and provide, rather, a summary and series of impressions. My reader’s attention span and my own fever-induced fog at show time require I only highlight a few of the many performances (i.e., those I could remember later when I wrote in my field journal) of the evening.

The second annual Bali JamFest, supported by sponsors such as the new Bali Music Channel (BMC TV), Bali Music Magazine (BM2), telecommunications operator Esia, and A-Mild Cigarettes, featured more than forty performing groups, including practically all of the stars of pop Bali; music workshops with participating performers; and a battle-of-the-bands, with no scant amount of prize money up for grabs. Sponsors, no doubt, provided the capital to bring in the big-name artists: according to cultural studies scholar and author of Making Scenes: Reggae, Punk, and Death Metal in 1990s Bali (2007), Emma Baulch, the advent of major commercial sponsorship in Bali for live music performance has significantly increased opportunities for such concerts to take place. Further, thanks to sponsor funds, artists can make a substantial figure at a single gig, thereby considerably supplementing income provided by ridiculously meager royalties from album purchases (Baulch, personal correspondence).

With a ticket price of Rp15,000 per day, the festival was financially feasible for a lot of young Balinese fans. But I had a difficult time finding a friend willing to accompany me. I asked several fans of Balinese band XXX to come along, assuming they would jump at an opportunity to see their favorite band perform live; but my requests were declined, and met with responses such as, “Oh, it’s too hot there,” “GOR [the performance venue] is too far away,” “Why go to a concert when I can listen to XXX on my cassette player/see their video on TV?,” or even, “Nah, Balinese don’t want to pay to see live music. We get it for free at the temples.” These responses were surprising, and I’ll have to unpack their connotations later, in consultation with my young consultants (hmm, who at that point were all ISI students). But eventually I did find a willing participant, and I attended the first day of the two-day concert with Yuni, a good female friend from my yoga group.

The concert was scheduled to start at 3:00, and without knowing exactly when headliners would show, I wanted to arrive right on time. Yuni and I quickly realized we’d be a long time waiting for our favorite bands, roasting without shade from the equatorial sun at Stadiun Ngurah Rai (still locally known as GOR, Gedung Olah Raga) if we stuck around. I was also still quite ill—the concert took place only three days after my return from a Jakarta hospital—and in no mood to endure up-and-comers in that heat, no matter how potentially important it may be for my research. So after watching the opening ceremonies (featuring a children’s beleganjur group and a high school marching band) and Hindu blessing, we departed for a short shopping trip and returned later that evening.

The performance space featured two conjoined stages situated at the back of the football field, facing the distant risers and plenty of grassy space for spectators. One stage was sponsored by Esia and the other by A-Mild, and each stage featured large video screens streaming advertisements from the two companies, live footage of performers or audience members recorded by the Bali Music Channel camera crew, and, occasionally, music videos by featured artists. While one stage was lit up and in use by a performing act, the other was cast in shadows and busily being prepared for the next performance. Thus, with the addition of two very enthusiastic young emcees dolling out jokes and free prizes throughout the concert, there was really no break in the action. The downside to this arrangement was that the organizers erected a gate down the middle of the field, in the spectator viewing area and in between the two stages; once the crowd grew substantially, it was impossible to navigate back and forth between the two stages. Spectators overcame this odd arrangement by assembling next to the security gate when the opposite stage was in use, pressing hard against the metal fence in order to get a better view of the opposite stage.

Yuni and I returned to GOR just in time to see the rockabilly group The Hydrant perform. For several years rockabilly has enjoyed sizeable popularity in Bali (particularly Bali, not throughout Indonesia), and The Hydrant, along with Suicidal Sinatra (both signed with Electrohell records), are both the best-known and most influential groups of the genre. The night was still young and the crowd still sparse, so lead singer, Marshelo, was having a difficult time rousing audience participation. But, in my opinion, he put on quite a show in his tight pants and greased ducktail hairstyle, and pulled off one hell-of-an Elvis.

Next up was the notorious rock/reggae group Ed Eddy and Residivis (Repeat Offender), who unabashedly boast a passion for songs about excessive drug use and the glorification of firearms. But their intent is largely satirical, and their lyrics frequently serve as social commentary on life in Indonesia. Their music landed them in hot water in 2006 when Balinese police pursued legal action against the band for their perceived insulting lyrics in the song “Anjing” (Dog). The band was found guilty and sentenced to probation, and the trial met with criticism that the ruling infringed upon the artists’ right to freedom of speech. Ed Eddy and Residivis’s performance at BJM was certainly provocative. At one point lead singer Eddy (formerly of Soul Rebel, famous for his a clean-shaven skull and sporting an unbuttoned gray shirt reminiscent of American prison garb with the band’s name spray painted across the back) taunted the crowd by shouting “Mau yang dangdut?” (Do you wanna hear dangdut?) several times, and then jokingly executing a dance style of this Indonesian popular music—the intention of his antics to mock a genre he (and, likely, his audience) considers passé. Eddy also commented on the upcoming presidential elections; he joked about the papering of Bali with campaign posters from the 40+ parties (although, overwhelmingly dominated in Bali by Megawati’s PDI-P, Partai Demokrasi Indonesia-Perjuangan, and SBY’s Partai Demokrat) and the perpetual political corruption in Indonesia.

One or two acts later came an interesting group called Discotion Pill. The lead singer employed guitar, computer, and mixing boards during the performance, opening with a great house mix and then transitioning into some nice hard rock. The group’s style was quite unlike preceding acts. On they’re Friendster page, they describe their sound as “rock electro trance.” The group’s performance reminded me of Emma Baulch’s article “Gesturing Elsewhere” (2003; see also 2007), in which she argues that 1990s metal musicians were largely disinterested in indigenizing foreign musical codes but, rather, preferred to “gesture elsewhere,” toward a perceived global music community that defied reigning regionalist definitions of Balineseness. Fast-forward to the present day: Not every popular music group in Bali is interested in an explicit engagement with local musical or linguistic codes, or with inward-looking discourses, for that matter. Sometimes a good rock band is just that—in any setting. There are many possible ways Discotion Pill might enrich my analysis of Balinese discourses on “tradition” and “modernity” by forcing me to broaden my own idea of what constitutes Balinese music. But as for my first impression, I certainly dug their sound.

Next up was Parau, one of my favorite bands in Bali, and one of the few metal acts these days. Parau’s Indonesian-language lyrics frequently contain social commentary and calls for ethically-sound behavior (pesan-pesan moral). Unfortunately (and ironically), their performance was frequently interrupted by fights erupting in the crowd. To my memory, Parau was the first group to inspire a decent mosh circle. As excitement in the circle escalated and the dancing became more erratic, people inside the circle were no longer self-contained and began colliding with spectators on the outskirts. Those people grew angry and started throwing punches or kicks. Additionally, several intoxicated teenagers within the mosh circle deliberately instigated confrontations with less mobile spectators. Parau lead singer Ghigox kept reminding people not to fight. Before their last song, Ghigox pleaded with the crowd once again. He said, we’re all saudara (brothers) here, we’re kesatuan (one). When the fighting continued, Ghigox expressed his disapproval by abruptly leaving the stage, denying his fans a final performance.

The fighting died down shortly thereafter, and after a brief emcee interlude, the rock band Bintang took the stage. The lead singer, Jun, is my friend Yuni’s neighbor, so Yuni and I (as well as her father and two children who had joined us earlier in the evening) rushed to the front of the stage right behind the security gate to watch Bintang’s performance and try to get Jun’s attention. I would personally describe Bintang’s performance as the most nationally patriotic of the evening. While lyrics, stage commentary, and subtle reggae influence were suggestive of regionalist sentiments, the stage was also filled with nationalist symbols: Jun attached an Indonesian flag to his microphone stand and, during one song, three female dancers emerged waving red and white flags. But almost all of Jun’s lyrics are written in bahasa Bali these days, with the addition of a few additional English phrases. They concluded their performance with one of their few new songs recorded in Indonesian, but which was certainly all about Bali. The song was called “Made in Bali.” To my surprise, Bintang’s performance inspired a huge mosh pit, much larger than the one that formed during Parau’s performance. I would have expected moshing to be more popular for a metal band than for this group, whose music is a mixture of pop/rock and reggae. Jun, like the group Parau, explicitly uses the stage as a platform to share his personal dreams for Balinese youth, and many of his songs provide socio-political commentary. Jun is an incredibly charismatic performer—he would go on to serve as a third emcee during the following day’s performance.

Next up was the new indie group Nymphea, a band that just may have become my new favorite Balinese group. The lead singer, Sari, is an androgynous ball of energy. She sported a short pixie haircut, black tee and tight jeans, and her performance featured the odd gesticulations that resemble convulsive fits typical of the bodily movements of indie/punk female leads. The group was clearly quite popular; the audience was literally smashed against the security gate in front of the stage by a mob of young girls trying to get closer to the band and scream out the lyrics to their famous singles, “I Quit” and “Malaikatmu” (Your Angel). Sari is the only Balinese member of the band; the remaining members are from Java, and all of their lyrics are written either in Indonesian or English (but predominantly Indonesian). Sari created a scandal in her Hindu Balinese family (her mother is Australian) when she eloped with a Muslim Javanese (and current band mate), effectively abandoning her Hindu faith.

I stayed for one final act that night before my fever returned and my pounding head got the best of me. Before Yuni and I took our leave we got to see Navicula, a long-lasting rock band (self-described these days as indie grunge) that I first heard when I visited Bali in 2005 (but they’ve been around since 1998). The lead singer, Robbie, interspersed their song performances with messages for the crowd concerning interpersonal relationships in Bali (such as, “sebagai satu tim, kerja yang sama,” we are as one team, we must work together). His comments befit Navicula’s frequent inclusion of socio-environmental messages in their song lyrics.

Ahh, too long already. Stay tuned for Day 2.

For more information and to hear songs by the groups featured in this post, see the Bali-based website and music forum Musikator.com.

Baulch, Emma. 2007. Making Scenes: Reggae, Punk, and Death Metal in 1990s Bali. Durham and London: Duke University Press.

_______. 2003. “Gesturing Elsewhere: The Identity Politics of the Balinese Death/Thrash Metal Scene.” Popular Music 22(2):195-215.

