Longing Band play at Beautiful Hope
Emma Baulch
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Longing Band play at Beautiful Hope
Emma Baulch
Abstract
This article enquires into the contextual dimensions of Indonesian consumerism
by presenting the rise to national fame of provincial boy band, Kangen (Longing)
Band. The case of Kangen Band suggests that Indonesian consumerism entails
new ways of heralding the masses that rely on and play with old generic terms,
kampungan (hick-ish) and ‘Melayu’ (Malay). It also reveals some of the
specificities of the Indonesian consumerist environment, in which Ring Back
Tones (RBT), pirate recordings and corporatized fandom are important
resources in the formation of consumer subjectivities.
Keywords
consumerism, mobile telephony, fans, pop genres
Introduction
[W]hat we need to avoid is the search for pre-established sequences of
institutional change, axiomatically defined as constitutive of the
consumer revolution. What this might encourage is a multiplication of
scenarios concerning the appearance of consumer society, in which the
rest of the world will not simply be seen as repeating, or imitating, the
conjunctural precedents of England or France.
Arjun Appadurai, 1996: 73
In mid 2010, I attended an on–air event for the television station SCTV in a lavish
housing complex called Harapan Indah (Beautiful Hope), in Bekasi, on the
periphery of Jakarta. I was staying in well‐established, leafy Menteng, at the city’s
heart. Getting to Bekasi meant a long taxi ride through the night, past the jungle
of tall office buildings ‐ the embassies, the construction and mining giants, and
the multilateral aid agencies, their banks of square windows glinting like
sequins. We ascended to a lonely tollway, and little could be seen but other cars
speeding by.
Eventually, the toll road gave way to a familiar, harried scene. Dusty, exhauststained kiosks made of plywood - a hairdresser, a street-side
dentist, a grease‐smeared motorbike repair shop - lined the roadside. Suddenly,
the scene was transformed again, as we turned onto the newly paved and
palm‐lined road to Harapan Indah. Rods of laser light could be seen in the near
distance, moving crazily in haphazard arcs, exterminating any fears of rain. The
lights directed the gaze toward the location of the stage, which also soon came
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into view. It was flanked by walls of fluorescent orange and yellow LED lights,
advertising the event sponsor. Four acts appeared on stage that night: Maia Duo,
Hijau Daun, Kahitna and Kangen Band. My mission tonight was to catch Kangen
Band (Longing Band).
Kangen Band first piqued my interest in 2009, when I undertook a study of
Jakarta-based music writers. I found that, among them, their judgment of Kangen
Band’s lack of musicianship was not unanimous. The band’s appearances on
national television also elicited criticisms from several high profile composers,
who considered their songs to be poorly composed (Cahyono 2009a, 2009b).i
The band’s producers focused, instead on Kangen Band’s rise to fame despite
humble beginnings as a success story to be celebrated (Sujana 2009).
Following the band’s promotional narrative I dug deeper into the band’s history.
Their story begins in 2004, when a group of youths from Lampung, Southern
Sumatra began gathering together to busk (mengamen) on the streets during the
free time they had from their day jobs (they worked as pushcart traders and
construction workers). Eventually, they began staging more formal
performances at music festivals in their hometown. By mid-2005, the collective
had chosen the name Kangen Band and recorded a demonstration compact disc
of original compositions by guitarist Dodhy. In the months following, songs from
the disc were broadcast in strategic public places around Lampung: on the radio,
on the bemo (public transport vans), in malls, and in the form of ‘unofficial’ or
pirated compact discs sold by the roadside,ii at points of exchange known as
emper-emperan. By 2006, Kangen Band’s popularity manifested in similar form
on Java.
In 2006, a former print journalist, Sujana, who had recently established an artist
management company, Positif Art, ‘discovered’ Kangen Band and invited its
members to sign with Positif Art and carry out its strategies for pop production:
These included signing a recording contract with Warner Music to repackage
their debut album, Tentang Aku, Kau dan Dia (On Me, You and Him), which had
previously been so widely disseminated in unofficial formats. When
incorporated into the publishing and distribution systems of a major recording
label, Kangen Band proved to be commercially successful. However, once part of
such official systems of musical reproduction, Kangen Band also assumed a new
format: Originally, the group conceived of their performances in the register of
pop Indonesia (Interview, Andhika). After signing with Positif Art, however,
Kangen Band became known as a pop Melayu band, a label that classified Kangen
Band as a band emerging ‘from below’,iii or from the lower class; This strategy
solidified the group’s official production as a narrative of ‘upward mobility.’
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A narrative of upward mobility serves as a central object in the current study of
Kangen Band. Broadly speaking, the article presents an enquiry into Indonesian
consumerism, and I use the narrative to trace some of the historical forces
implicated in the crystallization and dissolution of particular consumer
subjectivities. However, whilst the narrative of upward mobility dominated
official Kangen Band performances, it was not the only signification. An
examination of official fan practices reveals Kangen Band’s performances to be
polysemic. Further, the unofficial field in which Kangen Band initially circulated
in purely sonic (not visual) form, regionally, via pirated recordings and radio
broadcasts predated the meta-text of upward mobility. In this unofficial field,
Kangen Band’s meaning was less certain. The article initially addresses this
undetermined domain, then follows with a consideration of the shifts in meaning
that took place upon the band’s official production under the auspices of Warner
Music and Positif Art. It was in this official production process that the narrative
of upward mobility was hatched as a strategy to herald the masses, through use
of the old generic terms, Melayu and kampungan.
