Loud and Clear

It’s only rock ‘n’ roll, some say. But in the case of Indonesia, rock music has played an important part in political opposition movements, especially against the authoritarian New Order regime. With no obvious political bugaboos to fight today, M. Taufiqurrahman asks if it still has a role to play in the nascent democracy.

Rock music, its underground incarnation in particular, played a crucial part in the effort to topple the New Order regime, one scholar asserts.

Ethnomusicologist Jeremy Wallach of Ohio’s Bowling Green State University argues that the performative politics of indigenously produced underground rock music helped lay the groundwork for an oppositional consciousness among Indonesian students.

“[It] later found an expression in the grassroots protest movement responsible for toppling the Soeharto regime,” Wallach writes in his article “Rock and Reformasi: Indonesian Student Culture and the Demise of the New Order” in Ethnomusicology magazine.

But things are a bit quiet right now. More than a decade after the demise of the New Order regime, rock music has gone virtually silent.

Iwan Fals, a force to be reckoned with by the dictatorship for his anti-Soeharto stance, has spent the better part of this decade churning out lovey-dovey romantic songs.

Rock band Slank, once a symbol of youth rebellion, is currently so busy trying to crack the world market that it has forgotten how to write a decent protest song.

Oppie Andaresta, the formerly angry female protest singer, has decided that after more than a decade spent questioning authority, it’s now more fitting to tackle subjects like the conundrum faced by single women in the metropolitan.

The Bandung-based hip-hop collective Homicide, probably the country’s most radical musical outfit and renowned for its leftist rhetoric and anti-military stance, disbanded two years ago with little fanfare after 13 years and only two full-length albums.

The rise of bands that possess formidable skills to produce intelligent rock music, but armed only with the craft to write ambivalent lyrics, such as Sore and Zeke and the Popo, has made political messages passé and merely reinforced, in the words of Wallach, the comfortable, somnambulant youth-consumer identity.

It’s not all sad songs, however, for under the radar, a coterie of young musicians refuses to give up the fight just yet.

These musicians, who work mostly as independent artists with no ties to major music labels, are convinced that there’s no time for complacency.

In fact, there are so many problems that still tick them off.

Arian Arifin of the hard-core band Seringai – from the Indonesian word for grin – is riled by the ignorance and bigotry that began pervading society after the ushering in of freedom of speech.

The most notable composition in the band’s latest album, Serigala Militia (Wolf Militia), is the song “Mengadili Persepsi (Bermain Tuhan)”, or Thoughts on Trial (Playing God). It is a searing indictment of right-wing groups that justify their actions on moral and religious grounds:

Selamat datang di era kemunduran, pikiran tertutup jadi andalan (Welcome to the era of backwardness, close-minded people standing at the forefront);

Praduga tumbuh tenteram, menghakimi sepihak sebar ketakutan (Prejudices go unchecked, unfair trial only breeds fear).

For those who think Seringai’s antagonism toward anything right-wing is consistent with their glorification of beer-drinking and marijuana-smoking – a theme picked up from stoner rock trailblazers Black Sabbath, Motorhead and Black Flag – Arian is trying to prove them wrong.

These stoner rockers can be quite political.

The band's most recent song, “Mengibarkan Perang” (Declare War), is available for free download on the Internet, and touches on the theme of rebellion and resistance:

Mereka selalu sulitkan hidupmu, dan kita akan selalu mencoba bertahan, mencoba melawan (They always make life difficult, but we will persist, try to fight);

Semua peraturan ini, menguntungkan mereka, mungkin saatnya kita, memberikan neraka (All the rules favor only them, maybe the time is nigh to give them hell).

Arian is fully aware that his music, incendiary lyrics notwithstanding, won’t change the world anytime soon.

“But I'm confident that it can inspire people to change for the better,” he says.

“Only people can change their fate and in turn change the world. And we want to be the ones who give them the inspiration. If at a 1,000-strong gig we can inspire 100 people, then we consider ourselves successful.”

The four members of the Denpasar-based grunge band Navicula think it would be simpler to campaign on more tangible issues, including environmental protection.

