PROCEEDINGS OF THE 5TH SYMPOSIUM: THE ICTM STUDY GROUP ON PERFORMING ARTS OF SOUTHEAST ASIA

FROM KUDA LUMPING TO INDONESIAN POP: AUSTRALIAN CROSS-CULTURAL AND

CROSS-BORDER ‘ENGAGEMENT’ WITH INDONESIA THROUGH MUSIC AND DANCE
PRESENTATIONS AND RE-IMAGININGS

Aline Scott-Maxwell
Monash University, Australia

Musical and other performances have long formed a significant part of cross-border and cross-cultural
engagement between Australia and Indonesia, fostered by Australia’s geographical location as Indonesia’s
immediate neighbour.1 Such forms of engagement, including between Australia and Asia more broadly, have
become much more diverse and complex in recent decades through the mobilities and cultural flows arising
from globalisation and the many changes taking place in Asia itself, with Indonesia being no exception.
Australia today is a highly multicultural and visibly Asianising country. According to the 2016 Australian
census, the majority of Australia’s large overseas-born population (itself comprising 26.3% of Australia’s
total population) is now from Asia and 10.3% of all Australians were born in an ‘Asian’ country.
This paper considers three examples that are drawn from my broader research into Indonesian-
inflected music and performance in contemporary Australia. They show how the present-day Australian
cultural and demographic environment enables highly divergent, or diffuse, types of cross-border and cross-
cultural musical engagement with Indonesia. The examples also serve to problematise the idea of engagement
itself. This term is used widely and often rather loosely; as Ang et al. (2011) point out: “”Engagement” is a
problematic term…because no one knows exactly what it means” (p. 2). It is also often applied in ways that
place a value on engagement as a ‘virtuous activity’ (James, 2016) or on particular types of engagement
above others (for example in Mitchell & Teychenné, 2018). In this paper, however, ‘engagement’ simply
denotes some form and degree of cross-cultural or cross-border connection made through music or
performance—whether by its producers, audience or both, whether it involves a reciprocal connection or not
and whether it is more ‘imagined’ than ‘real’.
The three examples discussed are, firstly, two contrasting but interconnected curated projects created
for mainstream Australian arts festivals. Together, these projects trace a journey from Indonesia to Australia
of the Javanese traditional performance form of kuda lumping and its two very different realisations, or
transformations, within a mediated, contemporary arts-festival environment. They illustrate how
‘engagement’ with Indonesia through performance is filtered or ‘translated’ for Australian audiences. The
other example is an annual concert of Indonesian pop and rock held in Melbourne called Soundsekerta.
Presented by and for a local Indonesian diaspora sub-group comprising international students from Indonesia,
it raises the question of whether in fact any form of cross-cultural or cross-border engagement is involved.
These three examples occupy entirely different spheres of music and performance activity, being presented
variously as either a traditional form, contemporary ‘art’ or popular music and involving differing types of
producer and audience. They also differ in the degree to which their ‘Indonesian’ content is mediated. In all
three cases, however, cross-cultural or cross-border engagement—or connections—through music or
performance arguably occur just as much in the process as in the outcome, including through the two-way
‘pathways’ between Australia and Indonesia that are created as part of this process.