From the ghostly to the visible
The role YouTube plays in contemporary cultural productions urges social
researchers to tread carefully when interpreting the political implications of the
consumption and production of amateur performances - in the current case,
those of Kangen Band prior to its recruitment to major label production
processes. For example, YouTube makes it difficult to claim the capacity of
amateur performances to bypass official processes as a subcultural victory. Such
bypassing simply attests to shifts in cultural economies enabled by digitality.
Here, then, the characterisation of unofficial Kangen Band performances as
ghostly is not meant to imply that that they self-consciously resisted big capital
pop musical institutions. Invocation of ghostliness, rather, is an attempt to begin
sketching how the Kangen Band phenomenon reveals cracks in the public culture
and its uncanny dimensions. In such uncanny spaces, I posit, cultural
performances can be loose, relatively unregulated, and quite open to
interpretation.
The first way in which Kangen Band’s unofficial performances were ghostly
pertains to their wide circulation in purely sonic form. In a pirate economy
awash with unofficial video recordings, this is unusual. In his book, Sujana
expresses frustration at the utter unavailability of any images of Kangen Band
that may have aided him in his quest to uncover its potential. However, prior to
its production by Positif Art and Warner, the Kangen Band sound was already
ubiquitous. Songs from the debut album circulated as radio broadcasts, they
pervaded malls, and they sold spectacularly at the emper-emperan. Despite such
ubiquity, the band’s invisibility imbued it with a strange, uncanny quality, as
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suggested by the popular characterisation of Kangen as a ‘ghost band’ (band
hantu)(Sujana, 2009).
The second dimension of Kangen Band’s early ghostliness pertains to the
uncertain generic affiliations of its sound – an uncertainty accentuated, perhaps,
by the absence of any visual cues. As I mentioned in the introduction, Kangen
Band’s composer, Dodhy, originally conceived of his compositions in the register
of pop Indonesia: a genre with stereotypes metropolitan, middle class culture.
That said, the compositions on Kangen Band’s debut album do not display the
lyrical proclivity for hip, metropolitan language or self-confident masculinity that
are normally features of this genre. In fact, the songs brazenly make use of
provincially inflected slang and are markedly sad and despairing, and in this
sense they are excessive and wild, because they apply a typically Melayu
sensibility (David, 2003) to pop Indonesia.iv This rendering suggests pop
Indonesia’s availability for subaltern ex-corporation, or poaching (Jenkins,
1992), and unhinges the songs from the kinds of metatext generic certainty can
provide.
This generic unhinging is built upon by the way in which Kangen Band, in its
early, unofficial form, manifested as a particular kind of digitally mediated social
phenomenon. Similar to the YouTube phenomenon, digital sound reproductions
enabled Kangen Band recordings rapid proliferation of a local market. Therefore,
YouTube played a minor role in the music’s dissemination; of greater
significance was the pirate economy of unofficial roadside exchanges, radio
broadcasts, and sales at the emper-emperan - which, ipso facto, generated a large
volume of phoned-in radio requests, and vice versa. This mode of proliferation
distinguishes the techno-social dimensions of amateur Kangen Band
performances from similar phenomena mediated by visually rich, interactive
web formats such as YouTube. Early Kangen Band performances were purely
sonic commodities, and enthusiasm for them was not socially networked in a
web-mediated sense.v The dialogue between radio and the emper-emperan gives
rise to a more ethereal kind of network, for it neither records numbers of hits
nor provides space for viewers’ comments. Together with the band’s invisibility
and generic uncertainty, this ethereal network yielded descriptions of the band’s
songs as strangely appealing, ghostly.vi
Once signed to Warner, however, Kangen Band’s ghostliness became a figment of
its past. The band’s image materialized, as it appeared in music videos and on
live telecast performances - much to the chagrin of a number of authoritative
critics, who lambasted the band’s poor-quality compositions and unsightliness,
due in part to the lead singer’s chronic acne, as evidence of the band’s inherent
vulgarity (Cahyono 2009a, b). The band’s unsightly appearance was, in fact,
heavily airbrushed out of the cover of their first album with Warner, Yang
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Sempurna (Perfection), the repackaged version of the debut album Tentang Aku,
Kau dan Dia. Nevertheless, although the audio tracks were remastered, little
additional audio production took place. The resultant repackaged recording is
imbued with a sense of under-production: Instrumentation, sounds tinny, the
vocals are thin, often out of tune, and wavering. Warner’s repackaging, then,
entailed only a partial makeover. The band was rendered visible, but the original,
unofficial sound was essentially retained. This suggests, not an elimination of
vulgarity, but an airbrushing and yet strategic use of it.
The second way in which Kangen Band assumed a new form pertains to the
strategic use of the terms Melayu and kampungan (hick-ish/ bogan-y) in the
course of the band’s promotion. As mentioned above, the band’s generic reassignment, from pop Indonesia to pop Melayu, eased its official production as a
narrative of upward mobility. In response to strong criticisms of the group, the
band’s label capitalized upon the image of provincial vulgarity associated with
the term kampungan and highlighted the members’ humble beginnings. In
cinematic and literary form, narratives of the bands ‘rags-to-riches’ story began
to appear in chain bookstores and on national commercial television. In 2009, for
example, the band’s manager published a book recounting its rise to fame,
entitled Rahasia Kangen Band: Kisah Inspiratif Anak Band (The Secret of Kangen
Band: The Inspirational Story of a Pop Band). Tukul Arwana, a successful
comedian and talk show host who characterizes an ugly man of humble village
origins with a wicked sense of humour, is quoted on the cover: ‘Keep going
forward, Kangen Band…just believe in yourself, like me.’ Prior to this publication,
in 2007, after Kangen Band signed to Warner Music, the television station RCTI
aired a film that recounted their rise to fame, entitled ‘Aku Memang Kampungan’
(Proud to be a Bogan/Hick). Both productions implicate a reclaiming of the term
kampungan, normally employed as a term of derision, and suggest an attempt to
herald the masses in new ways, using pop Melayu as a mode of address. A brief
foray into the broader field of public discourse in which this strategic use of
kampungan/Melayu may be located is necessary to contextualize its value for
Kangen Band’s image production.