Courtesy Herry Sutresna

Grunge, now considered a moribund musical style after its heyday in the early 1990s, was never known for its political sensibility. Two leading lights of the genre, Kurt Cobain of Seattle’s seminal band Nirvana, and Chris Cornell of Soundgarden, were wrapped up in issues of teen angst, or else nothing in particular.

The late Cobain’s only political foray was probably writing cryptic lines denouncing sexism, while Soundgarden never ventured into anti-establishment territory before disbanding in 1996.

Eddie Vedder of Pearl Jam, however, is overtly political. Soon after the Iraq war, he kicked off a multiple-city concert with the aim of ousting George W. Bush. Also known as an avid surfer, he campaigns for the protection of marine life.

Navicula thinks Vedder sets a good example.

“I believe the most urgent problem we face today is the lack of concern for environmental protection. This is an issue that should be campaigned on by all musicians, regardless of their musical style, grunge or otherwise,” says lead singer Gede Robi.

Think about the Styrofoam box thrown into a river in Thailand that will end up in Hawaii, and the turtle that will choke on it. Or the tons of garbage that wash up on Kuta Beach every year, Robi says.

And for a band that should be wallowing in self-loathing and despair, Navicula has written more songs about environmental protection than suicidal tendencies.

In its fifth and latest outing, Salto, Navicula denounces the tourism industry’s excessive commercialization of beaches in Bali in “Pantai Mimpi”, as well as the over-the-top consumption they blame for precipitating global warming in “Over Konsumsi”. In its fourth album, the band sang about reforestation and protecting rivers.

Navicula’s actions speak louder than its lyrics. Last year, the band contributed “Supermarket Bencana” (Supermarket of Disasters) to a compilation album from the Indonesian Institute of Sciences (LIPI) to campaign for disaster preparedness.

Robi performed the song live at the International Conference on Disaster Preparedness and the Tsunami Warning System in Bali late last year. “I also served as a member of the Indonesian delegation,” he adds.

No slouch for a purported sad sack.

For other musicians, the enemy is all around: Capitalism.

Two years after Homicide folded, front man Herry “Ucok” Sutresna had no intention of calling off the dogs, especially now when capitalism has only made things worse.

The 34-year-old hip-hop musician vows he will not rest in his battle against all the things capitalism – what he terms “the empire” – stands for.

“Although its form of oppression remains the same, the current form of capitalism is not the kind that Lenin used to fight against,” says Herry, who goes by the nom de guerre Morgue Vanguard.

Although Marxism is too narrow an encapsulation of Herry’s political ideology – in the past few years his political views have leaned toward that of Italian neo-Marxist thinker Antonio Gramsci and recently toward another jailed Italian Marxist philosopher, Antonio Negri – the rage he feels for the system is informed by leftist thinkers.

In his last composition for Homicide, a call-to-arms song aptly titled “Tantang Tirani” (Taking on Tyranny), over a new-metal guitar riff, a siren of synths and Beastie Boys-style beats, Herry goes through a list of notable political uprisings from recent times before belting out his defiant stance against capitalism:

Serupa biksu Burma di hadapan moncong senapan (Just like the Burmese monks before the guns);

Serupa malam Januari yang menandai Chiapas (Just like the January nights in Chiapas);

Serupa seruan Chavez di depan muka Amerika (Just like Chavez’s calls in the face of America);

Serupa tangan Intifadha yang melempar batu di Palestina (Just like Intifadha hands throwing Palestinian rocks);

Kami menolak menjadi bidak, sekedar sekrup dan tumbal (We refuse to become pawns, screws or offerings);

Target pemasaran sampah industri kapitalis global (The target market for trash from the global capitalism industry).

Sound-wise, little has changed in Herry's recent output with his new band Trigger Mortis. But for someone who nonchalantly drops the names of German philosopher Walter Benjamin, Gramsci and American rap outfit KRS-One in the same breath, “Tantang Tirani” is relatively subdued in its rhetoric, in contrast to his Marxist-infused early efforts.