The Musical Breadth of ISI Student Performance

2009-01-14T15:56:00.006+08:00

My last post brought up the debate distinguishing arts as warisan budaya and arts resulting from globalisasi. By and large, ISI-educated musicians adopt a position within this debate that reflects the university’s mission to promote warisan budaya in Bali. My adik Indra, as a student at ISI and third member of his family to be educated there, has a strong opinion about what music will best serve to achieve the objective of ajeg Bali. He has stated explicitly on more than one occasion that those musics that fall under the broad category of karawitan (or gamelan music) fit the bill. For some performers, karawitan encompasses the totality of Bali’s musical heritage. They argue that if Balinese are to maintain their regional distinction while simultaneously answering this perceived identity crisis and improving inter-communal relations, Balinese must strive to develop and maintain adat, agama, and budaya. Karawitan is viewed as the one and only musical means to achieve this goal. This is not only due to its identification with distinctively Balinese music and thus, as a marker of a distinctive Balinese identity, but more importantly, because performing karawitan means maintaining customary obligation (adat) and artistic (budaya) and religious (agama) praxis.

Allow me an example: the primary purpose of most sacred gamelan, as music of the temples, and the dance and dramatic arts it accompanies, is to entertain both gods and humans. Karawitan performance facilitates the continued adherence to adat and agama by bringing community members to the temple in their best pakaian adat (traditional clothing) with their banten (offerings) to pray and enjoy a performance together. Participation in musical performance, thus, requires adherence to the communal obligations of Balinese custom and worship. While certainly some genres and ensemble types are waning, and some have disappeared, many musicians maintain that as long as Balinese continue to go to the temple, karawitan will always be a necessary component of Balinese life. To them, karawitan’s primary function is what distinguishes it from other genres of performance (genres not welcome in the temple).

So what happens if Hinduism is no longer a dominant religion in Bali? I have asked several people if they think Hinduism is threatened by so-called cases of polusi kebudayaan (cultural pollution, usually referring to external cultural influences on Bali), and I receive mixed messages. Some say there is no cause for immediate concern because so much is at stake if a Hindu Balinese abandons his or her religion. One essentially loses everything—one’s right to live with one’s family, one’s social status, even one’s place in the cemetery. Still others are concerned about the increasing influence of Islam in Bali, as well as the increasing number of Balinese, mostly women, who convert to Islam or Christianity upon marriage.

But this idea of karawitan being the most suitable music to strengthen Balinese solidarity got me thinking about the range of performance styles ISI students undertake. Not only is there wild diversity within musics labeled as karawitan—ranging from instrument types and dramatic and dance forms to appropriate contexts for performance (in the temple alone the placement of a gamelan indicates its sacredness—only the most sacred arts may be performed in the jeroan, the innermost temple)—but there are also many students whose stylistic and formulaic interests, both as composers and performers, depart from what I believe many students and faculty mean by karawitan. Thus, graduates of the karawitan program at ISI may end up specializing in ancient ensembles such as gong gde; kreasi baru, new music which adheres formulaically to karawitan; or musik kontemporer, new music which may depart completely from the form and instrumentation of gamelan. To illustrate this point (and finally give my readers a taste of my aural surroundings) I have compiled clips from several performances featuring ISI students in the below podcast.

Examples 1, 2, & 3: Odalan (temple ceremony) in Batu Bulan. This performance featured a showcase of kreasi baru (new music) performed by Gamelan Cerakan, a gamelan gong kebyar, and traditional repertoire for a gamelan pelegongan, perfomed by ISI student and faculty members of Sanggar Jaya Wikantram. The gamelan performed on a stage in the jaba, the outermost, or least sacred, courtyard of the temple. The first clip features the pelegongan with the very popular gendhing (composition) “Sekar Gendot.” The second is a performance of a kreasi baru called “Bima Sakti,” composed by a Japanese student at ISI who has been living in Bali on and off for more than four years. The third clip features a kreasi baru by the famous composer and founder of Cerakan, I Made Subandi, called “Blatuk Ngukul.”

Example 4: Odalan at Lodtunduh. Performance of the dance drama Calonarang, a story of witchcraft and exorcism adapted from a 16th-century Javanese tale, accompanied by gamelan pelegongan Sanggar Jaya Wikantram. The clip features a segment from the Babarongan, music accompanying the character Barong, a dragonlike village protector danced by two performers and one of the most important figures in Balinese dance drama.

Example 5: Odalan at Pedungan. Performance of Calonarang accompanied by the now rare gamelan gambuh, an ancient ensemble featuring four large suling (end-blown flutes) and two rebab (spiked lutes). This gamelan, Bantuan, is one of two active gambuh, although the instrumentation for this performance is a hybrid of semar pegulingan and the requisite suling and rebab. Several ISI students played alongside local musicians. While a gambuh performance is rare enough, a full enactment of Calonarang accompanied by gambuh is virtually unheard of nowadays, and the temple was packed with excited spectators and cameramen from BaliTV.

Example 6, 7: The remaining two clips were recorded at a final exam for Semester 7 students at ISI. All but one student has chosen to focus on performance and composition for his or her final project, and each of these students was required to compose a five-minute example of musik kontemporer. About half of this senior class specializes in musik kontemporer. The first clip features a selection of instruments from the gamelan gong kebyar, but stylistically represents a departure from karawitan. In the second clip the student composer abandons gamelan repertoire and instrumentation completely, employing the various parts of three bicycles (wheels, spokes, bells, etc.) and body percussion in his composition.

I find the examples of kreasi baru and musik kontemporer fascinating and aesthetically stimulating. Still, the majority of the more experimental works by ISI students and graduates are quite marginal in Bali. Karawitan, by and large, continues to reign supreme.

Last month I asked one student at ISI what is necessary for music to be Balinese. He said, in his opinion, the fundamental difference between “traditional” music and “contemporary” music is that contemporary music will never be used in the temple. Therefore, he argues it will not survive the test of time. It is always fleeting and marginal. Temple music will always survive because it always serves a purpose in religious worship. He explained that Balinese music has been through this sort of artistic crisis resulting from the threat of external influences before, and “traditional” music survived. He said, by extension, Balinese culture will survive: “You cannot vanish entirely Balinese culture. There are too many gods to worship…You can’t vanish it all. No way.” But there is a challenge for ISI students, he explained: Just like it isn’t trendy to learn Beethoven in the States, it’s not trendy to learn Balinese music (karawitan) in Bali. ISI students who become music professors, performers, or composers constitute a small percentage of workers in Bali. But still, Balinese music endures: “There’s always gonna be gamelan,” my friend says. “There’s always gonna be dance…The temple needs it. Bali will always be Bali.”

Photograph of a gamelan pelegongan performing Calonarang at an odalan in Lodtunduh. Photograph by Rebekah E. Moore

Intersections

2009-01-11T10:54:00.006+08:00

My father recently sent me two books from home, one for my birthday in November and the second as a Christmas present. The first was Colin Turnbull’s classic The Forest People and the second, his equally engaging, although dark and unsettling The Mountain People. We discussed the two books over email. My father, himself a writer with a background in journalism and advertising and a staunch nonacademic, finds the texts engrossing and appreciates their readability. Perhaps he is suggesting I might pay heed to Turnbull’s accessible style as I begin writing my dissertation. I cannot describe what an interesting experience it is to read such classic ethnographies—which became “crossover hits,” so to speak, drawing an international audience of anthropologists and non-anthropologists alike—while conducting my own ethnographic research. Anyway, my father concluded his latest message by asking how my dissertation was going. As he saw it, I was primarily interested in “intersections.” Intersections of diverse musics and diverse discourses. He wrote, eloquently as always, “It’s the intersection of cultures that generates the friction, the change, and the fascination.”

Living in Bali, I am discovering an intersection of subjectivities, to frame it phenomenologically, of two primary types. The first, less hostile of the two, is the intersection between classical arts and popular arts. For some time now a divisive debate amongst “Balinese authorities,” as Picard would call them (people with the financial or moral capital to speak “on behalf” of the Balinese people) (Picard 1996), has raged over the impact of globalisasi, the influence of the non-Balinese world on Balinese life. This debate inevitably ensnared the performing arts. Arts considered warisan budaya (cultural heritage, meaning “indigenous” Balinese traditions) are distinguished from those resulting from the impact of globalisasi (see ibid.). This distinction also mirrors two views on the future of performing arts: the first is an inward-looking discourse of vehement separatism, and the second an outward-looking one focused on modernisasi (modernization) and cultural exchange at the global level. One of my friends explained that some people will hold that ajeg music refers only to Balinese "traditional music," while other people might say that it means mixing “traditional” music with “outside” styles, such as European American and Javanese popular music. The latter camp might argue that this music is ajeg because it encourages young people to be interested in their musical and, thus, their cultural heritage. Of course, in practice, neither of these polarizing views reflects the skill with which Balinese continue to carve their niche in modernity while simultaneously maintaining time-honored traditions as they see fit, and as they always have.

The second intersection occurs at the level of interethnic conflict between the majority Hindu Balinese and the rising population of Javanese Muslim immigrants in the south of Bali where I live. Many Balinese are openly critical of Javanese Muslims in their midst, claiming they are taking jobs away from Balinese and negatively impacting cultural praxis. The latest anti-pornography law devised primarily by national Muslim political parties has not helped matters (see “UU Pornografi” below). Social tensions naturally emerge in the performing arts. For example, Javanese Muslims are often the unlucky subjects of bondres interludes or clown sketches during dramatic performances at Hindu ceremonies. Their portrayal is by no means flattering. Further, there are very few opportunities for Muslims and Hindus to join as co-participants in musical performance. Karawitan excludes Muslims from participation because performances most frequently occur in the Hindu temples. And lagu pop Bali (Balinese popular music) is increasingly performed primarily by Balinese Hindu musicians who increasingly write lyrics only in the Balinese language (whereas the indie musis scene or music keras is much more ethnically and religiously integrated). This attitude toward Muslim immigrants living in Bali is not ubiquitous, but it is startlingly common. And Muslims born and reared in Bali occupy a precarious social position as well, much like long-term residents of Chinese descent.

