24 Hour With The Biggest Dangdut Star in East Java

Pandaan, Pasuruan, East Java, October 31, 2017, 7:00 PM

You can read the Indonesia version here: https://tirto.id/di-bawah-kerajaan-dangdut-koplo-iman-kita-adalah-bergoyang-cAHA

The Kuti Field was already crowded after seven PM. There was a night market. From the middle of the area, the roar of motorcycles could be heard from the Tong Setan, or Devil’s Wall. Sodiq walked through, with many people admiring him. This man with dreadlocks then sat at a chicken noodle stall. He ordered a portion.

But Sodiq couldn't eat in peace. Every few minutes, someone would ask to take a photo with him. Men, women, teenagers, fathers or mothers, even parents with babies. Sodiq happily posed for the pictures. His signature pose was putting his thumb on his chest. After each photo, he continued eating while continously checking his phone. But soon, someone else asked for a photo. Sodiq never complained even once.

"Well, that's the price of being handsome," he joked.

That night, OM Monata was going to perform. Sodiq was the driving force behind this dangdut orchestra group from Sidoarjo. OM, an abbreviation for Orkes Melayu, characterized the music they play. Besides playing guitar, Sodiq was also their singer. More than that, Sodiq was the icon of the band. His name was closely tied to Monata.

Since 1989, this man from Pasuruan has been busking in cafes around the tourist spot of Tretes, a tourism spot near his home. He often played guitar for various dangdut group. Then, in the mid-1990s, he was invited by Gatot Hariyanto, an entrepreneur from Sidoarjo, to form a dangdut group.

"It used to be called Penanggungan. I joked, what kind of name is Penanggungan? So I changed it to Monata," said the man with a mole on his right cheek.

Monata is an acronym. "Moh ditoto. Mokong," added Sodiq. It means hard to manage, rebellious.

Though they are a dangdut band, there was a time when their behavior was no different from rock stars: sex, drugs, and dangdut koplo. They even performed drunk a few times. But Sodiq regretted it when he watched the video recordings.

"We played badly, our tempo was off. It was a mess. So I talked with the other members, what if we tried playing without being drunk? It turned out much better. Since then, we never performed drunk again."

Several events made Sodiq slowly distance himself from alcohol. First, some of his friends passed away because of that reckless lifestyle. He also suffered direct consequences.

"This," he said, pointing to a large scar on his stomach, "is from appendicitis surgery. Too much drinking, not eating enough."

Now, Sodiq has moved away from that wild lifestyle. If he drinks alcohol now, he says, his body feels sick. Sodiq now acts more like a father figure in Monata. After him, Nono (the guitarist) and Hanafi (the tambourine player) are the senior members. Also, Sodiq, approaching 50, is older than most of the other members.

Entrepreneur Gatot Hariyanto also trusts him to manage the band. Some performance bookings go through Sodiq. This fan of folk musician Ebiet G. Ade also doesn't hesitate to scold band members who lack discipline.

"Discipline is the key for everything," he said.

Sodiq isn't just boasting. The performance at Kuti Field was scheduled for 8 PM. An hour earlier, he was already there. In his more than 20-year career, he can proudly say he's never been late. Since the 2000s, Monata's schedule has been packed. They once performed 47 times in a single month.

"You just have to be ready not to go home."

7:00 AM

That morning, Sodiq was already looking at the computer screen in his home studio. Sodiq's studio is simple. There's one small operator room, about 2x3 meters, and a recording booth of the same size. In the operator room, there’s a computer with a large screen and a sound system. Above the computer screen is a painting of Sodiq shirtless, holding a rooster.

That morning, Sodiq’s plan was to record some duet songs with Rere Amora, one of Monata's female singers. They were working on 10 songs.

Sodiq’s voice was hoarse. He had a cold. His wife made him a large glass of warm ginger tea. Sodiq sipped it slowly. He cleared his throat a few times, hoping to chase away the sickness in his throat and nose.

Once he felt his voice was a little better, Sodiq went into the recording booth. One of the songs they recorded was "Cintaku Padamu" (My Love for You). As the title suggests, the story revolves around love, which Sodiq described as "endless and eternal." Another song was "Gerimis Melanda Hati" (Drizzle Hits the Heart), a song about love separated by distance.

The operator managed the sound settings. He gave cues when Sodiq should stop, or if there were any lyric mistakes. Sodiq was fully focused, trying his best to sing well despite his hoarse voice.

"Can you still hear the hoarseness?"

The operator played back the recording. Sodiq chuckled. It's okay, he said, they would record it again later. This first recording would be sent to the producer.

