Malay music: A culture in a coma

Malay music: A culture in a coma

Ade F. Paloh, Contributor/Jakarta

An old verse from a classic Malay song by the legendary Said
Effendy goes Mengapa kau termenung/oh adik berhati bingung, which
means "why do you ponder, O my sister with puzzled heart".

A great virtuoso of Malay music and literature, if he was
alive today, Said might also ponder on the fate of Malay culture
in this "hyper-modern" Indonesia.

The majority of Indonesians, who are also considered to be of
Malay origin, come from low- and middle-income backgrounds and
generally engage in hard labor. The only consolation they have in
everyday life is to listen to a type of music with Malay
influences called dangdut.

Dangdut, which derives its name from the sound of pounding
percussion, is a music that originally hails from India, brought
to Indonesia over the centuries by traders from that sub-
continent.

Over the years, the original musical form blended with the
indigenous folksongs at the root of Malay music. Today, this
cross-culture blend is the backbone of the majority of Indonesian
pop culture.

Ironically, Malay music, with its similar rhythm, is also
mistakenly considered dangdut.

Malay music has its advantages and disadvantages for the
Indonesian taste. It has wonderful lyrics written in poetic verse
called pantun -- an ancient story-telling custom for folklore and
sagas of the olden days -- and which is sung in a flowing,
melodious rap-like manner.

Malay music is usually played with a five-piece set consisting
of a guitar, a contra-bass, a violin, a conga drum and the
instrument that sets this type of music apart from dangdut -- an
accordion. Sometimes performers ritually dress in the traditional
Malay costume, teluk belanga, a beautiful ensemble of silky
tunics and pantaloons of various colors, fastened around the
waist with an embroidered gold-lace fabric called songket.

An observer might stop and enjoy the mere sight of the
performers, particularly the singer, swaying gently to the rhythm
of the music, as if swaying in a gentle breeze.

Distinctively indigenous to the northern region of Sumatra,
specifically the cultures of Riau, the Minang, the Bengkulu, the
Melayu Deli of Medan, the Acehnese and some parts of Borneo,
Malay music is embraced as a proud part of their national
identity, and is held close to their hearts.

This is not the case in Java, the "barometer" of Indonesian
culture.

The Javanese, with their own unique mystical culture,
generally opt for more vivacious, sensual and arousing types of
entertainment, in accordance to their own traditions of seductive
dances, and so prefer the more mainstream dangdut.

The advent of music videos and numerous television shows,
parading spandex-wearing dangdut "divas" wiggling their enormous
backsides and thrusting their hips at the audience while they
sing, has helped to cement this type of music as more
entertaining -- if not arousing -- and is keeping up with modern
culture more than its dying counterpart, with its more
conventional "Islamic connontations" and traditional costume-
wearing "old-timers".

It is no wonder, then, that the media might no longer be
inclined to endorse a decrepit art form that no one watches, and
would rather welcome and embrace, inevitably, a more self-
indulging, contemporary art form in their programs. Subsequently,
local TV stations in Sumatra -- which air Malay music programs
twice a week -- have followed suit, injecting a high dose of eye-
popping, mouth-dribbling musical extravagances in their shows.

Occasionally, singers the likes of Iyeth Bustami, a native of
Medan, North Sumatra, and Siti Nurhaliza, a diva from the
neighboring country of Malaysia, would come along and re-
introduce popular Malay hit songs that resuscitate it back from
obscurity to contemporary bosoms.

Hits like Laksmana Raja di Laot, sang by Iyeth, has for some
time restored audiences to sing along in acquiescence without so
much care for the appealing sensuality of the performer.

In Malaysia, the land of the legendary artist P. Ramlee and
which is also known to be the only nation to uphold the sacred
Malay culture, has also produced its own progeny in the shape of
Too Phat, a hip-hop group. Too Phat, in 2002, came out with Anak
Ayam, a traditional Malay folksong arranged digitally with a
flute-like instrument in the chorus.

Anak Ayam was such a big hit, it prompted U.S. hip-hop artist
Warren G to produce a song with the Malaysian group.

Unfortunately, in Indonesia, Malay hit songs tend not to hold
reign at the top of the charts for too long for its lack of
visual enticement, and singers like Iyeth and Siti thus tend to
work with more mainstream materials in order to survive in the
industry.

People still sing along with the tunes, but this has become a
novelty -- and many make a joke of themselves as being a retro-
geek.

In the golden days of the tranquility of the 1940s and 1950s,
Malay music never had it so good.

With such extraordinary armies of talented virtuosos such as
P. Ramlee, Said Effendy, Sam Saimun and Asnah Tahar, and with
such unforgettable evergreen hits such as Fatwa Pujangga, Bunga
Seroja and Diambang Sore, composed and produced in the style of
big bands, Malay music became an export culture, placing Malay
nations on the map of musical brilliance.

But over the years, it has lost its golden charm and appeal,
because in the age of modernization, what you see is what you get
-- not so much so in what you hear. The older generation still
lingers in its glory, and nostalgia-retro geek members of the
younger generation still search within the core of that culture
for the tranquility it provides.

And sporadically, this culture would slip out of its coma once
in a while and peek outside its window -- only to doze off again.

So it remains in its slumber, awaiting someone, somewhere, to
revive and restore it.

The writer is a vocalist and guitarist of the acclaimed indie
band Sore. Of Acehnese origin, Ade is a long-time lover of
traditional Malay music.