Vol. V: Gaya Yogyakarta (Felmay, 2005)
Vol. VI: Kraton Surakarta (Felmay, 2006)
Vol. VII: Edge of Tradition (Felmay, 2006)
Within that huge congeries of islands that we know as Indonesia are two major traditions of classical music, those of Bali and Java. Like the country itself, these two cultures present some fascinating similarities as well as sometimes startling contrasts. Java, for example, is largely Islamic, while Bali is Hindu, yet in both the Sanskrit epic Mahabharata has been (and continues to be) an important cultural influence.
The gamelan of Central Java also presents some interesting contrasts with that of Bali. By way of reminder, the term “gamelan,” like the Indian “raga,” is used to denote different things, in this case both the orchestra and the music it performs. The full Javanese gamelan includes, in addition to the “gong and chime” percussion instruments, the rebab, a bowed string instrument; the suling, a bamboo flute; and voices, usually a male chorus (sometimes female, but in either case, called the gerong) and female solists, pesindhen. Unlike most Western music, voices are not featured: the soloists are not “soloists” as we generally understand it, but rather are treated as individual instruments within the ensemble.
This part of the series surveying Central Javanese gamelan released by Felmay focuses on court music, the karawitan produced by the resident ensembles of the royal courts, the kraton. Volume V presents the tradition of Yogyakarta, considered more robust and energetic than that of Surakarta, featured in Volume VI, which is known for its delicacy and elegance. And, in keeping with what seems to be the general Indonesian attitude toward tradition, Volume VII presents nontraditional interpretations of traditional forms.
As in Balinese gamelan, Javanese music employs a pentatonic and a heptatonic scale; in karawitan, both are in current use. It’s also essential to remember that tuning is not fixed as it is in the West. Each gamelan has its own tuning, consistent within the instruments of the ensemble, and a complete orchestra will have two sets of instruments, one for each scale.
Improvisation also affects performance, and it’s worth pondering for a moment the role of improvisation in different musical traditions. In Western art music, improvisation is a subsidiary part of music making. Concertos, particularly those written before the twentieth century, will often have places for soloists to insert their own cadenzas, and there is, of course, the ubiquitous “theme and variations” exercise — which is notated and therefore no longer improvisatory. Jazz improvisation approaches more closely the non-Western sense of the practice. Classical raga could not exist without improvisation (nor could belly dancing, come to think of it). A performance of classical raga assumes sections which are specifically devoted to improvisations by the soloist, the accompanists, or both. Gamelan includes improvisation, both in the “normal” sense of something like a cadenza, but also in a slightly different manner which enters the realm of interpretation. I think it’s safe to say that Indonesian music allows for greater latitude in that area than we are used to in the West, so that any given work is constantly in a state of metamorphosis.
So, what about the music itself? In a word, “gorgeous.” Bapak Hardja Susilo, in the interview included with the Yogyakarta volume, notes that Balinese gamelan (which is most of my experience in this area) possesses a sense of urgency, “one which requires our immediate attention.” The Javanese works in this group are much more relaxed, more introspective, and very seductive. Strangely enough, the image that came to mind while listening to these selections was strikingly similar to that engendered by Morton Feldman’s Why Patterns?: the verge of a forest after a rainfall, save that in the case of the Javanese works, it was a tropical rainforest. (Another comment, perhaps, on the universality of music: radically different formal and intellectual traditions giving rise to the same reaction — with local variations, of course.)
It’s particularly interesting to note the differences in two works that are presented twice: Tukung is performed in both the Yogyakarta and Surakarta styles in Volumes V and VI respectively, and Kombang Mana is rendered in the Surakarta style on Volume VI and in a freer adaptation in Volume VII. The works presented on Volume VII in particular are extraordinarily beautiful, a stunning combination of voices and instruments in a performance that is perfectly seamless.
On the basis of the volumes I’ve listened to so far, I have no hesitation in recommending the complete series for our basic library of world music. It’s a rich and fascinating experience.
A note: There are a respectable number of gamelan in the U.S. and other Western countries. Check out The American Gamelan Institute for those nearest you.
Volumes VIII and IX are reviewed here.