Kampungan has historically been an important theme within scholarship on
Indonesian popular music. Such discourses dichotomize kampungan and
gedongan (trans: urban?) ideals. These are terms that literally refer to the
structured environment (the housing and commercial structures of the villages
and slums of the city), but signify more widely as positions of centrality and
marginality in relation to the metropolis, implying vulgarity in contrast to
refinement. vii Broadly speaking, kampungan-gedongan are said to relate
variously to the two musical genres with which this article is concerned: Melayu
music, ranges from dangdut (a hybrid form defined by a Melayu vocal style and
instrumentaion including the suling (bamboo flute) and gendang (tabla-like
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drum)) to pop Melayu (a genre based on the iconic elements of the Melayu vocal
style, but which otherwise employs Western instrumentation) and pop (and
rock) Indonesia (which refers to songs usually sung in the national tongue but
which makes use of a Western pop idiom). A number of writers have provided
rich and varied illustrations of uses of kampungan to describe the performance
and consumption of Melayu forms, and point to the gedongan nuances of pop
Indonesia (Murray, 1991; Wallach, 2002; Yampolsky, 1986). Kampungan and
gedongan, then - and by extension, pop Indonesia and pop Melayu - may be
understood as distinct socio-geographical imaginaries.
These imaginaries gained traction during the New Order period, when a middle
class sensibility crystallised, partly through invoking the masses as politically
disempowered or culturally unknowing - an invocation served well by the term
kampungan. In the years immediately following Soeharto’s fall, similar notions of
kampungan endured as they were transposed onto the scale of media consumers
employed by the US firm, Nielson Audience Measurement. This method of
tracking consumption practices (?) has gained prominence in the context of the
deregulated and considerably proliferated media environment over the last
decade. During research on Jakarta’s pop Indonesia industry in 2004, I found
that, in fact, the lower reaches of the Nielson scale, which tracked sales among
the nation’s underclasses barely registered on the radar of Jakarta-based pop
music institutions, which rushed to sell their products to urban, educated youth,
denoted by the categories AB. Consequently, pop producers spoke of the masses
as if they were a minority whose media consumption habits could only emulate
those of the well-to-do. In recent years, however, the social function of
kampungan has begun to shift, and the Kangen Band phenomenon may be seen
as a watershed moment signifying this. Jakarta-based pop Indonesia producers
have begun to herald and address, rather than ignore the masses, and now
attempt to interpolate their ‘specialness’ as a distinct public with certain tastes
and life trajectories.
New means to appeal to the masses coincide with the acknowledment of lower
classes as pop music target markets of undeniable importance. In a time in which
the recording industry is suffering a crisis globally (due to plummeting sales,
largely resulting from the availability of free digital downloads), those
Indonesian masses residing in the nation’s peripheries, beyond the metropolis,
have emerged as astoundingly enthusiastic consumers of pop music in the a new
recording format that now accounts for the greatest profits (Solihun, 2010): Ring
Back Tones (RBT). This format delivers music in the form of pre-selected song
segments to mobile phones for a weekly or monthly fee. The song segment then
replaces the ringtone a caller would hear while waiting to connect. The work of
producing music for a profit, therefore, to a large extent requires heralding those
masses who, according to the regimes of audience measurement that exist, buy
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most of it.
Histories and genealogies
In the chapter of Modernity at Large from which the epigraph opening this article
is drawn, Appadurai conceptualizes logics of consumption as overlapping both
local particularities and various world communications processes (1996: 73).
Much of this chapter is devoted to developing conceptual tools that might allow
us to capture such criss-crossings in any study of consumerism. To this aim,
Appadurai distinguishes between history, which ‘leads you outward, to link
patterns of changes to increasingly larger universes of interaction’, and
genealogy, which ‘leads you inward, toward cultural dispositions and styles that
might be stubbornly embedded in both local institutions and the history of the
local habitus’ (Appadurai, 1996: 74). Appadurai posits a simultaneous
exploration, a ‘double historicizing’.
In the current study of the particularities of Indonesian consumerism, it is
productive to doubly contextualize (according to history and genealogy) Kangen
Band in the manner Appadurai suggests. When we do so, we find that the
marking of Indonesian pop as distinctively local (either Indonesia or Melayu) is
both infused with globally circulating ideas and linked to more situated histories
of capitalism. The use of Kangen Band to address the ‘masses’ (Segment C and
below, according to the Nelson Scale) may be seen to have both a history and a
complex genealogy. Drawing an historical line, we might compare it with Jing
Wang’s observations of China, where Beijing-based advertising executives
consider outlying provincial cities (segment C and below) to be the most
lucrative markets (Wang, 2008: 57). But an analysis oriented toward genealogy
would pay special attention to how the depiction of Kangen Band’s upward
mobility links to mythologies of the metropolis and its others (gedongan and
kampungan) that predate the rise in Nielson Audience Measurement’s
importance within the Indonesian media environment. The historical line
suggests a view of the masses that is coterminous with the view from the suites
of advertising executives worldwide, or at least those parts of it at comparable
stages of marketisation. The genealogical line suggests changes in the ways
kampungan-gedongan play out in the realm of pop.
