Elevation Rock & Indie 4 Items

* Fully-licensed * From original master tape * Remastered at Abbey Road Studio * Long out of print after first pressing in 1983 * New and improved artwork * Folk-rock composition a la Bob Dylan’s Blood on Tracks

Most of Gen X-ers who grew up in the mid-1980s Indonesia must have seen Soedjarwoto Soemarsono, known with his nom de guerre “Gombloh” performing on a state-run television station, playing some of his biggest hits from that era, pop gems like “Kugadaikan Cintaku (I Pawn Off My Love)”, “Setengah Gila (Half-Crazy).”

But of course, it is not fair to judge Gombloh only from these hits. Dig deeper and you will find buried treasure in his early stuff from Indra Records, and there are many of them.

His album with the band Lemon Tree’s Anno ‘69 (yes, that’s the name of the band) is all remarkable, but what he did for Chandra Records was no less spectacular. How can you go wrong with songs like “Kebyar-Kebyar”, the unofficial national anthem for Indonesia, dan “Berita Cuaca” one of the better epic songs in a catalogue full of epochal songs? These were all long out of print and in our journey to source the original master for these albums we met Bob Djumara of Nirwana Records, the Surabaya, East Java-based label which broke Gombloh into the mainstream in the mid-1980s. Almost all albums Gombloh recorded for his early labels, Indra Records and Chandra Records were critically acclaimed, but commercially they bombed, big time. Nirwana Records came up with an ingenious plan. What if they recorded Gombloh performing live and release it as is. After all, the first song in Gombloh debut record Nadia & Atmospheer is him strumming on his guitar backed by the cheering of a crowd, who could be heard going wild when he hurled that epithet “bastard” at the end of the song.

The end result is a brilliant recording which despite being recorded live the sound quality so pristine leading many to doubt the claim of being live. Regardless, Nirwana shipped a decent number of units and Gombloh could buy his first car, a Katana Jeep, with money from the royalty.

One of the best things about Live Gila is its perfect sequencing, beginning with Gombloh’s social commentary on the rich’s debauched lifestyle of preying on young boys and girls, one of the most popular subjects allowed by the censoring machine of the New Order authoritarian government. The second song “Untuk Persada” is a soaring ode to the nation. For this song, Gombloh could be heard drawing his inspiration from The Police, which was undoubtedly popular in the early 1980s, even in a faraway port city like Surabaya.

Listening to this record as a whole (we omitted the last song from the original master tape “Bagimu Negeri” which sounds too jingoistic), we could not help but point to some of similarities it has with Bob Dylan’s Blood on the Tracks. Not a single composition in this record sound indigenous (the Malay-influenced rock of Panbers or Koes Plus come to mind); they all sound modern and effortlessly catchy, and had it not been for the language, this album could be mistaken for a musical output from someone growing up in Laurel Canyon or Southern France.

There are only limited copies of vinyl records in the second-hand market today available for Gombloh music, if at all. For his ardent fans, they have to scavenge for old cassettes to continue to be able to enjoy his music and have to pay top dollar for that. In Indonesia, where he was a superstar in the early 1980s, Gombloh was largely forgotten. With this project, we can only hope that the time is ripe for Gombloh to reemerge and now, more than ever, his music could speak to a bigger audience.

In the early 1960s, two of the best talents in the Indonesian music scene, songwriter and band leader Adi Karso, known for his hits "Papaya Cha-Cha-Cha" and "Balonku" and Gambus musician Munif Bahasuan teamed up to form Orkes Melayu (Malay Orchestra) Kelana Ria.

Between 1961 and 1964, Kelana Ria recorded 48 songs that were spread over four records, Kafilah, Yam El Shamah, Ya Mahmud and Ya Hamidah, which become the primary sources for this compilation.

These four recordings changed the trajectory of Indonesian popular music.

Play "Renungkanlah" (Think About It), included in this compilation, a love song with heavenly melodies and lilting harmonies, to an audience in the Western part of Malaysia or people of Malay ethnicity in Singapore and they would immediately hum along the tune.

"Renungkanlah" has been covered by many countless other musicians in Indonesia and Malaysia and it has become a hit many times over. The song has become a go-to song in karaoke bars in the region, with fans oblivious to who actually wrote this song or who performed it the first time.

