The good, the bad and the Oriental disco
By Alan Smithee
JAKARTA (JP): The Oriental Disco, one of Jakarta's very first and finest discotheques, reopens at the Hilton Hotel after a major face-lift and more than a five-year absence. My initial reaction to this announcement was a very unenthused "whoop-dee- doo!" as I twirled an index finger in the air. My mid-1980's memories of the Oriental were more than a little hazy, but I was intrigued to see how things had changed so I bit the mirrored glitter-ball and accepted the Friday Night Fever assignment.
When the Oriental shut its doors in 1994, Jakarta, and Indonesia for that matter, were very different places than they are today. The Asian economic boom was in full swing, foreign investment dollars were flooding in faster than they could be squandered or misappropriated, and it appeared as if Soeharto would be Indonesia's second president for life. Amid the golf course, karaoke and concrete gold rush, scores of new hotels and nightspots sprung up overnight, displacing many of the dance- hungry hordes from such enduring old disco enclaves as the Casablanca, the Music Room and the Pitstop. The Oriental was not immune to the excess competition and, as they say in the big city, the rest is history.
My expectations were raised as a throbbing bit of electronica accompanied my 11 p.m. stroll down the long corridors leading into the bowels of the Oriental (little did I know that it was the first and last such number I was to hear all evening). Open from 7 p.m. to 3 a.m., the weekend cover charge was Rp 35,000, although entry is free during the workweek. I surveyed the layout -- a simple large rectangular room with an octagon-domed disco/dance floor at one end, and a similar-domed bandstand and dance floor at the other. Scores of cushy turquoise chairs and sofas and elegant marble tables filled the center. Balinese masks with unusual rainbow-colored explosions of plastic hair adorned the walls. The place was packed with very few vacant tables, so I grabbed a stool at the near-empty bar that was guarded by two Godzilla-sized Ramayana masks. The draft beers were Rp 25,000 (plus plus) and house-pour drinks ranged from Rp 40,000 to Rp 60,000. There was a small stand-up menu of bar snacks, but given the steep drink prices, I gave them a pass. This was a disco anyway -- people go there to be seen, socialize and shake some booty, not to munch on barbecued chicken wings.
As I recalled, the Oriental Disco of yesteryear was haunted by mostly young wealthy Indonesians and aspiring Jakarta yuppies, with the occasional handful of petroleum industry expatriates and vacationing tourists tossed in for good measure. As I scanned the present horizon, it was not quite the title of a well-know Roman Polanski film (starring Jack Nicholson and Faye Dunaway), but one particular ethnic group definitely outnumbered the majority of Donna Summer and John Travolta-obsessed patrons. The crowd was more mature too, mainly in their 30's and 40's, and dressed to the nines in an assortment of long flowing evening gowns, slick dinner suits, stylish European jeans and sparkly up-market designer drags. The only expatriates were a few befuddled-looking European businessmen (obvious hotel guests far away from home) and a young Frenchman who was dancing badly with a group of giggling young local gals (a newly-arrived Schlumberger engineer I surmised). When the club went totally wild over a dance remix of I Can't Take My Eyes Off Of You, I finally realized that this truly was the same Oriental crowd as the good old days -- bopping to the same classic 1970's and 1980's disco tunes -- only they had all grown older, and apparently more prosperous as well. No, there were certainly no signs of lingering "Kris-Mon" here baby.
The clock struck twelve and the attention shifted to the far end of the Oriental as the 10-piece Wach Dach Band took to the stage. Fronted by four male and female singers, they ran through a competent set of top-40's numbers such as Mambo No. 5, You Can't Hurry Love, I Will Survive, Cher's Believe and the Gipsy Kings' blistering rendition of Volare. Most of the audience was content to give their feet a rest and sit out Wach Dach's show. Even though this was far from my kind of music (give me some Stones or Pink Floyd any day), I was actually starting to enjoy the well-performed and lively set. This was of course until they unfortunately played the one song that is so utterly painful that it triggers gastric seizures of near-nuclear proportions in my digestive tract. Some people can handle durians or strong drink, but Abba's Dancing Queen is a composition that was never meant for consumption by man or beast. I guess that's why so many girls love this song -- they know how much it can royally nauseate their husbands and boyfriends!
In this age of "reformasi" many things will change, but fortunately -- or unfortunately (depending on your tolerance level for nostalgia) -- some things will always remain the same. Even with the Abba intrusion, it was not a bad night out; and there is little doubt that the Oriental has tapped into a solid local market, albeit one caught in a perpetual Studio 54 time warp. So if you're not a rock n' roller, dislike droning house music and hanker for more familiar pop music with strong melody and a danceable beat, may I suggest that you take your spouse or date down to the Oriental Disco and give it a thoroughly enjoyable retro-boogie shake.