Such changes may well be expected in a context in which the masses reasserting
their political rights, following the fall of the New Order in 1998. However,
cannot be solely attributed to the post-authoritarian polity. Kangen Band’s
performance of upward mobility, in particular, implicates new systems for
generating value from pop, only tangentially related to regime change. These
new systems are more directly due to the explosive uptake of mobile telephony
among the masses (Heryanto, 2010: 192). This new telecommunications
consumer trend is tightly intertwined with Kangen Band’s significance for
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heralding the masses. Through its journey to the centre of pop production,
Kangen Band was swept up into a grand narrative meant to herald the masses, a generously imaged narrative with national reach. The masses were imagined,
by virtue of global audience measurement regimes, as important target markets
for new musical products exchanged via mobile phone. They were depicted as
avid consumers, and upwardly mobile.
In authoritative, critical assessments, the Kangen Band phenomenon correlated
with the increasing popularity of RBTs as a primary profit source within pop
music markets. In my interviews with them, Rolling Stone journalists derisively
described Kangen Band as the ‘champion of the ring back tone’ (Baulch, 2010:
118). For these critics RBTs signify vulgarity. Here, though, I propose a slightly
different reading: The appearance of ring back tones as the primary medium for
exchanging Kangen Band’s songs signals a move from away from the ghostly to
the identifiable, with important implications for consumer agency.
I have suggested above that Kangen Band’s self-released debut album
spontaneously bubbled up through the cracks in public culture, and that this
bubbling up sheds light on its uncanny dimensions both ethereal and uncertain.
These qualities may be seen to emerge when cultural novelties are not yet
hinged to meta-narratives. Alternatively, RBTs offer relatively fixed narratives:
These preselected, 30-second song segments are issued for a monthly fee; and
because they are coded and locked, they cannot be pirated. Ring back tones
(more accurately known as nada sambung pribadi – personalized connecting
tones – in Indonesian) are unlike standard ringtones - familiar beeps and
crackles issued into the public soundscape. They can only be heard in lieu of the
standard ring tone when callers connect to the corresponding number. For
example, by purchasing a ring back tone of the Kangen Band composition
‘Selingkuh’, subscriber ensure that callers, when connecting with their number,
will hear the segment of the song, in this case including the following lyrics:
Pacarku, mengertilah aku/Sperti aku ngertikan mu
[My darling, please understand me/ the way I understand you]
In this way, ring back tones function as a pre-made intimate whisper; a kind of
prosthetic voice, and this instance of voicing may be contrasted with the relative
looseness and openness of Kangen Band’s early appeal. This departure from the
band’s earlier ghostliness becomes clearer when we consider the ring back
tone’s reliance upon televisual mediation and, by extension, on generic certainty:
Much like sales at the emper-emperan conversed with radio broadcasts during
the early part of Kangen Band’s career, ring back tone sales are dependent upon
television commercialisation. National-level, advertising-funded television is the
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primary medium for the official pop Melayu performances by which ring back
tones are promoted. Televised performances feature banner advertisements
listing the ring back tone code numbers to the corresponding song. When official
Kangen Band performances are viewed in this light, as part of a system in which
ring back tones, television and generic certainty are mutually reliant, the
transition from the ghostly to the visible becomes apparent.
This is not to suggest, however, that Kangen Band’s official meanings are
irrevocably fixed. As mentioned in the introduction, fans’ consumption practices
reveal official performances’ inherent polysemy. We might obtain further
insights into the dynamics of consumer agency in the production and
consumption of Kangen Band, then, by turning to an examination of its official
fan organisation, Doy Community.
For reasons already thoroughly documented in the rich scholarship on the
subject, fans are an object of interest to media scholars because they may
develop intense relationships with their texts and performances of choice.
Scholarship on fandom has extended the question of how readers engage texts or
other communications media, and this subject has preoccupied cultural studies
of media since the early 1960s. I have outlined above how Jakarta-produced
Kangen Band performances generated a certain meta-text - a narrative of
upward mobility. How, then, do fans engage this narrative, and bear the
meanings of sub-alternity that are thrust upon them?
‘Come on Auntie, we’re on!’
As mentioned above, music critics at the Indonesian licensee of the authoritative
Rolling Stone magazine unanimously derided Kangen Band: They viewed Kangen
Band’s visual manifestation as substandard, and the band’s provincial origins
and rise to fame via unofficial, unpolished recordings as evidence of their
vulgarity. This assessment of Kangen Band - and its similar articulation in print
media - correspond to a cultural politics that favours the urban, masculine and
the tertiary-educated, developed throughout the New Order (see Baulch, 2010).
The social position of the Doy members I encountered in 2010, however,
contrasts with that of the music critics: Many fans were female high school
graduates working in various retail outlets, on the fringes of the capital city,
whose socio-economic positioning differs greatly from those of educated writers
at a national entertainment magazine. Unlike fans communities analysed
elsewhere (Jenkins, 1992), Doy Community’s engagements with Kangen Band
are not mediated by print fanzines or the world wide web, both comparatively
rich in possibilities to contest or augment the original text. Rather, they are
mediated by two other, perhaps more imposing, institutions: the band’s
management company, Positif Art and television.
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In Indonesia, an official fan club is part and parcel for pop music production, and
all the fan clubs I have encountered have been officially established by a band’s
management or production company and are supervised and funded by the
band’s management team - which in some cases is assigned by the band’s
recording label. In fact, this corporatized style of fandom is not unique to
Indonesia, but may be thought of as one facet of a universally manifesting media
convergence: the blurring of production and consumption. In a related context,
Henry Jenkins contends in an interview with Matt Hill that the world wide web
facilitates direct dialogues between producers and fans, thus complicating a clear
distinction between them. Deuze and Banks characterise this particular aspect of
media convergence as the rise of co-creative labour, in which “practices of usercreated content and user-led innovation are now significant sources of both
economic and cultural value” (Deuze and Banks, 2009: 419). Emerging cocreative relations, they contend, prompt new queries about agency and identity.