This all leads back to my claim that the perceived identity crisis in Bali results from perceived external threats, ranging in these two broad cases from the “threat” of globalization (and remember, this is a locally defined version of globalization, globalisasi) to the “threat” of interethnic interaction.

Picard, Michael. 1996. “Dance and Drama in Bali: The Making of an Indonesian Art Form.” In Being Modern in Bali, edited by Adrian Vickers. New Haven, Ct: Yale University Southeast Asian Studies. 115-157.

Photograph of Bajra Sandhi Yoga near Gunung Batur (Mount Batur) while completing Tirthayatra, the Hindu spiritual journey. This is one of many Hindu traditions Balinese "preservationists" identify as an important religiuos obligation and part of Balinese life. Photograph by Ibu Ayu, member of Bajra Sandhi Yoga.

The Pursuit of an Ideal Bali in Modern Musical Arts

2009-01-11T09:50:00.003+08:00

Ok, this is going to be quite repetitive, and I really intend it primarily for my dissertation committee so that they know what I am up to these days. I recently submitted a paper proposal for the Southeast Asian Fulbright Conference in Kuala Lumpur in March, and I found it necessary to reframe the nature of the work a bit. Most importantly, I am discovering it is quite difficult to maintain ajeg Bali as a type of island-wide nationalism. This attaches an etic frame to a concept my Balinese interlocutors rather call a principle or ajaran (yes, like a religious teaching) intended to establish a continuity with the past in order to achieve a better Bali in the future. So with that said, I present my Fulbright proposal as a summary, of sorts, of work in situ.

The 2002 and 2005 terrorist bombings and subsequent economic recession (newly exacerbated by the U.S. economic crisis) have culminated in a cultural trauma on the island of Bali. In response to a paramount material, psychological, and social crisis, local academics, politicians, and news media contributors mounted a movement to consolidate, promote, and maintain the interconnected Balinese concepts of adat (tradition; social order), agama (religion, referring to the majority Balinese Hinduism), and budaya (culture; artistic expression). This campaign for the identification and consolidation of cultural values developed into a prescriptive theoretical principle called ajeg Bali (roughly translating to Bali erect or Bali strong). Ajeg Bali remains a prevalent topic in news media, political campaigns, graduate seminars, and casual conversation. It is variably interpreted, but generally maintains the single objective to restore balance (keseimbangan)—cosmological, economic, and social—to the island in order to secure Bali’s collective future.

Musical performance, which falls under the domain of budaya, is frequently cited in discourses about ajeg Bali. The ethnomusicological stance holds that music is a socially constituted, publicly displayed art form that forms human conduct and generates meaning. It is not only reflective of other aspects of social life but, rather, is a transformative act of communication. Thus, it can be a principal manner of contending with cultural trauma. Not only have discourses about ajeg Bali interpreted and, thus, impacted performing arts, but performing arts are also a primary medium for shaping discourses about ajeg Bali. Further, musical performance is a chief setting for the pursuit of its aim; it is both a means to attenuate cultural trauma and a path toward civil unity. But just as multiple interpretations of ajeg Bali coexist on the island, so multiple types of and settings for musical performance can communicate such a principle. In Bali today, often it is not what is performed, but rather where and by and for whom that indicates the degree to which music unites Balinese as an autonomous, socially connected group. In settings as varied as the State-sponsored arts conservatory, a Hindu temple, and a rock concert, musical performance is both a manifest way in which Balinese shape cultural ideals and a potent form of advocacy for creating camaraderie and social closeness, informed by primary allegiance to the island and secondary to the Nation.

This paper, based on ongoing multi-locale ethnographic research in the provincial capital Denpasar, argues that participation in musical performance in post-Bom Bali, particularly among young people in Denpasar’s urban, multiethnic context, is newly a potent form of advocacy for the pursuit of an ideal Bali in the modern world—balanced, strong, and enduring…a Bali ajeg.

Photograph of a topeng performance during a melaspas, blessing ceremony for a new temple in a family compound. Photograph by Rebekah E. Moore

UU Pornografi

2008-12-15T12:58:00.002+08:00

My early conversation with Indra certainly deepened my understanding of ajeg Bali and the related principle tri hita karana. Yet I still find myself inclined to relate ajeg Bali to a kind of regional pride or anti-Indonesian nationalism, (or Balinese nationalism as I had so framed it in my dissertation proposal), and Indra didn’t mention anything like this. So that night I asked him if he would call ajeg Bali something like pride daerah, perhaps rising from a concern over Javanese/Muslim influence or even cultural intervention by the Indonesian government. What I meant by the latter part of my question was that, prior to the enactment of the regional autonomy law in 2001 (and, in many cases since, despite the law’s enactment), the centralist Indonesian government reserved the right to intervene in practically all matters “cultural,” (as so defined by the government), ranging from controlling the content of TV programming (all stations were “centrally” located in Jakarta before 2001) and overseeing the institutionalization of religious practices (through organizations such as Parisada Dharma Hindu), to handpicking Chairs and Directors of state-sponsored educational institutions (a practice which withstood the regional autonomy law’s passage).

Indra responded to my question with an example drawn from the latest media headlines. It concerned recent demonstrations in Bali and other Indonesian provinces against a law (passed 30th October this year after ten years in-the-making), primarily developed and promoted by influential Muslim political parties, called Undang-Undang Pornografi—known colloquially as the anti-pornography law. This law has received substantial media attention and resulted in massive demonstrations in protest of its passage, as well as official political party and activist group declarations that legal action will ensue. Its controversy lies in its broad definitions of what constitutes pornography and, thus, in what far-reaching impact it may have on local social, religious, and performing arts practices.

Some Balinese are concerned the law may censor traditional and ceremonial Balinese Hindu regalia. Indra, for example, believes UU Pornografi will have serious consequences for non-Muslim regions* of Indonesia because it has the potential to impact dress and behavior. He said a Balinese (man or woman) could be arrested for going outside without a shirt. Certainly this is a problem in the kampung (village), where women and men may walk home topless after bathing in the river, but it may also impact more “public” displays, such as performing arts—take, for example, performances of kecak, during which the male choir performs shirtless. Indra worries that even ritual attire, such as the kebaya, the blouse worn by Balinese Hindu women to temple and for most special occasions, might be considered “pornographic,” according to UU Pornografi. The law’s definition of what constitutes “indecent exposure,” as it were, could certainly be problematic, not just in Bali, but in many parts of Indonesia. Many Papuans, particularly, have been vocal opponents of the law, claiming that, if it is enforced, it will impact everyday dress in West Papua.

Concerns about the content censorship within performing arts or religious worship have also been raised. For example, some Balinese artists and activists want to know if the law will target performances like the popular and sexually explicit dance joged. In response to critics, the law’s supporters claim a special clause protects dress and behavior associated with specific cultural practices defined as “religious” or “traditional.” But still there remains public doubt; no one is quite sure which practices will withstand the law and which will become its targets.

A dissertation committee member recently suggested I pay attention to what Balinese have to say about UU Pornografi of late, as their comments might suggest a revitalization of ajeg Bali. The law’s passage indeed marks a crescendo in discourses about Balinese regional pride, and performing arts are frequently cited as examples of the kinds of regional (i.e., distinctively Balinese) practices that must be honored and protected from “external” influences, such as this case of government intervention. To what extent ajeg Bali proves to be a popular ideology for contending with the law remains to be seen.

*I have heard from friends in Java that the law is controversial in predominantly Muslim regions of Indonesia as well.

Photograph of students performing at the Institut Seni Indonesia's odalan (temple ceremony). Opponents of UU Pornografi are concerned the law will permit the censorship of performance attire such as the costumes displayed here. Photograph by Rebekah E. Moore

Early Conversations

2008-12-12T11:07:00.006+08:00

My previous post may have given the impression my research thesis is coming apart at the seams. Well, I assure my committee and any other reader that by scrutinizing the utility of my primary research questions I have no intention of tossing out the baby with the bath water. Even if I determine ajeg Bali isn’t exactly a hot topic today, the discourses it earmarks are very real and very current. To substantiate my claim, I present a brief examination of a conversation I had with Indra, a student at ISI in his 7th semester in the kerawitan program, award-winning drummer, founder and director of a gamelan pelegongan, and my adik (little brother) here.

One evening, shortly after my arrival, Indra and I were chatting at the kitchen table. He asked me how my dissertation was going. I joked and responded, “yeah, I guess I should get started on that.” I told Indra I thought I’d start by trying to retrieve archived issues of the Bali Post that feature editorials about ajeg Bali. Before I could comment further, Indra interrupted and said my research should really begin with a much older concept, that of tri hita karana, or the three relationships that create balance (keseimbangan), as he phrased it (they are also called the three environments in which human beings live). The first of these, parhyangan, refers to the relationship between humans and God, or to the spiritual environment; the second, pawongan, to the relationship between humans and humans, or the social environment; and the third, palemahan, to the relationship between humans and nature, or to the natural environment. Human beings must strive to find balance in their relationships with God (or with all inhabitants of niskala, the unseen world), with other human beings, and with their natural surroundings. In other words, they must endeavor to achieve harmony within their spiritual, social, and natural environments.

These three environments are inseparable, one from the other, so that a disruption in one environment creates disharmony in the others. And this disharmony can be made manifest in ruinous catastrophes. For example, the tsunami that devastated far-western Indonesia was often sited in performances in Bali as an effect of an imbalance human beings had caused, not just in their relationship with nature, but with the gods and each other, as well. The grand finale of the Bali Arts Festival in 2005, the last time I was here, featured a spectacle of dancers, singers, and performers reenacting the tsunami through a popular Hindu tale to impart just such a message. And the 2002 and 2005 bombings elicited a similar response in that priests and politicians, musicians and teachers cited the bombings as evidence that the principles of tri hita karana were being neglected.