Or take the song "Ratapan Anak Tiri" (Lament of a Stepchild), a song that has traversed national boundaries and has become a universal sad song in the Malay world, turning into a shorthand for melancholia that permeates this archipelago of nations.

Another stunner is the melancholia-laden "Kesunyian Jiwa" (Silence of the Soul), an operatic tune so majestic that it could open any black and white Kurosawa film from the late 1940s.

"Kesunyian Jiwa" opens with marching percussion and what could pass for a horn section foregrounding an opera finale before settling into a Latin-inspired composition backing one of the most soulful vocal performances from the 1960s.

The songs and the soulful vocal performance belong to Muhamad Mashabi, who despite the popularity of the songs he created is now largely forgotten, whose history was kept alive only in the neighborhood where he grew up in Central Jakarta.

With only a short musical career and only nine recorded songs from almost 40 compositions, Mashabi fell by the wayside in the early 1970s, especially with the rise of pop and rock from bands like Koes Plus, Panbers and God Bless.

Yet his songs, inspired by Malay traditional songs but performed in the modern studio setting, lay the foundations for what would become the biggest musical genre in the country, dangdut, especially the kind that was popularized by the self-styled king of the genre, Rhoma Irama.

"Mashabi's distinctive vocal style and soul-searching lyrics helped give rise to dangdut, Indonesia's most popular music genre," University of Pittsburgh music professor Andrew N. Weintraub write in the liner notes.

Most of Gen X-ers who grew up in the mid-1980s Indonesia must have seen Soedjarwoto Soemarsono, known with his nom de guerre “Gombloh” performing on a state-run television station, playing some of his biggest hits from that era, pop gems like “Kugadaikan Cintaku (I Pawn Off My Love)”, “Setengah Gila (Half-Crazy).”

But of course, it is not fair to judge Gombloh only from these hits. Dig deeper and you will find buried treasure in his early stuff from Indra Records, and there are many of them.

His album with the band Lemon Tree’s Anno ‘69 (yes, that’s the name of the band) is all remarkable, but what he did for Chandra Records was no less spectacular. How can you go wrong with songs like “Kebyar-Kebyar”, the unofficial national anthem for Indonesia, dan “Berita Cuaca” one of the better epic songs in a catalogue full of epochal songs? These were all long out of print and in our journey to source the original master for these albums we met Bob Djumara of Nirwana Records, the Surabaya, East Java-based label which broke Gombloh into the mainstream in the mid-1980s. Almost all albums Gombloh recorded for his early labels, Indra Records and Chandra Records were critically acclaimed, but commercially they bombed, big time. Nirwana Records came up with an ingenious plan. What if they recorded Gombloh performing live and release it as is. After all, the first song in Gombloh debut record Nadia & Atmospheer is him strumming on his guitar backed by the cheering of a crowd, who could be heard going wild when he hurled that epithet “bastard” at the end of the song

The end result is a brilliant recording which despite being recorded live the sound quality so pristine leading many to doubt the claim of being live. Regardless, Nirwana shipped a decent number of units and Gombloh could buy his first car, a Katana Jeep, with money from the royalty.

One of the best things about Live Gila is its perfect sequencing, beginning with Gombloh’s social commentary on the rich’s debauched lifestyle of preying on young boys and girls, one of the most popular subjects allowed by the censoring machine of the New Order authoritarian government. The second song “Untuk Persada” is a soaring ode to the nation. For this song, Gombloh could be heard drawing his inspiration from The Police, which was undoubtedly popular in the early 1980s, even in a faraway port city like Surabaya.

Listening to this record as a whole (we omitted the last song from the original master tape “Bagimu Negeri” which sounds too jingoistic), we could not help but point to some of similarities it has with Bob Dylan’s Blood on the Tracks. Not a single composition in this record sound indigenous (the Malay-influenced rock of Panbers or Koes Plus come to mind); they all sound modern and effortlessly catchy, and had it not been for the language, this album could be mistaken for a musical output from someone growing up in Laurel Canyon or Southern France.