The corporatised dimensions of Doy – it was established, as are most pop music
fan groups in Indonesia, as a standard practice of the group’s official production may be understood in the context of this ‘historical’ (ie, transnationally
manifesting) phenomenon, as co-creative labour. However, variance most
assuredly exists between one locale and the next, with regrards to the the
structures in which such fan groups proceed. In such structures, some
‘genealogical’ features of consumerism may be found; features that more
powerfully shape questions of agency and identity than the generalised context
of co-creation. Since the band’s production company and television, rather than
fanzines and the world wide web defined the contours of fan consumption and
relationships, an examination of the event at Harapan Indah will help elucidate
the nature of Doy Community.
I arrived at Harapan Indah to commence my research into Kangen Band fandom
in a taxi. The taxi dropped me off at the periphery of the audience space, where
the stage was barely visible in the distance. I then ploughed through a thick wall
of onlookers to reach an opening in a cyclone fence, guarded by the usual
meagre-framed security. I was allowed to pass, and I soon made my way to the
Kangen Band tent, backstage. A couple of band members were seated before
brightly lit mirrors having their make-up applied. Andhika, the vocalist, was
standing in the middle of the tent, surrounded by personnel from an
infotainment show. One show host was interviewing him, or rather, requesting
that he recount the narrative of upward mobility in a single utterance.
‘Pendidikan akhir sampai mana?’ (‘What level did you reach at school?’) she
asked him, to which the rather wild young man gave the only reply that seemed
possible, an acquiescent: ‘SMP’ (‘Junior high’).
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The show that night proceeded in a relay of single song performances by
featured acts, so Kangen Band was ascending to and descending from the stage
in four-act intervals. This was no place or opportunity to conduct an interview, I
quickly realised, and I trudged off to watch Kangen Band’s first song
performance from the side of the stage, just inside the cyclone fencing. From my
safe enclosure, I observed a chaotic scene on the other side of the fence: The
weight of a dense crowd pressed young boys’ cheeks hard against the fence’s
metal patterning. Periodically, giant water jets appeared from somewhere on
high, and the crowd was sternly hosed down. Overhead, television cameras on
booms rooted to trusses, like prehistoric creatures with impossibly long necks,
swooped down on the stage and crowd, hunting for shots. My side of the fence
was also packed with people, but nothing close to the suffocating proximity of
bodies observable on the other side. These people, I later realised, were the
members of the fan clubs of those acts performing that night.
When I encountered the members of Doy Community at the lip of the stage, I was
surprised by the number and type of women fans. They contrasted to the wildly
gesticulating, grinning female pop consumers I had observed on the morning
television shows devoted to live-to-air pop performances. In the flesh, the public
presence of these young women was compelling. I was reminded of my research
experiences at live shows in the late-1990s, among underground musicians and
audiences who were overwhelmingly male. Today, the public sphere is generally
more feminised - a result of a boom in advertising for a female audience resulting
from proliferation of media. The group of fans I met at Harapan Indah had been
led there by the head of Doy’s Kerawang chapter, a minuscule young working
woman called Uci.
Whilst Kangen Band’s many performances in third tier regional cities are not
likely to be televised, among Doy members of the Jakarta region, performances of
exuberance at televised shows is precisely what Positif Art hopes of them
(Interview, Sujana). Doy members’ compliance with this hope is therefore of
note, and may be thought of as an illustration of successful disciplining.
Moreover, if Uci’s way of inviting me to participate is any indication, Doy
members do more than simply comply. They view these moments of performing
exuberance for television cameras as central to the practice of fandom. When
Kangen Band struck up and the cameras dipped and dived overhead, Uci
beckoned to me and shouted: ‘Ayo tante, kita harus eksis!’ (‘Come on, Auntie,
we’re on!’)
The presence of television cameras directly impacts Kangen Band fandom:
Firstly, it distinguishes Doy’s consumption practices from the more ghostly
contours of Kangen Band’s earlier unofficial circulation - it turns Kangen Band
into something spectacular. Secondly, it points to how Kangen Band’s shift to
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spectacularity generates new kinds of subjectivities among fan viewers, who
develop a sense of being witnessed, in addition to witnessing (‘kita harus eksis’ !)
Finally, it suggests the co-laboring of fandom: Doy members are not permitted
only to take pleasure in the spectacle; spectacularity is expected of them as well.
It is through television, in other words, that co-creative labour, which suggests
complicity and consensus, is achieved. Television incorporates and intertwines
Positif Arts’ expectation of the fans with the fans’ self-perceptions - their sense of
self. This assessment may uncover some implications of this co-creative labour
for fan identity. However, it does not directly address the question of agency:
What does co-creative labouring for spectacularity mean to the fans, and what
does it suggest of their relationship to the meta-text (of upward mobility) under
consideration here?
Each time I asked Doy members what initially appealed to them about Kangen
Band, I received a reply that regurgitated the narrative of upward mobility:
‘Mereka dari bawah’ (‘They came from below’). The fans’ repetition of the
metatext seems strange when we consider that most fans encountered Kangen
Band prior to its repackaging under the auspices of Warner Music and Positif Art,
and therefore only became aware of the narrative of upward mobility after their
initial interest. It could not really have been the reason for their initial attraction
to Kangen Band. Had they become so identified with Positif Art that they not only
laboured for Kangen Band’s televisual spectacularity, but also trotted out at will
the tagline it had devised for the band? What does this instance of co-creative
labour suggest of agency?