‘Translating’ and Re-Imagining Kuda Lumping for an Australian Audience

Kuda lumping, also known in different regions of Java and beyond as jaranan, jaran kepang, jathilan, kuda
kepang, or reog amongst other names, is a traditional Javanese ‘folk’ (or non-court) performance genre that
involves dance with bamboo hobby horses, gamelan music, trance and acts of ‘superhuman’ endurance (such
as eating glass or dancing on hot coals).2 In August 2015, a kuda lumping troupe from Batu (near Malang) in
East Java called Padepokan Gunung Ukir, led by Ki Iswandi, was invited to Melbourne to perform in the
Melbourne Arts Centre, Melbourne’s principal concert hall and theatre precinct, as part of a ‘festival of the
ecstatic’ called Supersense. Over two years later, in February 2017, a newly-created, award-winning
contemporary dance piece called Attractor that was directly inspired by the earlier kuda lumping performance
was premiered in the same venue.
Besides the East Javanese performers themselves, there were three key artists, collaborators and
mediators involved in both kuda lumping-related projects: Gideon Obarzarnek and Indonesian musicians,
Rully Shabara and Wukir Suryadi. Gideon Obarzarnek is an acclaimed Australian contemporary dance
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choreographer who was ‘artistic director’ of the 2015 kuda lumping performance and co-choreographer and
director of the 2017 Attractor dance work. Vocalist Rully Shabara and multi-instrumentalist and instrument-
builder, Wukir Suryadi, perform together as Senyawa, a Yogyakarta-based punk and metal-influenced
experimental music duo. Senyawa have frequently performed in Australia since their first visit in 2011 and
are now also widely known in Europe, the United States and elsewhere. They collaborated with Gideon
Obarzarnek in bringing kuda lumping to Melbourne. They chose the Gunung Ukir troupe for the Melbourne
project and took Gideon to see them in Batu, where he witnessed his first kuda lumping performance.3 Rully
and Wukir also served as cultural mediators and behind-the-scenes interpreters for the 2015 Melbourne
production. And, as Senyawa, they provided live music for the Attractor dance performance that was based
on Gideon’s experience of kuda lumping in both East Java and Melbourne.
Like other traditional Javanese forms, kuda lumping is anchored in diverse aspects of Javanese
culture from dance, music and history to (in this case) animist or mysticism-related beliefs, practices and
rituals. How, therefore, could such a performance and its associated trance and other seemingly transgressive
practices be taken out of this cultural context and presented in any sort of authentic or meaningful way in a
venue designed for opera and ballet to a mostly non-Indonesia literate audience? Artistic director Gideon
Obarzarnek had himself expressed concern about “taking something traditional out of its original setting”
and presenting “some kind of religious or animistic ritual ceremony” (Obarzarnek, 2015). On seeing the
performance in East Java, however, he had been relieved to discover that it was also a ‘spectacle’, or
entertainment. Rather than trying to recreate its traditional environment or re-work its content in some way,
he decided instead to “heighten…the ecstatic essence of it”4 “to find a means of showing the dance in a way
that wasn’t exoticised…[and] shifting the environment to be a representation of the psychological change as
they go into trance…” (Hawker, 2015).
Obarzarnek’s artistic direction for the production involved three main elements: (1) bringing
performers and audience together on the massive State Theatre stage in close proximity and in an informal
setting where audience members were able to come and go or buy drinks at an on-stage bar, (2) creation of a
semi-enclosed ‘almost neutral’ white space with a white floor and lowered white screens, and (3)
programming the coloured lighting to respond to particular gamelan instruments, especially the drums, in
order to try and represent, or ‘reinterpret’, the sound through the lighting (‘so you’d be able to see what the
sounds looks like’). The performers were apparently happy with these interventions and with the whole
notion of it as a “sensory collaboration” (Hawker, 2015).
The resulting, relatively minimally-mediated performance unfolded with all the contingencies and
extremes of such trance performances in Java—with no apparent compromises taken in presenting all its key
traditional elements. As screens dropped to close off most of the vast cavernous vault of the State Theatre’s
tiers of red plush seating, the confined intimate white space helped to create a highly focused and very
‘present’ and intense experience for a fully absorbed audience. OHS rules apparently did not preclude the
burning of incense on a charcoal burner or presentation of offerings in the space.5 A long welcome by the
troupe’s leader in Javanese that included prayers in Arabic did not defer in any way to the audience’s English-
speaking needs. The gamelan, supplemented by an electronic keyboard (used for the campur sari songs that
are commonly incorporated into present-day kuda lumping and many other traditional performance contexts
in Java), was elevated on a platform, but the many female and male dancers as well as the pawang (shaman),
Pak Iswandi, and his assistants were barely separated from the audience seated on the floor right around
them. The shift from music foregrounding pesindhen vocalists and keyboard melodies or suling to the strident
sound of the double-reed slompret signalled a transition from a dance to a trance environment. The constantly
changing, sometimes pulsing coloured lights, synchronised with amplified drum strokes, accentuated the
music’s intensification during the performance and, together with the pungent smell of incense and the
cracking of whips to induce trance, created a profoundly multi-sensory effect.
Trance events were numerous, seemingly spontaneous and random—and appeared very real to
audience members who witnessed them up close and were even asked to unwrap and test razor blades that
were subsequently chewed and eaten.6 Even gamelan players fell into trance with the gong player nearly
knocking over the gong stand and stumbling over the drums and kenong, instruments dropping out without
their entranced players, and a single remaining kethuk and heavily, beaten drum taking the music well beyond
‘norms’ of Javanese gamelan music. When the pawang, Pak Iswandi, suddenly brought the performance to
a close, the screens rose, opening the space to ‘the real world’ of the State Theatre, and a ritual selamatan
feast with a rice mountain was brought on to the stage for all performers and audience to share together.