Indra said Balinese have many sayings, but this is a crucial concept for understanding Hindu Balinese behavioral ideals and, thus, the root meaning of ajeg Bali. This, of course, was not the first time I had encountered the concept tri hita karana, but it was the first time anyone had suggested this concept could help me to understand ajeg Bali. I immediately noticed a parallel emphasis on retrieving harmony or balance in both principles. And I wondered if Balinese gladly accepted a new concept like ajeg Bali because it provided a fresh model for leading a balanced life. Perhaps ajeg Bali is sort of a modern-day ajaran (teaching), designed to remind Balinese how best to regain balance in the wake of a cultural trauma. I asked Indra if tri hita karana and ajeg Bali are really the same principle, and by that I question I was hoping to understand if there is any real difference in the models for ideal behavior they imply. I asked if they are interchangeable, or if tri hita karana is bigger than ajeg Bali, encompassing this newer principle. He said that no, to the contrary, ajeg Bali is bigger than tri hita karana. Within ajeg Bali all manner of things related to Balinese life are considered, including culture, arts, grammar, politics, and economics. So a concern about social relations, god, and nature would fall within the domain of concern of ajeg Bali as well. While many a religious scholar might conversely suggest that all manner of concerns of ajeg Bali are situated within the three environments of tri hita karana, Indra’s opinion on that matter is still quite interesting, and quite important as it shapes discourses about ever-shifting behavioral ideologies in modern-day Bali.

Indra asked me if I new what ajeg means. I said I had heard that ajeg is derived from the Javanese language and that it means something like “strong” (I have also read the Javanese term translated to “stable,” “erect,” and “constant” as well). Indra said no, it actually means “to preserve” or “preservation.” At the time I didn’t realize the significance of his own translation. But as our conversations continued in the coming weeks, I realized it indicated his personal stance, as an ISI student and young kerawitan scholar and performer, in regards to what music most adheres to the objective of ajeg Bali to lead a balanced life, and what obligation performing artists have to help their communities achieve this goal.

I asked Indra about the provenance of the term ajeg Bali, if it emerged after Bom Bali I. He confirmed that it had, but that people were already “doing it” before the bombings (which I take to mean that people were already seeking to define and enact Balinese cultural ideals). These discourses were simply “named” after the bombings. Despite his conviction that these discourses were already circulating prior to the bombings, he then said that it was interesting that it took a disaster to convince Balinese to care more about their island. Wishing to probe his definition further, I asked Indra if ajeg Bali was like an ideology. He said it is becoming an ideology. He picked up a cookie jar from the table and held it in front of me as he explained: Maybe ajeg Bali is like this cookie jar. Maybe it is one, global (by which he meant broad, or multifaceted) ideology, but there are all these little ideologies inside. But the crucial point is that ajeg Bali says something substantial about culture and the arts, which, in his opinion, are the keys to understanding Balinese people.

Indra elaborated, “What we are selling in Bali is arts and culture,” and simultaneously, “What is needed for the Balinese people is arts and culture.” According to Indra’s first comment, Balinese “arts” (including visual and performing arts) and “culture” (by which he meant principally Balinese Hindu religion and related practices) are huge draws for Bali’s tourism industry. Thus the commercialization and commodification of "arts" and "culture" contributes significantly to the stability of the tourism market and, thus, the Balinese economy. His second comment had a double meaning. It meant that a) Balinese people need arts and culture to remember who they are—that is, to lead a balanced life—and b) the arts have an intrinsic relationship with culture (read: religious worship) because they are essential for the execution of nearly every form of religious ritual in Bali. Indra continued, “We sell arts for tourism. And we need arts for religion.” So for Indra, if ajeg Bali is viewed as an ajaran for achieving balance, then the lesson learned in regards to the arts and religion is that both are essential to a balanced life, in terms not only of Balinese cosmology or society, but of Balinese economy as well.

Photograph of my friend Gus Wib, praying before his mepandes (tooth filing ceremony). Photograph by Rebekah E. Moore

My "Brief" Hiatus

2008-12-12T10:36:00.006+08:00

It has been far too long since my last post. Hopefully a brief update will partially justify my negligence. The Wednesday before Thanksgiving I departed to Jakarta for a long-scheduled vacation to celebrate the holiday with a dear American friend who is working at an LSM (NGO) there. On Thanksgiving Day my friend and I had planned a huge grocery store trip to stock her kitchen full of everything we would need to cook a fantastic Thanksgiving dinner. But I woke up feeling rather strange. I thought I was getting a cold or the flu—I had the tell-tale aches and chills that, in my opinion, are always worse than the sore throat, coughing, and sneezing that follow. But the pain in my back, which eventually spread to my side and lower abdomen was pronounced and unusual, and by around 3:00 I knew shopping was out. So we agreed to order pizza for Thanksgiving dinner, a welcomed treat, if not entirely traditional (although some would argue my Tofurkey has no place on the Thanksgiving dinner table either).

After a sleepless night spent rising constantly to try to move and alleviate my abdominal pain or cool down a rising temperature with plenty of fluids, I decided it was time to check in with a doctor. I’ll fast-forward, in order to make an already rambling story a little bit shorter: It turned out I was suffering my first case of kidney stones from which I had contracted a severe infection. After several hours in an expat medical clinic and then an emergency room and two days in the hospital, I passed the stones on my own and was sent home. Unfortunately, my infection didn’t take the hint and bugger off, because two days later, on my way back to Denpasar from Jakarta, my sky-high fever returned, along with a mind-numbing headache. My appearance was so terrible by the time I reached the Jakarta airport that officials insisted I couldn’t fly without physician clearance. Thanks to some fierce negotiating (i.e., sweet-talking dalam bahasa Indonesia) in the nurse’s office at the Jakarta airport, I was permitted to fly, and I arrived, feeble and embarrassed, to greet my friends outside the Denpasar airport in a wheelchair (upon the insistence of my airline). I spent the next week recovering with the help of cold compresses, treatment from a healer and pedanda (Brahmana priest), visits from friends, and plenty of teh manis (hot tea with sugar) and bubur (rice porridge).

Frustratingly, I am still not 100%, but I have managed to jump back into my normal research schedule, and just in time for Bali JamFest 2008 (which I’ll write about in a subsequent post).

Before my ill-timed and expensive illness, I was keeping quite busy with a research schedule full of odalan (temple ceremonies); visits to campus to read old copies of ISI’s journal, Mudrah, or sit in on rehearsals and class performances; and gamelan lessons with my new, very young, and very talented guru, Win. Research time, as always, is balanced with a heavy dose of training, including yoga and frequent runs at Bajra Sandhi, swims at the Bali International School, and bike rides with a new friend, Wijana (before my illness I accompanied Wijana and about 400 other riders on a 65km trek from Denpasar to Tabanan and back. The trip was glorious, although practically all uphill heading to Tabanan and treacherously fast in the pitch dark at 10:00 at night on the return trip).

Anyway, research is going well, despite my lack of frequent updates. My large challenge right now is, as always, to narrow my focus to primary research questions. This is due, in part, to the fact that my research questions are shifting a bit. I am beginning to wonder how important the phrase ajeg Bali is as an index for what I am beginning to discover is a very old debate about Balinese “tradition” and “modernity.” Sure, when I bring it up, folks rattle on about its meaning and its import, but I haven’t noticed it coming up organically—that is, if I don’t ask about ajeg Bali I don’t hear about ajeg Bali. I don’t see the phrase in print of late, and only rarely hear it mentioned on television or radio (that is, unless I am watching the Bali TV program Ajeg Bali). And if, as I have wondered for some time now, ajeg Bali is just a catchall (and, perhaps, passé) phrase for long-running debates about challenges to Balinese tradition, religion, and aesthetic praxis, what is it, exactly, that is new here? Are there new discourses about and/or material consequences for Balinese aesthetic practices in post-bom Bali? If so, are these discourses still vital and consequences still developing? Or, as ethnomusicologist Timothy Taylor has suggested they inevitably will, have identity discourses begun to ebb in modern Bali?*

These are big questions for the future of my dissertation research; but they are questions that I ask without guilt or fear because they point to an inevitable need to reflect and regroup once research is actually underway. In fact, I would dare say that every ethnographer inevitably asks him or herself at some point during the research process (and likely many times over) am I asking the right questions, and do I understand the answers?

Taylor, Timothy D. 1997. Global Pop: World Music, World Markets. New York: Routledge.

*In Global Pop, Taylor writes, “Conceptions of identity do flow, but they ebb as well, and sometimes they even rest.” He explains that scholars frequently focus only on the “flow” of identity conceptions (or on moments when discourses or performances present a blatant display of self awareness) because these offer the clearest models for the communication of identity in music. My challenge is to determine if there is still a need for discourses about Balinese self-awareness in the aftermath of a cultural trauma.

Photograph of sunset at Mertasaari Beach in southern Bali during my first venture outdoors following my illness. Photograph by Rebekah E. Moore

The Logic (or Illogic) of the Research Sites

2008-11-14T14:53:00.004+08:00

As I argued below, ajeg Bali is multivalent in character: some musicians or audiences may interpret ajeg as a call to honor and protect ancient Balinese traditions (particularly traditions associated with religious worship), while others might argue it means to live in harmony with diverse values—new and old, Indonesian and western. (Allen and Palermo 2005). Those musical arts with a long history on the island, that facilitate religious proceedings, demonstrate Balinese composers’ competence in music on a par with European art music, or that directly comment upon Balinese values distinguish and idealize (Reed 1999:93) Balinese culture as steeped in tradition, progressively modern, or both. And any or all of these musical arts may be considered ajeg, depending on who is providing the interpretation.

Multi-locale ethnography, a technique critiqued by George Marcus in Writing Culture: The Poetics and Politics of Ethnography, is an ideal (albeit challenging) model for comparing the relationship between ajeg Bali and various musical styles in multiple venues and between various venues. Using this approach, “by sequential narrative and the effect of simultaneity, the ethnographer might try in a single text to represent multiple, blindly interdependent locales, each explored ethnographically and mutually linked by the intended and unintended consequences of activities within them” (Marcus 1986:171). For the duration of the research I employ the technique of multi-locale ethnography to examine four (independently operated by frequently intersecting) settings that represent a cross-section of Balinese performing arts.