This question may be considered through a discussion of some other dimensions
of Kangen Band fandom, which extend beyond the televisual spectacular. Upon
our meeting at Harapan Indah, Doy members immediately invited me to come
the next day to their base camp at Andika’s home in Cibubur. The base camp’s
significance was raised frequently when I asked fans what had prompted them to
join Doy. One day, Uci sent me a text message to inform me of a Kangen Band
performance on DeRings, one of the many live-to-air morning television shows
that feature pop performances, and suggested I might like to attend. When I
replied that I could not, she seemed especially keen for me to join the fans after
the show in the trek to Andhika’s house at Cibubur.
This territorial aspect of Kangen Band fandom is intriguing because it takes place
outside the official structure of fandom that privileges televisual spectacularity.
Of further interest is the link Doy members draw between this territorial aspect
and Andhika’s good moral character: Uci attempted to relate this good moral
character to me by referring to the fact that he sits on the floor and shares meals
with the fans who hang around his house. She contrasted his sociability with the
primary reason she joined Doy, after resigned from pop Indonesia band
13
Peterpan’s fan group: fans rarely came into contact with band members of this
group. Of particular note is the way in which she contrasted her descriptions of
Andhika’s demeanor as ‘baik’ (good) with the aesthetic values attributed by
media structures that privilege the spectacular. Above, I have briefly discussed
how Doy members are inextricably entwined with these structures; yet, Uci
offered the following comparison (Interview, Uci):
I used to be a member of Peterpan and Ungu fan clubs, but we could never
get to meet the band members! Kangen Band are more humble and closer
to their fans. They invite us to eat with them, invite us to their house. So
when we hear people saying awful things about Andhika - that he is ugly we respond that at least he is a good person, and humble.
The stress Doy members place on Andhika’s good moral character resists two
powerful narratives. Firstly, it directly rejects the authoritative critics’ derision
of Kangen Band. Secondly, it creates a tangential narrative to that of upward
mobility, suggesting that he has maintained his humility. However, not all would
agree that the band members have maintained a commitment to their humble
roots: In a conversation with me, Kangen Band’s manager, Sujana, complained
that Dodhy, the band’s composer, had begun hawking his compositions to new,
upcoming bands without asking Sujana’s permission first. Sujana explained
Dodhy’s antics as a case of a ‘kacang yang (?) lupa kulitnya’ (a peanut who has
forgotten it’s shell) (Interview, Sujana). In order to stress Andhika’s good moral
character, evidenced by his socialisation with fans, fans employed the same
metaphor, but in the negative: Andhika is like a ‘kacang tidak lupa sama kulitnya’
(a peanut who has not forgotten its skin). Doy members and Sujana offer two
very different characterisations of Kangen Band’s personnel - and the primary
reason for their rise to fame. In Sujana’s view, he is key to Kangen Band’s success.
In the Doy members’ view, Sujana does not feature at all. It is they who provide
the support that contributes directly to Kangen Band’s success.
In pop artist fandom, we find a political impetus for fan commitment that exists
tangentially to the corporate structures that would guide fan behaviour. This is
confrimed by Uci’s coments on her tasks as organiser of the Kerawang chapter of
Doy. She was responsible for rallying members to attend live shows, as
instructed by Positif Art. She also encouraged Doy members to perform
audiencehood for television cameras. I was intrigued, however, by an alternative
fan persona revealed by her use of the word ‘berantem’ (to fight) to describe her
encounters with security guards who guard the space below the lip of the stage,
walled by the cyclone fencing separating backstage pass-holders and the massive
crowd on the other side. Surely she did not mean to say that she came to blows
with these guards, but her use of the term ‘berantem’ is suggestive of an
aggressive physicality, which she described as one of her most pressing
14
responsibilities. At live shows, it is her job to ensure that all the Kangen Band
fans club members are allowed to advance to the lip of the stage. She must
represent their interests, and ensure that they are not disappointed. It is these
interests that so often brought her into confrontation with the guards, a rubbingup against authority that Uci recounted with glee.
The aforementioned dimensions of fandom shed light on the matter of agency
within Kangen Band fans’ labour: Firstly, Doy’s territorial orientation and its
aggressive physicality not only exist outside the official structures of fandom, but
they are suggestive of a visceral sensibility that runs counter to the televisual
sublime. Secondly, fans’ faith in Andhika’s good moral character not only rejects
authoritative critics’ assessments of the band’s quality, but also appears to be
premised on an interpretation of the narrative of upward mobility that is at odds
with that endorsed by Sujana. This act of reading may be productively compared
to Jenkins’ account of how Star Trek fans fans stretch and augment original texts,
but are limited in their capacity to do so by certain constraining elements within
it. At first glance, we might understand the narrative of upward mobility in this
light: It worked on the fans as a constraining element, limiting their capacity to
stretch and augment the text. However, Doy’s territorial orientation and its
stress on Andhika’s good moral character reveals a resistant reading that
accords considerable power to the Doy members, and suggests that the narrative
of upward mobility was not constraining after all, but rather empowering, and
replete with agency.