If there was no performance scheduled—and that rarely happened—Sodiq would take care of recording. Like their performance schedule, the recording schedule was tight. He might be the hardest-working and most disciplined person in Indonesia’s dangdut scene today.

Sodiq is known as a talented songwriter. He works fast. He writes songs based on the moment, like journalists covering the latest issues. When the Lapindo mud disaster happened, he wrote "Porong Ajor" (Porong Destroyed). That song made Sodiq even more famous, his performance schedule got busier, and his pay increased drastically.

"I used to get paid one hundred thousand rupiah for a performance, but after that song, I could earn one to one and a half million," he said.

As a fast songwriter, it’s no wonder Sodiq lost track of how many songs he’s written. He says the number is "sak arat-arat"—meaning so many that he’s lost count. He often sells his songs to singers who need them. The price varies. On average, IDR5 millions per song. Sometimes, singers come to Sodiq asking him to do a duet.

But Sodiq doesn’t accept every duet offer. He admits he’s always blunt. Harsh. If the singer isn’t good, Sodiq will tell the truth. The test is simple: bring them to the studio. There, Sodiq listens to them sing.

"It’s to check if they know the notes or not."

However, Sodiq admits that duets are one way to keep his market fresh. He knows the space for male dangdut singers is small, especially since he’s almost 50 years old.

In addition to duets, he also tries to keep up with youth fashion. He often wears a combination of jeans, dark shirts, and blazers. His dreadlocks are one of his trademarks and set him apart from other dangdut singers.

"For a long time, many people have told me to cut my hair. But I don’t want to. This has been my character from the start, it’s not that easy to change."

19:30

The sound check began. The keyboard was pressed. The bass was plucked. Sodiq tested the microphone. A song was played in short pieces. Sodiq sang and then gave a signal to the sound engineer.

"Test. One, two."

"Blocking, guys."

"The keyboard sound isn't clear enough."

Hundreds of spectators had already gathered in front of the stage. The female singers were waiting below, waiting for the sound check to be completed. There were five female singers who would perform that night, one of them being Niken Aprilia.

Niken was known as Monata's singer who often performed rock songs. Her usual repertoire included "Neraka Jahanam," "Bang Bang Tut," "The Final Countdown," and the Indonesian classic rock song, "Kerangka Langit." During a performance in Lamongan, Niken mentioned that "Angkara" by the band Power Metal was a "must-play song when performing here."

Nia was selected as the first singer that night. She appeared graceful in a long black gown. She didn’t start with a rock song but with "Konco Mesra." This song, composed by Husin Albana, became one of the most popular dangdut koplo songs, especially after being sung by Nella Kharisma, one of the fastest rising stars in the dangdut world. As usual, every Monata concert was opened by the legendary MC Bram Sakti. After greeting the audience, the mustached man immediately called Nia to the stage.

"Good evening, Pandaan!"

It didn’t take long for the audience to go wild. Some in the front row climbed onto their friends' shoulders. On the right side of the stage, a few teenagers wearing Guy Fawkes masks raised their fists in the air and waved them in a 360-degree motion. It seemed almost no one in the audience wasn't dancing, even if it was just nodding their heads. Seeing this, it was safe to say that dangdut koplo fans were some of the most enthusiastic concert-goers.

During the third song, a commotion broke out in the middle of the audience. A fight. The police acted quickly, splitting the crowd, and several troublemakers scattered. Nia shook her head. 

"It’s only the third song," she remarked from the stage. After that, the concert went relatively smoothly.

From behind the drums and kendang, Juri watched everything with a calm demeanor. With his hair in a ponytail and his narrow eyes, he could easily be nicknamed the Steven Seagal of Probolinggo. As the drummer and kendanger, Juri controlled the rhythm. When the part was "normal," he played the drums. But when it was time for koplo, he swiftly put down the drumsticks and switched to playing the kendang.

Tak tung, tak tung, tak tung tung!

The kendang is what differentiates koplo from other types of dangdut. Slamet, a kendang player from OM New Pallapa, said the koplo beat is 4/4, different from the usual 3/4 in dangdut. Because of the faster beat, and when the kendang is played and the rhythm changes, there’s an outpouring of feeling that's hard to describe. Your hands start moving on their own, and your feet suddenly start dancing, unable to resist. It’s an automatic dance.

"Any song can be turned into koplo. Once it's koplo, anyone who hears it will start dancing," said the man, who’s often called Cak Met.

Neither Juri, Cak Met, nor Sodiq could answer who actually created koplo or when exactly it emerged. But they all agreed on one thing: dangdut koplo was born in the Jarak, a red-light district in Surabaya.