Case in point is “Senjakala Berhala” (Twilight of the Idols), a protest song that unites Marxism and existentialism:

Merebut boombox dari tangan b-boy berbacot dangkal (Taking over the boombox from the hands of shallow b-boy);

Oponen pembenam katarsis yang tak memiliki penangkal (Catharsis-suppressing opponent with no antidote);

Membongkar dikotomis ilusi Kafka dan distopia Bolshevis (Uncovering the dichotomy of Kafka’s illusion and Bolshevist dystopia).

Such a ham-fisted, didactic and overbearing manifesto could only be a byproduct of the radical activism Herry was involved in from the twilight period of the New Order regime.

The son of a former activist of a student organization affiliated with the Indonesian Communist Party (PKI), Herry joined the then-outlawed People’s Democratic Party (PRD) soon after its establishment.

In the same period, he drew musical influences from obscure musicians known only to cult followers, including the avant-garde English band This Heat, German industrial musicians in the Einstürzende Neubauten collective, and Canadian post-rock outfit Godspeed You! Black Emperor, all known for their left-of-the-dial musical styles. But he decided that hip-hop suited him best because he didn't play an instrument.

Disappointed with the rigidity of traditional Marxist ideology espoused by the then PRD, Herry left the party and embarked on his own political activism.

The implosion of the Reform movement pushed Herry further to the left, and slightly toward anarchism.

His current crusade against capitalism took the form of distributing pamphlets with the journal Jurnal Apokalips, handed out in Bandung’s art, labor and underground communities. Despite his apocalyptic warnings, he has a cult following, including many fans overseas.

In the southern part of Jakarta, a musical collective is making more modest headway. Smack in the middle of the densely populated native Jakartan neighborhood of  Jakagarsa, anarchism has produced an intriguing form of social activism, led by the band Marjinal.

In a sense, the anarchist punks have outdone themselves, because no one expects a punk musician to do good for their neighbors. But members of the Marjinal commune routinely participate in youth activities in the neighborhood, including those of the Karang Taruna youth organization.

The Sex Pistols may have proclaimed that there is “no future” – either for England’s youth or the monarchy – and that the Stooges’ only creed is to seek and destroy, but the kids from Marjinal have taken up the job that no one wants, preparing the future for countless street punks and building new lives for a legion of street children.

Although punk may be the musical style Marjinal adopts, its attitude is anything but.

Recently in Pontianak, West Kalimantan, members of the band set up a workshop on sticker and T-shirt printing and wood carving for street children of the city.

Marjinal, however, was a political band before it went about doing public service activities. Founded in 1997, it quickly made its name as the small anarchist band that could. The band’s no-frills, no-bull attitude lived up to its original moniker, Anti-ABRI, the old name of the Indonesian Military (TNI).

The band immersed itself in the underground politics that sought to overthrow Soeharto’s authoritarian regime. Traces of Marjinal’s late 1990s radical politics can be found in the band’s newest album, Marjinal Berkata Suka Suka (Marjinal Says Whatever it  Wants).

The EP’s first song is a high-powered punk tune composed as background music to “Darah Juang” (Fight Blood), a popular slogan universally chanted by street protesters in the late 1990s:
    
Disini negeri kami, tempat padi terhampar (On this land, there is nothing but rice paddies);

Samudra yang kaya raya, tanah yang subur Tuhan (Rich seas, god-given fertile land);

Di negeri yang permai ini, berjuta rakyat bersimbah luka (In this beautiful land, a million people bleed to death);

Anak buruh tak sekolah, pemuda desa tak kerja, mereka dirampas haknya (Laborers’ children can’t go to school, rural youths can't get work, their rights are stolen);

Tergusur dan lapar, bunda relakan darah juang kami (Waylaid and hungry, motherland accept our blood).
    
Just as they did with their early releases, Marjinal printed only 150 copies of the EP, but thanks to massive bootlegging, the songs from the album have become anthems that induce massive sing-alongs and stage-dives at all the band’s concerts.

Marjinal's music is unlikely to start a revolution, but through their action, hundreds of impoverished street children now have a new lease on life.

It seems that rock that rocks against the establishment is not quite dead yet.

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