Conclusion
Consuming Indonesian pop music is increasingly a laborious task. This is not just
a reference to the corporatisation of fandom, a particularly intense mode of
consumption. Less intense, more everyday consumptions also seem to require
ever‐greater discerning power. Excessive, vulgar performances are not as clearly
marked as they once were. For example, sartorially speaking, the vulgar Kangen
Band increasingly resembles the exceedingly cool punk band Superman is Dead
and, as discussed, the generic associations of Kangen Band compositions were
quite volatile. In this context, production of the self requires a discernment that
must be constantly honed; a sensibility in which telephonic products such as ring
back tones, from which the pop music industry draws its greatest profits, play no
small role. Such products, which require a monthly fee, are only temporarily
possessed; and ownership must be updated, month after month. This evokes an
ambience strongly reminiscent of Appadurai’s own characterization of a
consumer society (1996: 82‐3):
[L]earning how to navigate the open‐ended temporal flows of consumer
credit and purchase…. involves new forms of labor: the labor of reading
ever‐shifting fashion messages, the labor of debt‐servicing, the labor of
15
learning how to best manage newly complex domestic finances, and the
labor of acquiring knowledge in the complexities of money management.
This labor is not principally targeted at the production of commodities
but is directed at producing the conditions of consciousness in which
buying can occur.
This paper has discussed such conditions of consciousness by tracking fields for
consuming Kangen Band. One aspect of mass mediated consumption a number of
writers, including Appadurai (1996: 68) have noted, and that resonated within
the context of Indonesian consumerism, is that it contains the possibility of both
novelty and repetition.viii To consume, then, is not just to bathe in a pool of
desire; the pleasure of consuming can be found in the to and fro of embodiment
and self‐abstraction - the unique self and the mass public, the micro‐ and the
macro‐narratives. Writing of advertising in India, for example, William
Mazzarella contends that commodities are seductive not just because they
suppress ‘embodied idiosyncrasies’; commodification needs ‘the tangibility of
objects and people… to lend credibility to its abstract claims’ (2002: 20). In a
similar vein, Michael Warner suggests that mass‐(mediated) subjectivity might
be understood as an interchange between ‘embodiment and self‐abstraction’
(2002: 181).
The case of Kangen Band illustrates two characterisations of commodification.
Official fandom, a particularly intense mode of consuming commodities,
manifests as both a ‘nothing’ in the televisual sublime and an urge for a more
visceral sensibility, as implied in Uci’s use of the term berantem (to fight) to
describe her relationships with the security guards at live television
performances. Ring back tones may also facilitate a dialogue between
embodiment and self abstraction: They are not just ephemeral commodities;
they are also micro‐narratives (song segments) that dance around the
macro‐narrative of upward mobility (as written in to the myth of the masses that
the technology signifies). Furthermore, they are somewhat privatized; they only
‘speak’ in the intimate (relatively speaking), one-way register of an attempted
telephone connection, and are in this way a form of embodiment, a kind of
prosthetic voice. They are consumed, though, in the context of a habitus,
regulated by both audience measurement, a globally circulating ideology, and a
more genealogical macronarrative that recounts shifts in the relation between
kampungan and gedongan. Hence, ring back tones are micro-narratives that
engage macro‐narratives. Within a discussion of the possibility for improvisation
in acts of consumption, questions about the processes by which these
micro‐narratives are authored and authorised, and the extent of their
manipulability, are critical.
16
I began this article by framing it as a study of Indonesian consumerism, and I
would conclude by meditating briefly on this theme as it connects with current
Indonesian Studies scholarship. Primarily, my interest in framing in this way is
prompted by a quest for alternative conceptualisations that shift the focus from
post-authoritarianism and democracy, the crucial key words in much scholarship
on Indonesian media. The extent to which Indonesian media is properly
democratised has been an important question guiding this scholarship (Sen and
hill, 2020), and the need for alternative frames becomes clear when we consider
the kinds of media and politics the Kangen Band case brings to light.
The Kangen Band case reveals that, while being subjected to evolving concepts of
democracy, Indonesians are simultaneously avidly participating in other globally
circulating ideologies, including those of consumerism. Such avid participation is
surely enabled by the vast proliferation of media contents and formats
Indonesians now experience. Therefore, if one is to view consumerism as an
ideology that not only affords acts of consumption symbolic value, but also
requires these values’ mass mediation, then the close relationship between
media proliferation and that of consumerism becomes clear.
On a final note, we may posit that a focus on consumerism enables and
invigorates certain kinds of questions, affording them preference, and giving rise
to a more variegated and complex ‘area studies’ picture of society than a singular
focus on the formal political sphere can offer. Whilst conventional Indonesian
studies enquire into the extent of media democratisation, the current study
enquires into the symbolic values of consumption and the micro-politics that
emerge in the course of their mass mediation. Such micro-politics brush up
against global transformations of media technologies, contents and their
meanings; transformations, that is, of cultural studies’ stock objects of analysis.
17
Books and articles
Appadurai, Arjun. 1996. Modernity at large: the cultural dimensions of
globalization. Minneapolis, University of Minnesota Press.
Baudrillard, Jean. 1998 [1970]. The Consumer Society: Myths and Structures
London: Sage
Baulch, Emma. 2007. “Cosmopatriotism in Indonesian pop music imagings” in
Edwin Jurriens and Jeroen de Kloet. (eds). Cosmopatriots: on distant belongings
and close encounters. Amsterdam: Rodopi, 2007). pp. 177–204
Baulch, Emma. 2010. “Music for the Pria Dewasa: Changes and Continuities in
Class and Pop Music Genres” Journal of Indonesian Social Sciences and Humanities
Vol. 3: 99-130
Cahyono, Aris Danu. 2009a. “Erwin Gutawa Anggap Pop Melayu 'Jadul'”
http://artis.inilah.com/berita/2009/05/08/105434/erwin-gutawa-anggap-popmelayu-jadul/ 8 May, accessed 19 August 2009
Cahyono, Aris Danu. 2009b. “Ridho 'Slank' Malu Musik Melayu”
http://artis.inilah.com/berita/2009/05/08/105331/ridho-slank-malu-musikmelayu/ 8 May, accessed 19 August 2009
David, Bettina. (2003). ‘The erotics of loss: some remarks on the pleasure of
dancing to sad dangdut songs’. Paper presented at the workshop ‘Pop Music in
Southeast Asia’, Leiden, The Netherlands, 8–12 December.