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FROM KUDA LUMPING TO INDONESIAN POP: AUSTRALIAN CROSS-CULTURAL AND CROSS-BORDER
‘ENGAGEMENT’ WITH INDONESIA THROUGH MUSIC AND DANCE PRESENTATIONS AND RE-IMAGININGS

‘Translated’ for its audience through semi-participatory and sensory although decontextualised
immersion, published reviews and blog comments about the performance testify that the audience found it,
on the whole, a mesmerising, challenging and ‘other world’-ly experience, for example: “This was one of the
most amazing experiences I have ever had the chance to witness, and I found myself absolutely hypnotised
for the entirety of the performance” (Rew, 2015).
Even for those in the audience I spoke to who were familiar with kuda lumping or other Indonesian
trance dances, the performance was confrontingly ‘real’.

‘Attractor’ Dance Piece

The contemporary dance work, Attractor, performed by the professional Queensland dance company, Dance
North, and co-choreographed and directed by Gideo Obarzarnek and another acclaimed Australian
choreographer, Lucy Guerin, was presented on the same closed off State Theatre stage, except that the
audience sat on raked benches. With kuda lumping and Senyawa’s music as its starting points, it was
promoted as ‘an ecstatic ritual for non-believers’ and described as ‘participatory’, among other things. The
young, highly trained dancers moved rapidly around the performance space in choreographed swarms or
quasi-ceremonial circles and other formations, using repetitive movements and seemingly improvised or
random thrashing or jerking gestures, presumably intended to simulate the possessed ‘in trance’ body. At one
point, twenty unrehearsed (though planted) members of the audience entered the space and became part of
the performance, following instructions about where and how to move through earpieces, and representing
in a semi-choreographed way the sometimes blurred boundaries between performer and audience and the
participatory spontaneity that Gideon had witnessed in East Java.
What appeared to me—at least when compared to its kuda lumping model—as the abstracted, rather
superficial artifice of this choreography was in stark juxtaposition to the largely motionless but very powerful
presence and visceral sounds of the two Indonesian musicians. Rully Shabara’s loudly amplified extended
vocal effects, including groans, breathy mostly unpitched guttural and glottal sounds, screaming and
squealing, together with Wukir Suryadi’s unorthodox striking techniques on his home-made electric guitar
or his bowed or plucked home-made electricified bamboo tube-zither (with tuning-pegs), were overlaid with
deep pulsing electronics.7 These combined sounds and effects somehow responded to the perceived ‘other
world’-ness of kuda lumping, but in a contemporised and transformative rather than imitative way.
Occasional snatches of vernacular text or wayang-like chant and the distinct pelog tones of a briefly-heard
Javanese suling provided sporadic explicit connections to a more traditional Indonesia. There was some
(choreographed) interactivity between musicians and dancers as they responded respectively to sounds or
movements, but the two musicians stood or sat in the centre of the dancers throughout except at one point
when they were picked up by the dancers and carried around as they continued to sing or play.
Stripped of its specific Javanese aesthetic, cultural and spiritual meanings, Attractor re-packaged or
‘translated’ kuda lumping as a generalised and rather essentialised trance and ritual-like event that, in the
case of the dance, carried no Indonesia-specific references at all, representing the ‘other’ without the
‘difference’. For Attractor’s music, however, Indonesian performers were placed at the work’s centre and,
by contrast, presented an unmediated ‘contemporary’ version of Indonesia that was as compelling in its own
way as the kuda lumping performance. For example, one reviewer wrote:

Drawing on traditional music and folklore from the cultures of the Indonesian archipelago,
[Senyawa] combine elements of punk, heavy metal, and avant garde musical performance into an
absolutely exhilarating, impossible-to-predict performance that may have no other comparison in
contemporary music. (Wunnan, 2017)8