(1) ISI Denpasar: Brett Hough argues of state-subsidized and administered arts education programs in Bali, “The presence of state-sponsored arts institutions has provided a conduit through which to mold, direct, and control artistic production in accordance with the nationalist agenda of creating an Indonesian culture…By encouraging and sponsoring local arts in a controlled environment, the government ensures that local identity has an outlet through its display.” (1999:255). This results from a tradition of government intrusion onto matters of cultural definition: “In Indonesia, culture is ideologically and constitutionally held to be an appropriate domain of government intervention…The creation of a national culture and language has been central to the nationalist project’s efforts to unite the diverse communities of the archipelago” (ibid., 232-233). State schools for performing arts in Bali—the Sekolah Menengah Karawitan Indonesia (SMKI), or the High School of Indonesian Music and the Institut Seni Indonesia (ISI)—are, indeed, susceptible to government intervention and, one would assume, accountable for adhering to the government’s ideal of a united state. At the highest level of formal music instruction in Bali, students and faculty must negotiate the government’s and their own visions of Balinese collective identity, and this course of action may be framed by discourse about ajeg Bali.

Preliminary research reveals that students and faculty in the performing arts program (karawitan) at ISI Denpasar are not only concerned with, but are obligated to seek a balance between the preservation and development of Balinese music. Thus, it is my argument that these students and faculty are directly invested in ajeg Bali. To clarify, what emerges from the conservatories is not—for those who create or perform it—music that represents a quaint regional (daerah) style in the heterogeneous nation of Indonesia (as it is, perhaps, conceptualized by the government) but, rather, music that celebrates Balinese artistic expression, quite frequently to the exclusion of the Indonesian “cultural” agenda. Further, research in this site may suggest a broader trend of incorporating ajeg Bali in performance: conservatories demonstrate exceptional influence on the arts, not just within the city center, but in the villages as well. These are the institutions that define the ideals of Balinese music.

But just as it is difficult to find very much common ground amongst various discourses about the meaning of ajeg Bali, so there are multiple, contradictory interpretations by students and faculty (and by non-conservatory-affiliated musicians responding to the ISI party lines) about what music best sustains and develops Balinese performing arts. More on this later.

In order to assess the degree to which ajeg Bali is explicitly or implicitly part of formal music instruction in Balinese music, I currently attend rehearsals and observe performances by students, faculty, and alumni on ISI’s campus and at various odalan and special events in the southern districts for which they are hired to perform. My examination of discourses has thus far focused on casual conversation; but later, as my relationships with students and faculty deepen, I plan to conduct formal interviews as well.

(2) Bali Arts Festival: An extension of my research at ISI is my interest in understanding the emergence of ajeg Bali in the context of the annual Pesta Kesenian Bali, or the Bali Arts Festival. According to ethnomusicologist David Harnish, a festival is a special site for contending with cross-cultural encounter and collective identity: “Festivals are ideal contexts for the negotiation of history, ethnicity, and identity; they also may reflect a people’s response to contemporary circumstances, may erect boundaries of ‘us vs. them’ to stimulate intraethnic experience, and may result not from some abstract impulse to celebrate culture but through the agency and decision-making of their participants” (2006:2). Festivals also tend to idealize wholeness and shared values, which can be very useful in strategies to consolidate collective identity (ibid., 176). Within many of the world’s festivals, and certainly within most Indonesian perayaan (celebrations)—Harnish’s research focuses on an annual festival in Lombok—“Music is the public icon, the vehicle to move events forward, and the force for constructing place and ethnicity. As the soundscape for the festival, music allows its activities to happen” (ibid., 3).

Pesta Kesenian Bali, a large-scale annual undertaking managed by ISI that presents the artistic talent of participants from throughout the island and culminates with a three-week gamelan competition (drawing a crowd of thousands each evening to Taman Budaya), is a strategic site for targeting a primarily Balinese audience with a particular socio-political vision and maximizing participation in Balinese national discourse. In order to assess the institutional display of Balinese nationalism through the arts (Foley and Sumandhi 1994), I will attend the annual festival in June and July and, with the help of contacts at ISI, arrange meetings with festival organizers and participating performers. As a PEMDA (Pemerinta Daerah, or Balinese government)-sponsored annual festival, the Bali Arts Festival is precariously positioned to represent, refute, or ignore a united Indonesian cultural heritage. Further, in the festival, the celebration of Balinese aesthetic expression may be at once a celebration of traditional cultural knowledge and an explicitly expressed reservoir for social connectedness in a modern world.

(3) Music for the Pura (Hindu Temple): For most Balinese, agama (religion), one of the three discursive foci of ajeg Bali, refers to practices of the majority Hindu religion. Journalist and travel writer Fred Eiseman writes of Balinese religious praxis, “The basic aim of all [Balinese] rites is to purify and provide the individual with the appropriate spiritual energy to exist peacefully, productively, and healthfully in a dangerous world” (1990:84). In order for cosmological, ecological, and social balance to be maintained, Balinese present banten, offerings in the form of beautiful fabrics, delicious foods, flowers, artwork, music, dance, and theatre for the pleasure of both the gods and Hindu worshippers (Belo 1966 [1949]:11). The relationship between religion and nationalism dates to the 1920s when Balinese intelligentsia institutionally defined Hindu values and a Balinese religion in response to the establishment of a national religion in Indonesia (Islam) by the Republik (Allen and Palermo 2005:1-2).

I argue that sacred gamelan and sacred sung poetry are not stylistically altered to achieve a national agenda, but rather are invoked in discourses about ajeg Bali as Hindu Balinese look to Hindu traditions that distinguish them from both Muslim Indonesians and western visitors. Throughout my research I am presented with frequent opportunities to view musical performances associated with religious worship. In fact, nearly all performances are considered religious events, as they facilitate the successful execution of religious worship or life cycle rituals. Originally, I intended to make frequent visits to the Pura Agung Jagatnata, the state Hindu temple, where I can view bi-weekly performances featuring wayang (sacred Balinese shadow theatre). I have, however, concluded that this is not the most fruitful site for participation in customary religious ritual—as a state temple, Jagatnata is, technically, non-denominational and, according to my friends, not frequented by an established community, as is the case with a village temple. More sensibly, I have decided to focus my research attention (within this area of pura music) on performances by friends at ISI at various odalan in the south and worship with my host family at their preferred local pura and pura in their family homes in Ubud and Tabanan, respectively.

Through attendance of frequent odalan (temple festivals) throughout southern Bali—each featuring a plethora of musical performances—and interviews with performing artists, attending Hindu priests, and congregants, I examine how religious music, which primarily functions to facilitate communication between the sekala (human world) and niskala (spirit world) (Eiseman 1990:26) may simultaneously be emblematic of ajeg Bali.

(4) Popular Music Performance: Bart Barendregt and Wim van Zanten examine concepts of popular (rakyay, populer) music in various musical contexts in Indonesia (2002:67). Rakyay or populer refers to “dominant and emergent musical forms created by Indonesian artists, mostly within living memory, which are ‘clearly commercial, rooted in the music industry (including production and distribution) and [have] a clientele able and willing to purchase the commodity’ (Lockard 1998:19).” Balinese popular music—characterized by its accessibility to a large number of people and distinguished from the high arts of the conservatory and the ancient and sacred arts of the temple—is an especially potent site for negotiating politics (Peddie 2006). Much like several Javanese popular musicians who espouse their interpretations of Muslim values through their music (Arps 1996; Frederick, 1992), young Balinese popular musicians regularly use the stage as a platform to advocate their own religious and political values, often shared by their audiences.

Ian Biddle and Vanessa Knights suggest two approaches to cultural practices designed to establish a sense of “place” which impact my examination of ajeg Bali within popular music: the first, “a territorial, inward-looking sense of place,” is contrasted with “a translocal, outward-looking sense of place” (Biddle and Knights 2007:5). These two approaches are manifested in popular music performance: there are those musical discourses interested in “‘authentic’ world music grounded in the recourse to tradition and roots” and discourses concerned with “‘postmodern authenticity’ constituted in the syncretic hybridization of the fusion of world beat…” (ibid.). To what end of the continuum between these two extreme views of place participants in Balinese popular music align themselves, and what this alignment reveals about their nationalist imaginings, will be determined in the fourth research site.

The locale for this phase of research has also shifted slightly. I quickly learned upon my arrival that regular visits to venues typically featuring popular music performance in many parts of the world are not the best sites for research here. A disco or night club will more than likely feature a DJ spinning the latest dance and pop tunes from Indonesia or farther afield rather than a live band, and the “night club” is burdened by negative connotations by its identification with the tourist clubs of Kuta and with the cafés of the banjars, sites intended primarily for prostitution and illegal drug sales rather than live music. What I have learned, instead, is that the best way to see live popular music performance is by attending any number of special events for which aural and visual entertainment is a feature, ranging from a shopping center’s annual sale to a tooth-filing ceremony and, as I establish contacts, visit band members in their homes to sit in on rehearsals and carry on conversations about ajeg Bali and their music.

Through regular attendance of popular music performance and interviews with performing artists, I will document the degree to which a) reference to Balinese traditions rooted in the past and b) musical choices demonstrative of proficiency in the latest world popular music styles and reflective of an outward-looking approach to modernity are combined with lyrics asserting a national agenda in popular musical performance. I contend that popular music performance will be a key site for performers to work our their vision for Bali’s future—one in which a balance is achieved between maintaining tradition and celebrating Balinese modernity—by employing the discourse of ajeg Bali. I Made Pasek, lead singer of the Balinese heavy metal group Amnesty, has agreed to serve as primary consultant in this area and to assist me in locating performances as well as arranging interviews with popular musicians.

Through this ethnographic research I will examine the degrees of convergence of discourses about ajeg Bali between the four sites and how musicians and audiences actively determine if and how ajeg Bali is employed in music.

Allen, Pamela and Carmencita Palermo. 2005. “Ajeg Bali: Multiple Meanings, Diverse Agendas.” Indonesia and the Malay World 33 (97): 239-255.

Arps, Bernard. 1996. “To Propagate Morals through Popular Music: The Indonesian qasidah modéren.” Qasida poetry in Islamic Asia and Africa vol. 1. Stefan Sperl and Christofer Shackle, eds. Leiden: E. J. Brill. 389-409.

Barendregt, Bart and Wim van Zanten. 2002. “Popular Music in Indonesia Since 1998, in Particular Fusion, Indie and Islamic Music on Video Compact Discs and the Internet.” Yearbook for Traditional Music 34. 67-113.

Belo, Jane. 1966 [1949] Bali: Barong and Rangda. Seattle: University of Washington Press.