Deuze, Mark and Banks, John. 2009. ‘Co-Creative Labour’ International Journal of
Cultural Studies 12(5) 12: 419-431
Heryanto, Ariel. (2010). ‘Entertainment, domestication and dispersal: street
politics as popular culture’. In (eds) Edward Aspinall and Marcus Mietzner.
Problems of democratisation in Indonesia: elections, institutions and society.
Singapore: ISEAS Publishing. pp. 181–198.
Jenkins, H. 1992. Textual poachers New York: Routledge.
Mazzarella, William. 2003. Shoveling smoke: advertising and globalization in
contemporary India. Durham and London: Duke University Press.
Murray, Alison. 1991. “Kampung culture and radical chic in Jakarta”, Review of
Indonesian and Malayan Affairs, vol 25 No 1: 1-16
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Sen, Krishna and David T. Hill (eds). 2010. Politics and the Media in Twenty-First
Century Indonesia: Decade of Democracy, Routledge, Oxford and New York
Solihun, Soleh. 2010. ‘Nada Sambung Bawa Untung’ Rolling Stone 59: 30-36
Sujana. 2009. Rahasia Kangen Band: Kisah Inspiratif Anak Band Jakarta: RM
Books
Sulaksono, Sugeng. 2009. ‘Rancu antara Melayu dan pop’. Jawa Pos, 26 April: 10
Wallach, Jeremy. 2002. ‘Exploring class, nation and xenocentrism in Indonesian
cassette outlets’. Indonesia, 74: 79–102.
Wang, Jing. 2008. Brand new China: advertising, media and commercial culture.
Cambridge and London: Harvard University Press.
Warner, Michael. 2002. Publics and Counterpublics New York: Zone Books
Yampolsky, Philip. (1989). ‘Hati yang Luka: an Indonesian hit’. Indonesia, 47: 1–
17.
Interviews
Andhika, vocalist, Kangen Band April 24 2010
Sujana, manager Kangen Band, 27 April 2010
Uci, Organiser for Kerawang chapter of Kangen Band fans club, 28 April 2010
Ricky Siahaan, Associate editor, Rolling Stone, 9 October 2009
Music
Kangen Band, Yang Sempurna (Tentang Aku, Kau dan Dia repackaged), Warner
Music 2007
Kangen Band, Bintang 14 Hari, Warner Music Indonesia, 2008
‘Terbang Bersamaku’, Dodhy Kangen
Websites
http://music.detikhot.com/read/2007/05/08/082522/777565/228/david‐naif
‐kangen‐bandplease‐deh, accessed 19 August 2009
19
Endnotes
Among those who publicly denounced Kangen Band were: composer Erwin Gutawa and
musician Ridho Hafiedz of Slank (Cahyono, 2009a, 2009b), musicians Giring Ganesha, vocalist of
Nidji and David Bayu Danangjaya, vocalist of Naif
(http://music.detikhot.com/read/2007/05/08/082522/777565/228/david‐naif‐kangen‐bandpl
ease‐deh). Among elite critics, such denunciations were, however, controversial. Composer Yovie
Widianto (Sulaksono, 2009); Ex‐Superman is Dead manager Rudolf Dethu also judged Kangen
Band’s original compositions superior to other pop Indonesia bands’ plagiarisms (suicide glam
mailing list, June 19, 2008).
ii From such airplay and roadside exchanges, Kangen Band members drew no financial reward.
But, in contrast to the official condemnations of piracy, which paint this practice as undermining
musicians’ interests, Kangen Band members recall this time with great enthusiasm; it led to
their well-documented rise to national prominence (Sujana, 2009).I prefer the terms ‘official’
and ‘unofficial’ over ‘legal’ and ‘pirated’. ‘Pirated’ implies theft, but members of Kangen Band did
not take issue with the widespread reproduction and exchange of their performances at the
level of the emper-emperan.
iii See Weintraub (2010b) for a discussion of the plural, shifting meaning of Melayu in popular
music between 1950-65. Of note in the context of this paper is Melayu’s ‘Eastern’ connotations
and its close relation to dangdut, a stereotypically lower class form (Weintraub, 2010a), while
pop Indonesia gestures toward an Anglo-American core (Yampolsky 1986).
i
This rendering suggests pop Indonesia’s availability for (provincial) subaltern excorporation.
Such availability may be seen to result from pop Indonesia’s expanded presence in the public
sphere, resulting in its dispersal. Just as televisual and telephonic mediation has become central
to the exchange of pop since the late-1990s, pop Indonesia has begun to break out of its
assignation as a gedongan realm, the realm of the metropolis and Western derivation. For young
people all over the archipelago, pop Indonesia is more and more part of the mundane, its ties to
an ‘originary’ EuroAmerica has been rendered fragile, and it has become more available for
interpretation by subaltern youth in peripheral areas.
iv
It is not that the unofficial Kangen Band was absent from the web, but this was not the primary
medium of its circulation.
vi As revealed in discussions with fans during field work, 2010
vii A precise translation of kampungan is elusive. Kampung evokes the masses’ ephemeral urban
dwellings and their rural homelands. Such imprecision has the effect of relegating all but a
gedongan centre to marginal status.
viii Pierre Bourdieu’s term, “regulated improvisations of the habitus”, Appadurai contends (1996:
68‐9), aptly describes the paradox of consumption.
v
20