Both the kuda lumping and the Attractor performances, especially Senyawa’s music, created possibilities for
audience engagement with either a perceived ‘traditional’ Indonesia or ‘contemporary’ Indonesia, whether
through types of participation or semi-participation, sensory immersion, or juxtapositions of Indonesian and
non-Indonesian elements. Yet neither Attractor’s marketing promotion nor its reviews made explicit
references to Indonesia except in relation to Senyawa, who wore the ‘cloak’ of ethnic authenticity (Weiss,
2008, p. 218). Much more significant in relation to Australian engagement with Indonesia through these
performances was that both were strongly underpinned and driven by a cross-cultural and cross-border
collaborative process. This process involved the personal engagement of Gideon Obarzarnek with Indonesia
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(see Mitchell, 2018), including through his discovery and experience of kuda lumping, the Senyawa
musicians’ personal and creative engagement with Australia through their frequent visits, performances and
local creative network, and the three artists’ intense and shared collaborative experience of staging kuda
lumping and especially of creating Attractor. As noted in one newspaper report:

Javanese duo Senyawa are not just central to the stage and the performance. Their work was the
inspiration for the entire piece, and they were full creative partners in the development of the
choreography. (Hawker, 2015)

Transplanting an Indonesia Pop Culture World into Melbourne

The third example discussed here shifts the paper’s focus from a cross-cultural scenario within a mainstream
Australian arts environment to a context that is entirely and starkly ‘cross-border’, that is, the pop music
world of a distinctly demarcated Indonesian diaspora sub-group in Australia. Every year since 2007,
international students from Indonesia who are studying at my university, Monash University (Melbourne),
have organised a large concert of Indonesian pop and rock called Soundsekerta.9 The concert, together with
the broader social and pop culture scene of which it is a part, illustrates various notable aspects of this
international student community, who together with international students from other parts of Asia comprise
a numerically very large transient diaspora grouping in Australia.10 Features of this community include: (1)
the students’ highly concentrated geographical presence in the central city and a few suburban locations
where they study and live, (2) the types of social groupings, organisations and networks they form,11 which
consist almost exclusively of fellow international students from their own country (described by Gomes
(2017) as ‘parallel societies’), (3) their highly limited and mostly superficial engagement with Australian
society and culture (as well as with the local Indonesian-Australian migrant community) and (4) their strongly
transnational lives expressed through their social media networks and their consumption or production of
music and other forms of pop culture, among other things (as also discussed in Scott-Maxwell, 2008).
The annual Soundsekerta concert is project managed and produced entirely by a team of students,
who raise a very substantial budget from sponsors, fund-raising and ticketing, select the artists and market
and manage the event.12 The centrepiece and main drawcard of Soundsekerta is a line-up of top Indonesian
pop and rock acts who are invited to Melbourne especially for the concert. Artists who have performed in
Soundsekerta in previous years include Sheila on 7 (2010 and 2014), Gigi, d’Masiv (2011), Dewa 19 (2013),
Noah, Nidji (2015) and Project Pop (2017). Held in the 2000-seat capacity Melbourne Town Hall, the
concerts attract an audience of up to 1500 people or more who are almost exclusively Indonesian and
overwhelmingly international students.
Soundsekerta brings students together because of a shared love of the pop and rock from their
homeland. It is also driven by the status and meanings attached to celebrity pop. But the significance of the
event lies in other things, including its social dimension: of students wanting to experience it together with
their friends and of responding collectively to the musicians through swamping the area in front of the stage,
waving, dancing and singing along as well as meeting and chatting to friends. Artists often actively
collaborate musically with the student audience, who know many of the songs and lyrics. Also highly
significant is the larger participatory process, which includes pre-event activities and competitions, such as
song cover contests for student singers or bands, with their entries posted on YouTube, or a competition for
a student band to open the concert. Part of this participatory process is the organising of the event itself,
which creates an intense, shared bonding experience amongst each year’s new committee due to the close
team- work demanded by the responsibility of managing such a large-scale event (alongside their studies) as
well as the very tight time-frame and the consequent steep learning curve for team members. Within this
time-frame the project team must, amongst many other things, find sponsors, make a long ‘shortlist’ of
preferred artists, contact them regarding availability since many already have performing schedules booked-
out well ahead, and negotiate discounted deals on their fees. Much of this involves intensive on-the-ground
work in Jakarta during the mid-semester break.13
The case for discounted artists’ fees is made not just on the basis of the concert’s not-for-profit status
but by invoking nationalist support for fellow citizens studying far away from home. In fact, the concert itself
demonstrates a strongly projected diaspora-formed nationalism. This is not just evident in such things as the
students’ celebration of and pride in their pop culture and singing of the national anthem or, sometimes, the