Biddle, Ian D and Vanessa Knights, eds. 2007. Music, National Identity and the Politics of Location: Between the Global and the Local. Aldershot, England & Burlington, Vt: Ashgate.

Dibia, I Wayan. 1985. “Odalan of Hindu Bali: A Religious Festival, a Social Occasion, and a Theatrical Event” Asian Theatre Journal 2 (1): 61-65.

Photograph: "The Widow" in a performance of Calonarang accompanied by the rare Gamelan Gambuh for an odalan near Denpasar, Bali (13 November 2008). Photograph by Rebekah E. Moore

Eiseman, Jr., Fred B. 1990. Bali: Sekala & Niskala: Volume I: Essays on Religion, Ritual, and Art. Bali, Indonesia: Periplus.

Foley, Kathy and I Nyoman Sumandhi. 1994. “The Bali Arts Festival: An Interview with I Nyoman Sumandhi.” Asian Theatre Journal 11 (2): 275-289.

Frederick, William H. 1992. “Rhoma Irama and the Dangdut Style: Aspects of Contemporary Indonesian Popular Culture.” Indonesia 34: 102-130.

Harnish, David. 2006. Bridges to the Ancestors: Music, Myth, and Cultural Politics at an Indonesian Festival. Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press.

Hough, Brett. 1999. “Education for the Performing Arts: Contesting and Mediating Identity in Contemporary Bali.” In Staying Local in the Global Village: Bali in the Twentieth Century, edited by Raechelle Rubinstein and Linda H. Connor. Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press. 231-264.

Marcus, George E. 1986. “Contemporary Problems of Ethnography in the Modern World System.” In Writing Culture: The Poetics and Politics of Ethnography. Edited by James Clifford and George E. Marcus. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1986.

Peddie, Ian, ed. 2006. The Resisting Muse: Popular Music and Social Protest. Aldershot, UK and Burlington, Vt.: Ashgate.

Reed, Daniel. 2003. Dan Ge Performance: Masks and Music in Contemporary Côte D’Ivoire. Bloomington In.: Indiana University Press.

Photograph: "The Widow" in a performance of Calonarang, accompanied by the rare gamelan gambuh for an odalan near Denpasar, Bali (13 November 2008). Photograph by Rebekah E. Moore

Settling In

2008-10-31T11:06:00.006+08:00

Last time I visited Bali, I lived in Kerambitan in kabupaten (district) Tabanan with my gamelan teacher from the States, I Nyoman Suadin, and his family. I loved Kerambitan. It was so peaceful. A village, really. I quickly got to know most of my neighbors from playing with Gamelan Banjar Wani on a regular basis. I could walk for miles without encountering significant traffic, always accompanied by a procession of girls ages 11 to 13 who, during my short visit, acted as my language teachers, neighborhood guides, and confidantes. I was a fifteen minute car ride from the beautiful black sand beaches of southwest Bali and about twenty minutes from the city of Tabanan, should I need to do a little shopping or visit a warnet (warung with internet).

My new home is located in the area of Renon in the city of Denpasar, in the banjar Renon Kelod. I am staying with the family of Prof. Dr. I Wayan Rai, faculty member at ISI Denpasar and current Rektor of the campus (On a side note: Anyone who knows anything about the arts in Bali has likely followed the news of the scandal over the recent election for Rektor at ISI. Until the dust has settled and I know more about it, I will not comment on what is going on here. But I will say that this is a terrible time for students and faculty, and no one will come out of this unscathed. I would caution everyone to remember that press can always be bought. There are many contradictory perspectives on the Rektor election, and not every perspective makes it into Bali Post or Denpost. For an alternative viewpoint, I would recommend the weblog "KiniBali" (sorry, only in Indonesian). An anonymous writer, or team of writers, has been tracking the scandal from the beginning, and the depth of information about the situation divulged through KiniBali posts is almost unbelievable. Everyone here is keeping a close eye on the site). Pak Rai’s family has been wonderfully accommodating to me. They provide a fantastic room with a private bath, invite me to join in their meals and prayers, take me to many local performances, and have really become my second Balinese family (the first living in Kerambitan, of course).

I love my new home, although the city is quite a different experience from life in Kerambitan. I found a warung with hot spot I visit to chat with friends and apply for writing grants. I am a fifteen-minute bike ride from ISI and Taman Budaya. Every morning I have fresh jus campur (mixed juice) at a Moena Fresh and pedal over to the beautiful Bajra Sandhi, the Balinese People’s Struggle Monument, where I take part in a yoga group (now my third Balinese family!) or run the 1.5 km loop around the monument six or seven times. Then I buy a piece of papaya or watermelon to cool down and return home to start my research for the day or practice my Indonesian. Sometimes I take a day off and head to Sanur Beach, about a twenty-minute bike ride. I’ll find a shady place and muddle my way through the Indonesian language books I’ve purchased on ajeg Bali, Tri Hita Karana (Hindu tripartite model for achieving balance between humans and gods, humans and humans, and humans and nature), kesenian (the arts), etc., or I’ll just fall asleep in the breeze and go for a quick dip before returning home. Evenings, if there is no performance or obligatory visit to a temple (or four), I’ll play cards with Pak Rai’s son and his friends, either the ever popular Balinese game Domino or Uno (I brought a deck and taught everyone how to play. It’s a big hit). Life is good. I have friends, family, a place to exercise, a routine. And if my damn karttu kitas (research permission card from the local immigration office) is ever ready, I’ll actually get to dig into the bulk of my ethnographic research.

I think, though, that I have to explain the atmosphere at Bajra Sandhi at 6:00 in the morning when I go for a run in order to fully disclose the process of settling in. Admittedly, this will smack of the anthropologist’s familiar entrance story.

Running at Bajra Sandhi is really unbelievable. It’s like nothing I’ve ever encountered as a runner. Folks who know me well know that the mild pleasure I once took in running turned into a full-on obsession in the last couple of years. Depending on what mood I’m in I might tell you running became more important as I realized what a wonderful mental escape it provided while I was preparing for my doctoral exams. Or how it helped me shed unwanted pounds. Or how it helped me meet fantastic new friends through my local running club. Or, if I’m feeling really honest, I’ll tell you that, seeing as how I am one of the most competitive people on the planet, all it really took to take running from hobby to fixation was my first podium finish. There was no coming back after I found out I was good.

But running around the Bajra Sandhi monument is a pretty unusual experience for someone accustomed to fresh country air and the solitude of empty roads at 6:00 am. Running around the square is kind of like running through a Washington, D.C. metro station at rush hour or weaving through the mob of shoppers at Madison, Wisconsin’s bustling farmer’s market at 10:00 on a warm Saturday morning—both of which I have done when rushed and would rather not repeat. The number of people out at this ridiculous hour is just unbelievable. In addition to the hundreds of walkers and joggers circling the monument (always counterclockwise. There is no changing the direction of traffic on odd days like a university track back home), there are these groups that set up stages within the square in the grassy fields and gather anywhere from tens to hundreds of people to participate in what I can only describe as a cross between jazzercise, tai chi, cheerleading practice, and karaoke. It’s aerobics. It’s certainly rooted in Asia’s calisthenics craze. But it’s also a synchronized dance party occasionally featuring live singers (i.e., the emcees/aerobics instructors).

I’ve seen some strange things at Bajra Sandhi in my short time here. Some sights leave me venerating my fellow early-morning olah rag’ers—(a word I’ve invented, derived from the Indonesian word “olah raga, meaning sports, that I think best describes the diversity of activities in which any one individual might participate while circling the People’s Struggle monument each morning). I like the men who run barefoot…and pass me. I like the twenty-something, tall, muscular Balinese man who is brave enough to pace with me for a lap or two, yet also respectful of my privacy and refrains from striking up a conversation. I like the teenaged girls in their sandals who alternate between shuffling sprints and giggling, bouncy walks. And seeing the many Javanese women and school girls in jilbab (head scarves) who add to multicultural fabric of Bali’s administrative capital. And I like the fact that no one is all that interested in me. Not for running. For running alone. For being a bule (white person). I haven’t felt this, well, boring since I first set foot in Jakarta. People don’t care where I am going, how long I’ve been here, how old I am, or if I’m married yet. If they do, they have the good taste not to ask me when I’m clearly working hard. Or maybe they just can’t catch me. Anyway, it’s nice to not feel quite so obvious for a while.

Some sights are just odd to me. The oddest has to be the man I saw walking with a pet squirrel on his shoulder (although, come to think of it, I did know a man in Madison who walked his parrot everyday). And I can never get over how many layers of clothes most Balinese and Indonesians wear to exercise in this sweltering heat. Here I am stripped down to the bear minimum required to avoid insulting every passerby, and I’m sweating gallons. Yet some folks are covered from head to toe in cotton sweats, jackets, and even stocking caps!

Sometimes I’m surprised by how little I can relate to life here. It makes sense. I’m almost as far from my birth place in the Blue Ridge Mountains of the southeastern United States as I can geographically get. And geography is just the icing on the comparison cake when it comes to me and the Denpasar residents. We’re talking major cultural differences—from the way we eat to how we navigate street traffic to how we express our political alliances. And Bajra Sandhi reminds me of those differences every morning. But it’s the overall atmosphere that gets to me the most, that leaves me astonished one moment, depressed the next. It’s…well, what is it? It’s…it’s the one word I would use to describe Bali. Someone at temple one night asked if I could choose only one word to describe Bali, what would it be? The social scientist and cultural relativist in me scoffed at the idea that an entire island full of such tremendous diversity in ecology, art, ethnicity, languages, and occupations could be summed up by one word, especially by someone who has spent a cumulative seven weeks here. But I suppose at this early juncture, I could choose one word. It’s the first word I learned in Indonesian or Balinese. It’s the word the Balinese seek to gauge the success of any public event, religious or secular. It’s the word that leaves my fellow tourists and ethnographers overwhelmed, either with excitement and admiration or shock and agoraphobia—It’s ramé. It’s busy, lively, loud, crowded, boisterous, festive. And for me, it’s complete sensory overload. The shuffling joggers, giggling children and teens on the football fields and around the volleyball nets. The mothers and grandmothers fanning smoking roasting corn or sate or restocking slices of papaya and watermelon for sale along the path. The young men and women screaming their aerobics cues into a microphone for rows and rows of participants. The dogs, cats, squirrels, kites, balloons, political party flags, blaring pop music from a nearby bank-sponsored street party, honking horns, sirens…it’s ramé.