It was the mid-to-late 1990s when koplo pills –an illegal drug– became trendy, making those who took them feel energized. The lively koplo rhythm seemed to mimic the feeling of taking koplo pills—energized and full of spirit. In Jarak, where the nights were long and noisy, the music needed to keep the visitors excited—and of course, aroused. Koplo was born from such a grassroots atmosphere.

To make the mood even livelier, they added "senggakan," or primal shouts, originally from the karawitan traditional arts. There are various types of senggakan. Wiwik Sagita, a popular singer from OM Sagita, is known for her distinctive senggakan "Asolole”. There are also shouts like "hok ya, hok ya," or "hak e, hak e," and of course, "buka sitik, jos!"

Andrew Weintraub, an American researcher of dangdut, said koplo has roots in the ronggeng dances of rural Java. Koplo became rich because it didn’t just draw influences from Malay or Indian music like dangdut, but also from metal, house music, and other folk arts like jaranan, jaipong, or ludruk.

Koplo gradually became popular due to its unique mode of spread: through wedding video recordings, which were then reproduced in VCD format. Its distribution was massive, from East Java to Jakarta. From there, a new icon emerged, an energetic singer from Pasuruan: Inul Daratista. Aside from her iconic "drilling" dance moves, Weintraub noted that the music Inul performed was different from any dangdut he had heard before.

Weintraub described Inul's music as having a strong rock foundation, screaming guitars, fast tempos, with sections of the songs that changed quickly. The rapid tempo shifts and song sections are what define koplo.

The arrival of koplo from the outskirts of East Java shook the kingdom of dangdut, which had long been ruled by the king: Rhoma Irama. When Inul emerged in the early 2000s, Rhoma immediately showed his disapproval. Weintraub noted that Inul was seen as an outsider in the "...closed and narrow-minded dangdut community in Jakarta, unlike the calm, polite, and glamorous image displayed by singers of the 1990s (such as Cici Paramida, Ikke Nurjanah, Itje Tresnawati). Inul projected the image of a strong, assertive, and sexual woman."

Inul was then boycotted and attacked. Her dance moves were seen as arousing men’s desires. Michael H.B. Raditya, a dangdut researcher, described the boycotts, attacks, and demands for dangdut koplo to educate people as ambiguous.

Dangdut koplo indeed brought different values compared to Rhoma's style of dangdut. Raditya said that some koplo songs reflect openness and the reality experienced by the people in East Java, which might not be felt by the bourgeois dangdut community in the capital city. Songs like "Wedi Karo Bojomu," "Oplosan," "Ditinggal Rabi," and "Bojo Galak" are the perfect embodiment of the slogan "art imitates life."

The internet also brought significant changes. 

Ikwan Setiawan, a lecturer at the Faculty of Cultural Studies at University of Jember, said that the internet played a crucial role in helping people understand the flexible diversity of culture, in this case, dangdut koplo. 

"So, music that was once considered just for the fringe is now listened to by the digital community. That's the power of the internet. It can turn something that was once seen as unappealing into a new trend," said the founder of the Matatimoer Institute.

Now, we can watch the music video for "Jaran Goyang" sung by Nella Kharisma, with over 90 million views on YouTube. Or how the song "Sayang," performed by Via Vallen, has been watched more than 98 million times. The internet has also turned kendang players, who were usually considered less important than vocalists or flute players, into new celebrities, like Cak Met.

Some fans even created a Facebook page called "Fans Ky Ageng Cak Met New Pallapa." It has more than 15,000 members and keeps growing daily. Kendang players have become incredibly popular because the structure of dangdut koplo places them as the commanders, turning them into new stage stars.

"To be honest, I feel a bit awkward being called an artist. I'm just a regular guy. Let's just be friends, no need for all the fans' stuff," said Cak Met.

22:00

Five female singers gathered on stage. This was a sign that the concert was about to end. The keyboard played a popular song from Armada, "Asalkan Kau Bahagia”. In the middle of the song, Juri put down his drumsticks and played the kendang.

Tak tung! Tak tung!

The tempo became perfect for dancing, especially with the senggakan, fueling the energy. On the left side of the stage, dancing wildly meant bumping into others. The heat of youth, possibly fueled by alcohol, led to tempers flaring. Punches were thrown. Chaos. This time it was the rowdiest compared to the other three scuffles that night. The police, frustrated, rushed to the left side. The crowd scattered. But those who fought kept fighting. At the front of the stage, no one cared. They kept dancing. The world belonged to those who danced; the others were just there to fight.

The world of dangdut koplo audiences is indeed fascinating. Some come to fight, as if a brawl could solve all their problems. Others live by the motto: whatever the issue, dancing is the solution. That night, both types of koplo fans found their own ways.

Hak e! Hak e! []