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FROM KUDA LUMPING TO INDONESIAN POP: AUSTRALIAN CROSS-CULTURAL AND CROSS-BORDER
‘ENGAGEMENT’ WITH INDONESIA THROUGH MUSIC AND DANCE PRESENTATIONS AND RE-IMAGININGS

inclusion of other national songs by the featured artists but, notably in 2017, in the concert’s theme of
Harmony in Diversity. For example, Facebook promotion for the 2017 concert included the following:

Funny thing about people is that it takes many differences to split them apart, but it only takes one
thing in common to unite them. No matter what your race, skin tone or religion is, we all belong to
one nation with one purpose in mind: better future for our beloved country. (20 August, 2017)

In emphasising that music was a unifier across race, ethnicity, religion, gender and so on, the theme of
‘Harmony in Diversity’ was undoubtedly responding to recent political events in Jakarta and emerging ethnic
and religious tensions there arising from blasphemy accusations against the previous Jakarta governor, Ahok,
and his eventual controversial jailing—as well as no doubt the Indonesian national motto of ‘unity in
diversity.
Soundsekerta concerts are primarily an expression and affirmation of the students’ individual and
collective Indonesian identities through their social experience of the event and their identification with
Indonesian pop amongst other things. These meanings are created within and shared by organisers and
participants alike and, without non-Indonesian Australians in the audience, the concerts require no mediation
or ‘translation’. Soundsekerta concerts strongly demonstrate the transnational connections of the students and
their engagement with Indonesia and, to some degree, its social and political issues rather than any overt
engagement with Australia as such. Yet, it is transplanted into and takes place within an Australian ‘lifestyle’
setting and is enabled by its Australian context. And the students’ engagement with Indonesia is from their
diaspora position within Australia.

Conclusion

Together, these three select and very varied examples demonstrate some of the diversity and complexity of
how Indonesia is presented, mediated and contextualised through music and performance in contemporary
Australia. The examples show how Australian ‘engagement’ with Indonesia through performance presents
in filtered or disguised ways. In Australia, proximity to Indonesia and specificities of diaspora together create
a unique scenario for cross-cultural and cross-border musical engagement with Indonesia—especially in a
transient diaspora context where, arguably, the cultural and social borders between Australia and Indonesia
are found within Australia itself. The paper has also tried to highlight the particular significance of process
and of the pathways between Australia and Indonesia that these processes can create or reinforce, including
through extended collaboration. But even in the absence of clearly demonstrated forms of cross-cultural or
cross-border connection, or engagement, each of the performances or concert events considered here created
in their own way a space for Indonesia in Australia and, I suggest, for Australia in Indonesia.

Endnotes
1
See Scott-Maxwell (2015). See Macknight (1976) regarding pre-white settlement encounters between
Yolgnu Aborigines and visiting trepang fishermen from Makassar.
2 Amongst the extensive literature on this genre, recent studies include Mauricio (2002), Simatupang (2002),

Browne (2003), Groenendael (2008), and Hardwick (2014).

3 The Gunung Ukir troupe was sourced through Wukir’s connections in Malang, where he comes from (W.

Suryadi, personal communication, 14 February, 2018).

4 From printed promotional material for the Supersense festival.
5 I was unable to ascertain whether the offerings included a live black chicken, which in Javanese

performances is usually tied under the offerings table.

6 Issues pertaining to trance as such or its genuineness are not relevant to how it was received in the

Melbourne performance.
7 Wukir calls his home-made instruments, ‘spatula’and ‘bambuwukir’, respectively (personal communi-

cation, 14 February, 2018).

8 This review is of a later performance from the production’s United States tour.
9 The concert takes its name from Sansekerta, the Indonesian word for Sanskrit.
10 Australia is the overseas country of choice for Indonesian undergraduate students. In 2017, there were over

20,000 education enrolments from Indonesia, of which nearly 10,000 were in Australian universities or other
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higher education institutions (Australian Embassy, Indonesia, 2017). The overall number of international
student enrolments in Australia was nearly 600,000.
11
These organisations include local university branches of the Indonesian Student Association in Australia:
Perhimpunan Pelajar Indonesia Australia (PPIA).
12
In 2016, the Soundsekerta budget was A$75,000 (personal communication, Jessen Tjandra, 6 September,
2016).
13 Personal communications: Jessen Tjandra, 6 September, 2016, and 25 October, 2016, and Christian Parera,

8 November, 2017.

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