And sometimes, sometimes it’s just too freaking much for this small town North Carolina native who is just trying to squeeze in a peaceful morning run before the sun gets dangerously hot. Some things about running at Bajra Sandhi are just, well, just debilitating. There are times when I can’t stand the sight of one more stray dog or kitten, pathetically skinny, mangy, and crying. When what to my ears is nothing but earsplitting cacophony resulting from the park’s chaotic aural campur (mix) makes it impossible to lose myself in a run, to drown out everything around me (most importantly the sound of my tired feet pounding the uneven pavement) and tap into that daily dose of runner’s high. There are times when the air seems bent on breaking me. When the smog from the traffic and smoke from vendors’ cooking coals and burning garbage in the irrigation ditches mix with the oppressive, unrelenting, intense humidity to literally suck every last drop of sweat and energy and spirit from my body until all I can do is hobble through the last lap and head home on my bike, covered in sweat and soot, head pounding and wobbling perilously in traffic, and wondering if I’ll ever run fast and free again after living here.

Yep, for me, sometimes the atmosphere at Bajra Sandhi is debilitating. Debilitating because I want to belong. I want to be accepting. I want to understand. I want to embrace life in Denpasar and all its characteristic commotion. And for god’s sake, I want to get in a good run. So I just get up the next day, lace up my shoes, and head out once again, hoping the air will be a little bit clearer or the path even the tiniest bit less congested. And sometimes it is. But if it isn’t, I’ll still be able to say to myself, as I wash away the soot and sweat on my return, that I was stubborn enough to get back out there and run again. And that’s what it takes to live in a new place. To overcome any new challenge, really. If you can lace up your shoes and run again tomorrow, you’re one footfall closer to your goal—be it mental clarity, physical fitness, a PR…or understanding the people around you.

Photograph by Rebekah E. Moore

The Relationship between Ajeg Bali and Music

2008-10-24T11:56:00.006+08:00

At this juncture I suppose it’s about time to start thinking about the relationship between ajeg Bali and music. First let me note that I first saw a connection between the ideas of an identity crisis and the importance of the arts as a means to assess and contend with that crisis upon my first trip to Bali in 2005. Before that, as a performer in Balinese gamelan in the Washington, D.C. area for more than four years, I counted many Balinese and Indonesians among my closest friends, and I followed the news of the 2002 bombings with initial shock and ultimate sadness. I had already been exposed to how my Balinese music and dance instructors in the United States use musical traditions to create connectedness to their homeland. I anticipated that, after the bombings, musical performance would be an important coping strategy for people in Bali as well. Therefore, when my gamelan teacher I Nyoman Suadin invited me to accompany him to his home village in Bali, I was curious as to what function Balinese music might serve as a form of “social poetics” (Herzfeld 2005) in a post-10/12 world. While researching in Kerambitan, in the Tabanan district in southwest Bali in 2005, just prior to the bombings that year, I interviewed several villagers who had lost their jobs in the tourism industry following the 2002 attacks. Interviewees argued that their artistic traditions provided an important medium for coming to terms with the tragedy; through these, they are reminded what is distinctive, vital, and enduring about their people.

Music is a socially constituted, publicly displayed, abstract art form (Schutz 1964:159) which forms human conduct and generates meaning (see Stone and Stone 1981:216). Most ethnomusicologists agree that music is not only reflective of other aspects of social life but, rather, a transformative act of communication. Martin Stokes argues, “The musical event…evokes and organizes collective memories and presents experiences of place with an intensity, power and simplicity unmatched by any other social activity” (1994:3). It is my argument that in Bali, music serves the very important function of bringing people together to remember who they are and to strengthen the community to which they belong. Particularly in the urban context of Denpasar, the collective experience of a musical performance is viewed as an embodiment of one of the most important values in Indonesian social organization, that of suka duka. The phrase translates to “happiness, sorrow,” and it implies that people must endure happiness and sorrow collectively. Thus, participants in musical performance seek to embody this Balinese form of communitas (Turner 1982), which encourages balance through social connectedness. Musical events may be viewed as potent sites for creating community and therefore have the potential to promote and strengthen Balinese collective identity.

I suggested earlier that ajeg Bali may be framed as an island-wide nationalist discourse. Bearing this in mind, one of my primary research questions is how music implicated in nationalist discourse, and vice versa. In her work on Chinese national music, Sue Tuohy observes that musical performance “not only has symbolically represented nationalists’ conceptions of the nation but also has provided contexts for the nation’s people to participate actively in their performance” (2001:109). Similarly, I anticipate that participation in musical performance in post-10/12 Bali is a means for these Indonesian citizens to negotiate a nationalist discourse of which they have previously felt excluded. Particularly among urban educated young people, musical performance has become a form of advocacy for creating camaraderie and social closeness, advocacy informed by ajeg Bali, by primary allegiance to the island and secondary to the nation. Tuohy continues, “Operating within ideological frameworks as diverse as the musical styles, nationalists have provided different musical answers to the questions of what is Chinese and what should be national” (ibid.). Balinese, likewise, may contest what exactly ajeg Bali means and which musical traditions evoke it most successfully. This suggests to me that Balinese “national” music refers to diverse musical styles and venues for performance and is, thus, emblematic of the Balinese as thoroughly modern, complex, and diverse people.

So, to summarize, discourse about nationalism, “strongly contested and highly negotiated with differing internal variants” (Askew 2002:10) emically framed as ajeg Bali, intersects each context of music making I intend to examine and is, thus, transformed by music events.

Askew, Kelly M. 2002. Performing the Nation: Swahili Music and Cultural Politics in Tanzania. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.

Herzfeld, Michael. 2005. Cultural Intimacy: Social Poetics and the Nation-State. New York:
Routledge.

Stokes, Martin. 1994. “Introduction: Ethnicity, Identity, and Music.” Ethnicity, Identity, and Music: The Musical Construction of Place. Martin Stokes, ed. Oxford and New York:
Berg. 1-28.

Stone, Ruth M. and Verlon L Stone. 1981. “Event, Feedback, and Analysis: Research Media in
the Study of Music Events.” Ethnomusicology 25 (2): 215-225.

Tuohy, Sue. 2001. “The Sonic Dimensions of Nationalism in Modern China: Musical
Representation and Transformation.” Ethnomusicology 45(1): 107-131.

Turner, Victor. 1982. From Ritual to Theater: The Human Seriousness of Play. New York: PAJ.

Photograph by Xochitl Tafoya

Defining Ajeg Bali: Initial Thoughts

2008-10-22T12:44:00.006+08:00

I apologize to any members of my committee who may peruse these initial posts. As I am sure you will agree, it is necessary for me to borrow heavily from my dissertation proposal to divulge my initial research plan and assumptions to the rest of my audience (I hope there is a “rest”) as I settle into Bali. I’ve also added a few new impressions based on recent conversations with Balinese friends I have made in my first two weeks here. First, I’ll outline my initial thoughts on the concept “ajeg Bali.” I should note that I have ten months to work out a definition for this concept or, more precisely, compile a varied assortment of pendapat (opinions) about its origins and implications, as well as its relationship with the performing arts. But by my estimation thus far, ajeg Bali is a strategy for addressing what many Balinese believe to be a new, island-wide identity crisis. And in concurrence with many scholars and authors, both within Bali and abroad, I believe that the Bali bombings were a primary catalyst for a new island-wide “nationalist” ideology.

On 12 October 2002, 202 people—both foreign nationals on holiday and Indonesian citizens—were killed and a further 209 injured when members of the al-Qaeda-linked militant Islamist group Jemaah Islamiyah (JI) detonated bombs near two crowded nightclubs in Kuta in south Bali. While al-Qaeda and JI leaders claimed the attacks were directed at the “western world” (eighty-eight Australians were among the dead), many Balinese viewed an attack on this predominantly Hindu island by an Islamist group as an attack on the Balinese people as well. Bali’s tourism industry was profoundly impacted by the bombings, and many local businesses shut down in the following weeks as a result of the tourist drought. Then on 1 October 2005, a series of suicide bombs claimed by JI killed twenty-three people, including the bombers, while injuring 129 in Jimbaran and Kuta.

In my opinion, the 2002 and 2005 bombings constitute what Jeffrey Alexander calls a cultural trauma (Alexander 2004). Cultural trauma refers, not to the “ontological reality” of detrimental actions or situations impacting a group of people (or, as I have explained it another way to my Balinese friends, to the material consequences of something like the Bali bombings), but to the symbolic, socially constructed response to the phenomena that classifies these phenomena as traumatic. The traumatic process arises “when members of a collectivity feel they have been subjected to a horrendous event that leaves indelible marks upon their group consciousness, marking their memories forever and changing their future identity in fundamental and irrevocable ways” (2004:1). Cultural trauma is a process of reflection through which people come to objectify experience as shocking and upsetting. Recent publications by Australian scholars living and working close to Bali (Allen and Palermo 2005; Creese 2004), late conversation topics in Balinese-based web chat rooms and news articles (Bali Post 2002, 2003, 2005, 2008), and my conversations with friends in Denpasar and surrounding areas all lead me to conclude that many Balinese responded to the bombings as a cultural trauma and, thus, as a fundamental challenge to Balinese collective identity. Hence, the identity crisis. But it was not the bombings alone that led to the latest surge of traumatic discourse in Bali. Rising concern about the influx of “Muslim” values accompanying the increasing number of immigrants from Java, the importation of “western” values through the mass media and tourists, and economic crisis accelerated by the bombings, 2003 SARS epidemic, and, most recently, global financial crisis resulting from the failure of U.S. banks, leads some Balinese to wonder if traditional values (adat, agama, budaya) are at risk. The bombings are viewed as part of a series of recent ordeals in Balinese society culminating in a cultural trauma.