There are only limited copies of vinyl records in the second-hand market today available for Gombloh music, if at all. For his ardent fans, they have to scavenge for old cassettes to continue to be able to enjoy his music and have to pay top dollar for that. In Indonesia, where he was a superstar in the early 1980s, Gombloh was largely forgotten. With this project, we can only hope that the time is ripe for Gombloh to reemerge and now, more than ever, his music could speak to a bigger audience.

Gombloh’s forgotten masterpiece

What if you have Brian Wilson and Bruce Springsteen rolled into one? And what if he came of age as an poor buskers in in Surabaya, Indonesia, but then summoned enough strength to record six albums that flew in the face of everyone in the country’s rock scene back in the early 1980s?

Genius, be they Brian Wilson or Soedjarwoto “Soemarsono” Gombloh, don’t conform to rules written for us mere mortals. They have their own way of doing things and in the case of Gombloh, writing music, conducting recording session and spending cash from his music, must be conducted on his own terms and his terms only. Studio time was expensive back in the early 1980s, yet Gombloh could be three-hour late for his session, and while engineers, session musicians and producers were jittery about the prospect of another botched session, Gombloh took his time for a nap before the recording begun.

Yet, some of his greatest works came into being in the wake of this napping session. Recording session for Sekar Mayang is no exception, despite the fact there’s foreboding sense of doom with Gombloh being unsure about the possibility of selling enough units to help his label break even. This is, after all, this is his last record with his band Lemon Tree’s. No one knew that Gombloh was operating with all his cylinders running and what came out of this Indra Record session, in the waning days of 1980, were some of the best compositions ever committed to magnetic tapes (to wax, if now you’re holding this on vinyl).

This is Gombloh at the peak of his creative genius. You can argue that his debut album Nadia & Atmospheer (what’s with the spelling mistake?) is the most sprawling and complex album (both sonically and thematically), but Sekar Mayang certainly had the best songs and I can make the argument that this album’s 10 songs are strong contenders for biggest hits in blues, country, psychedelic rock charts. “Prahoro & Prahoro” is one of those impossible song which appears to have sprung from a bottomless well of inspiration, encompassing King Crimson’s sprawling epic, Deep Purple’s deepest blues and Genesis’ most progressive tendencies. Or “Sekaring Jagat”, which begins as Lennon-McCartney lullaby before launching a thousand ships traveling to the end of the rainbow with children choir singing heavenly melodies backed by droning harpsichord and synclavier, while a buzzing Hammond B3 tightly locks with Gombloh’s guitar strumming.

For many of his fans, Gombloh is known as generous man of the people. A Robin Hood type if you please. He spent his royalty checks to buy foods for beggars and buskers and dish out some more to buy undergarments for Surabaya’s prostitutes. In Sekar Mayang, Gombloh went full Springsteen mode in “Mitra Becakan,” a social commentary that cut so deep you can end up with tears in your eyes and lump in your throat (even if you don’t understand any of its Javanese language lyrics). This is one the most devastating social commentary ever recorded for a pop song, and even if you discount the greatness of its musical composition, you chalk this up as a great social-realism poetry. His years of hanging out with pedicab drivers, street vendors and street-bound prostitutes certainly gave him enough insight into their (in)human condition.

Yet, a record this stellar was largely forgotten. First, this record was a flop upon its release in 1981. Indra Records reportedly only did one pressing on cassette tape and be done with it. For those who were lucky enough to have come across one of songs from this album on the radio were likely growing up in East Java, where Gombloh had a massive cult following early in the 1980s. Nothing was heard from this record again.

There were only a handful of cassette tapes from the first pressing found on second-hand market and I recently stumbled upon one online with a price tag of Rp 50 million (US$3,500). It’s no longer available now.

In Sekar Mayang, Gombloh harbours an obsession for a long-lost utopia, Java’s distant past, where farmers have their barn full of rice and corn, where blacksmith working around the clock making tools and children singing and dancing in their seminaries. Or the fact that he opens the song with stanza from Serat Weddhatama, arguably the most monumental poem in neo-classic Javanese literature, could be his pledge of allegiance. The question for him is should a modern-day Indonesia, rife with poverty, corruption and environmental degradation not be an anathema to that utopia?

In the end, you don’t need to be someone fluent in Javanese to enjoy this majestic record. And if this record turns out to be the last in Elevation Records catalogue and we shut down this label tomorrow, we will be very happy. Mission accomplished!