As Balinese assessed what they viewed as a fundamental challenge to collective identity, it became necessary to imagine and institutionalize a new ideology to contend with the bombings’ irrevocable consequences. According to the social constructionist or sociological phenomenologist’s argument, ideologies become important when a particular formation of reality becomes highly problematic to a group of people; they are useful as they generate solidarity and help people achieve particular objectives (Berger and Luckmann 1966:123). The new Balinese ideology for collective identity, a consolidation of values attributed to Balinese social ideals (and hence, distinguished from western or Indonesian-derived values) was quickly assigned the linguistic marker ajeg Bali. The term became extremely popular in the Balinese media, particularly the Bali Post and Bali TV (the Bali Post released a special publication compiling material on ajeg Bali first published in the newspaper called Ajeg Bali: Sebuah Cita-cita (2004), and Bali TV currently features a weekly program titled Ajeg Bali), and is currently the topic of many graduate seminars at the university and consevatory.

According to Helen Creese, the term ajeg, derived from the Javanese word for “strong,” “implies tenacity and firmness…and represents a drive for stability and cultural certainty in a chaotic world” (2004). My Balinese compatriots have also translated the phrase to “Bali erect,” “Bali constant,” and “Bali straight and strong.” Like any other identity discourse, ajeg Bali is not entirely a new idea; the tripartite model for an ideal Balinese society implied by ajeg Bali—adat, agama, and kebudayaan—is rooted in 1960s discourses surrounding the concept kebalian, “in the Balinese way” (Picard 1999). Further, Pamela Allen and Carmencita Palermo suggest that ajeg Bali, a phrase used frequently by the news media, is related to an Indonesian nationalist slogan from the New Order, “melestarikan membina dan memgembangkan kebudayaan Bali” (“preserve, create and develop Balinese culture”), designed to promote the country’s motto of “Bhinneka Tunggal Ika” (“Unity in Diversity”) (2005:252). Thus, national discourse is strategically employed by the Balinese to cope with cultural trauma. And this is partly why I have framed ajeg Bali as a type of island-wide nationalism. Balinese distinguish their discourse from Indonesian nationalism, however, because they believe that the “Balinese, and Balinese alone, are responsible for their own future” (Creese 2004). I also imagine ajeg Bali as a nationalist ideology because it conceives Bali as a politically, religiously, and socially autonomous region, much like a nation—a community articulated by “deep, horizontal comradeship,” (Anderson 1991:7).

Here in Denpasar, one of the first things new contacts naturally want to know about me is what I want to research. I initially tell them I am interested in the relationship between ajeg Bali and music. I have not yet met one person who is unfamiliar with the concept, nor have I met one person who does not have an opinion about what the concept means and what its implications are for Balinese society. The famous drummer, gamelan professor, dancer, English language teacher, street vendor, lawyer, and high school student with whom I have recently become acquainted each has a very strong opinion, in fact, about ajeg Bali, and the topic of my research often elicits a heated debate in rapid bahasa Indonesia/bahasa Bali (from which, unfortunately, I can only extract the broadest understanding at this point. My three years of Indonesian language studies in the States couldn’t possibly prepare me for the constant code switching between bahasa daerah and bahasa nasional, or for the frequent sprinkling of bahasa slang into daily, casual dialogue). One friend argued ajeg Bali is a term invented by the owner of Bali Post and Bali TV, and that it only got so popular because this media mogul had the assets to disseminate it. Another friend said she couldn’t understand what the identity crisis was all about because she hasn’t seen much change about Bali. As long as people still go to temple, speak bahasa Bali and play gamelan, Bali is still Bali, she explained. Still another friend said that the identity crisis is very real, and very much the result of the loss of jobs by Balinese to Javanese immigrants. This friend believes the way to protect Balinese values (for ajeg Bali to be successful, as she put it), is for the government to institute a policy limiting the number of immigrants allowed to settle here.

Last night I sat at the kitchen table in my host family’s home for more than two hours listening to two friends passionately assert their positions on ajeg Bali. Eventually they asked for my opinion, and I joined in the debate, switching uncomfortably back and forth between Indonesian and English as I tried to express my view without swaying the vote. The conclusion that we reached together (that would have to suffice for the night, anyway, as the hour was already late) is this: ajeg Bali is something like proceeding with caution through a busy, unmarked traffic intersection (in Bali, it isn’t hard to imagine): Countless cars, motorbikes, pedestrians, and bicycles meet, traveling in different directions, to different destinations. The only way to get across the intersection is to bravely and cautiously proceed, with the hope that traffic coming from the opposite intersection will briefly yield the way. Frequently, there are collisions. Some collisions, as in the three-motorbike pile-up I witnessed on Sunday, leave the victims with no more than scrapes and broken vehicles. Others are fatal. But if one were to wait until the intersection is empty to advance, until the road is completely safe, one would be waiting forever, and may never make it to one’s destination. And that’s life in Bali. The joining of most roads will never see a traffic cop or streetlight or warning sign. So traveling in Bali is a constant, daring dance across a busy, unmarked intersection, after which one can reach one’s destination.

More on this later.

Allen, Pamela and Carmencita Palermo. 2005. “Ajeg Bali: Multiple Meanings, Diverse Agendas.” Indonesia and the Malay World 33 (97): 239-255.

Alexander, Jeffrey C. 2004. “Toward a Theory of Cultural Trauma.” Cultural Trauma and Collective Identity. Jeffrey C. Alexander, ed. Berkeley: University of California Press. 1-30.

Anderson, Benedict. 1991 [1983]. Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism. London: Verso.

Berger, Peter L. and Thomas Luckmann. 1966. The Social Construction of Reality: A Treatise in the Sociology of Knowledge. New York: Anchor Books.

Baily, John. 1994. “The Role of Music in the Creation of an Afghan National Identity, 1923-73.” Ethnicity, Identity, and Music: The Musical Construction of Place. Martin Stokes, ed. Oxford and New York: Berg. 45-60.

Creese, Helen. 2004. “Reading the Bali Post: Women and Representation
in Post-Suharto Bali.” Intersections: Gender, History and Culture in the Asian Context 10. .

Picard, Michael. 1999. “The Discourse of Kebalian: Transcultural Constructions of Balinese Identity.” Staying Local in the Global Village: Bali in the Twentieth Century. Raechelle Rubinstein and Linda H. Connor, eds. Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press. 15-50.

Photograph by Xochitl Tafoya

A Brief Research Proposal

2008-10-01T11:50:00.009+08:00

For my first post I've quoted from the research proposal approved by Menteri Negara Riset dan Teknologi (MENRISTEK), the administrative department for the Republic of Indonesia which reviews applications for research by foreign scholars. This covers the basics of the proposed research, but excludes the specifics of theories to be applied during analysis. I'll tackle that topic at a later date.

The tactical development of nationalism to distinguish—geographically, politically, and socially—one group of people from another often follows cross-cultural encounter or conflict. Music, as a publicly displayed, abstract art form informed by social context, is a powerful means for people to express their values and forge a unique, shared identity and thus, plays an important role during cultural trauma. Following the terrorist bombings in south Bali in 2002 and 2005, many Balinese in the provincial capital Denpasar responded by conceptualizing a unifying ideology called ajeg Bali, an island-wide parallel to nationalism used to contend with Indonesian nationalist discourse. Ajeg Bali seeks to promote pride in Balinese adat, agama, and kebudayaan; while insisting on a place for Balinese in modernity (Creese 2004). I suggest that musical performance is a primary means for communicating ajeg Bali. In this research I examine the dialogical relationship the Balinese create between nationalism and music in order to cope with dramatic, sometimes violent cross-cultural encounter. Participation in musical performance has become a potent form of advocacy for creating camaraderie and social closeness, informed by primary allegiance to the island and secondary to the nation. Through performance, Bali is constructed as a politically and culturally autonomous region, much like a nation—a community articulated by “deep, horizontal comradeship” (Anderson 1983), and the ideals of ajeg Bali are enacted. I assert that music is not only a manifest way in which the Balinese assert a countervailing ideology to Indonesian nationalism but is also a mobilizing force for the development and sustention of a Balinese collective identity. Further, often it is not what is performed, but rather where and by and for whom that indicates the degree to which music unites a people as an autonomous and socially connected group. Ten months archival and ethnographic research in Denpasar will examine this unique strategy for conflict resolution and will lead to a dissertation in ethnomusicology at Indiana University, U.S.A., to be completed May 2010.

Archival research focuses on printed manuscripts, newspapers, and declassified government sources at the Bali Museum and Taman Budaya. I will explore the historical precedent for the use of music in dealing with violent cross-cultural encounters in Bali and the emergence of the concept ajeg Bali between 2002 and 2005 through the mass media. I will consult the Parisada Dharma Hindu Bali regarding official discourse and policy on ajeg Bali and the arts. Library research will focus on student theses at the Institut Seni Indonesia Denpasar that address social conflict and music. Through multi-locale ethnography (Marcus 1986), I will examine how Balinese interpret the relationship between ajeg Bali and music in the following independently-operated settings representing a cross-section of Balinese performing arts: (1) Institut Seni Indonesia Denpasar: I will attend rehearsals and performances and conduct interviews with students and faculty at ISI in order to assess the degree to which ajeg Bali is addressed through formal music instruction. (2) Hindu Temple: At the Pura Agung Jagatnata I will attend the annual odalan pura and bi-weekly performances of wayang kulit and secure interviews with attending priests and congregants to discuss religious music as emblematic of ajeg Bali. (3) Night Club: Through regular visits to a disco, night club, or outdoor community-owned venue in Denpasar, I will document the degree to which a) reference to Balinese traditions rooted in the past and b) musical choices engaging the latest world popular music styles are combined with lyrics asserting a national agenda in popular musical performance to reflect a modernizing vision of national identity. (4) Bali Arts Festival: In order to assess the institutional display of Balinese nationalism through the arts (Foley and Sumandhi 1994), I will attend the annual Bali Arts Festival in July at Taman Budaya and, with the help of contacts at ISI and my U.S.-based Balinese music instructors, arrange meetings with festival organizers and participating performers. I will examine the degrees of convergence of discourses about ajeg Bali between the four sites and how musicians and audiences actively determine if and how ajeg Bali is employed in music.

Archival research will be carried out for the first two months while I make further contacts. Ethnographic research in the four sites, which are all in close proximity, will be conducted the remaining eight months. Research will commence 1 October 2008.

Photograph by Rebekah E. Moore