Bali: More Music Connections

From the late ‘80s through the mid ‘90s I had a band (with Dave Smith and Mary Cohn) called The Sound Connection. We had fun, playing most often at weddings. In fact—though this is a contrarian view to voice among fellow musicians—I’ve always enjoyed playing weddings. Wedding music has a function. It serves a purpose: to bring people together in celebration. People of different ages, backgrounds and tastes all connect as they listen and dance. It’s a “sound connection.” Isn’t that really the point? Call me a cave man, but I think music is at its best when it’s more of a means than an end.

Being in Bali has presented unanticipated opportunities to connect with many wonderful people, both living and dead, through music (whose mystic purpose Edmund Gurney explored in the 1880s as “the power of sound”). In a previous post I reported how Jonathan and David and I rehearsed and jammed with Balinese musicians to create a joyful and memorable New Year’s celebration. Music was our chosen means of connecting.

During the last couple of weeks I’ve continued to make more music and musical connections in Bali by playing at a birthday party and, yes, a wedding. At this high-end wedding reception, before the reggae band I was playing with went on, I heard, and then met, the very talented young musician, Gus Teja, and his world music ensemble. This close encounter with a bamboo flute master (and gifted composer and arranger) was a moment to remember. But over the last week three other musical events occurred that stand out as even more meaningful for me. Read on to learn why!

Ida Bagus Oka, our guide and driver and friend, has engineered most of my Balinese “sound connections.” Ida loves to laugh when I call him my “agent.” A retired teacher like me, Ida is an exceptionally well-connected person in Ubud. Not only has he let me use the alto sax I helped him buy on my first visit to Bali; Ida has also introduced me, in a short span of time, to many local musicians. 

Several of these local musicians, like Gus Teja (mentioned above) and Agung Gepeng (mentioned below), were Ida’s students. For twenty years Ida taught math and science, music and badminton—and also stepped in to lead Hindu prayers, when a priest could not be found—at the primary school on Monkey Forest Road.

The Cool Tone Blues Band offered me a regular place to sit in: Thursday nights at the lovely and delicious Siam Sally restaurant. Agung (guitar) and Koko (vocals) both speak excellent English and are wonderfully soulful musicians. The other Cool Tone guys (who play bass, keyboards and percussion) are really good musicians too, and in demand to play metal and jazz with other local bands. 

The Cool Tones serve up a broad and faithful repertoire of blues and classic rock, played at an ear-catching low volume (thanks, in part, to their use of cajon instead of drumset). What’s more, they play with verve and precision, covering everybody from Howling Wolf and Freddy King to Eric Clapton, Stevie Wonder, and even a song like “What a Wonderful World.”

The more I worked with them, the more I was impressed by the Cool Tones’ range and depth. How improbable it is that these young men in Bali should devote their lives to the same music that shaped my life, a generation earlier, in New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Nashville and North Carolina! Plus, they could not be more respectful, kind and appreciative. Remarkably, they see me as a kind of hero: someone who has actually inhabited the ideal world of their dreams. It was touching to play with them on Thursday, for the last time on this trip. We were all sad to part ways, but I will stay in touch with these guys, and I expect Jon and Dave will too.  

Another remarkable experience I had with music last week was visiting the School for the Blind in Denpasar, and attending a high school music class there. Ida used to teach at this school, Yayasan Pendidikan Dria Raba, and his brother teaches there now. The young musicians I shared an hour with (in a small but well-equipped, dimly-lit, air-conditioned and sound-insulated room) closely resemble the many middle and upper school bands I worked with during my decades at CFS.  

Largely student-led, this Bali-based band of the blind work out their own arrangements, finding parts for several electric guitars plus bass, drums, and keyboard. Two or three of the musicians also sing, well. We played a blues tune, a couple of Indonesian pop songs, and then—most amazing to my ears—a rocking cover of “Cotton Fields,” with Texarkana perfectly pronounced in Lead Belly’s English!

I carefully passed around, for the students to “see,” the beautiful Mark VI tenor that Jelle Oortman Gerlings is letting me use (with the precious horn still hanging protectively from my neck, Jelle!). I was moved as I watched wise, young fingers study the horn’s mechanism and engraving.

But the most moving musical experience of all my days in Bali happened just last night, when I played with The Soul Doctors. Wil Hammer, the husband of midwife Robin Lim, and Dennis Ferrell, a “nearly retired” psychologist originally from Texas, formed The Soul Doctors in 2008. Now the band is a regular fixture on the Bali music scene. They cover a lot of great material from Dylan and The Band, to Louis Prima, James Taylor, Mark Knopfler and The Beatles (among many others), but the heartbeat of their music is its originality.

Wil and Dennis write clever, well constructed tunes, and they perform them well, too, with studied arrangements. All proceeds from CD sales support the Bumi Sehat Foundation. Mamo on bass and Komang on guitar are gifted Indonesian musicians, and the band really pops with Robi Navicula (a certified Balinese rock star in his own right) and Oded (an Israeli who once used Roman Catholic relief money to rebuild a tsunami-damaged mosque in Ache!) on percussion. For me it was particularly satisfying to play with a group that has charts and rehearses, especially since the rehearsal spot—Wil and Robin’s family compound—is a five-minute walk from where Jan and I stay in Nyuh Kuning!

So I rehearsed several times during the past ten days with these talented, friendly and funny Soul Doctors: all for a one-hour set last night at Indus Restaurant. The event was designed to be a happy gathering, but there was an inescapable undercurrent of sadness too. Its purpose was to celebrate the life of Kerry Pendergrast, who sang with The Soul Doctors until just six weeks ago, when she suddenly, unexpectedly, died of a massive brain infarction.

I learned a great deal about Kerry at the celebration. Her Balinese husband, Pranato, played a handmade flute, passionately, in her honor. Then their two young-adult children both sang original songs, in very different styles, about their mom. Those performances were beautiful, but heart wrenching to hear. Kerry was not only a great musician, who passed on her love of music. I learned she was also an accomplished painter, a formidable poet, a free-spirited dancer, a feminist cabaret performer, a very funny lady, and a devoted wife and mother who helped found a daycare center. As Kerry’s family and friends remembered her, they also revealed how she brightened and inspired so many lives: by daring to be exactly herself!

And then I took the stage with The Soul Doctors—literally standing in Kerry’s place—trying (through a raging fever) to be like her: exactly myself. I never met Kerry, and that is my loss. But it’s much less a loss than the one that those who knew and loved her must bear. 

I’m grateful to Wil and Dennis for letting me play their songs—Kerry’s music—with them. It was an honor to celebrate her inspiring life by accenting the joyful, healing connections that music's blind faith, power, and love express. In the process, I hope I helped The Soul Doctors live up to their name!

Bali: Balinese Music and Musicians

Balinese culture is a rich, sophisticated tapestry that is formed of many interlocking strands, styles, and traditions. Since my first visit to Bali in 1981, I’ve found gamelan music to be soothing, spellbinding, and challenging. Hearing it always grounds me in a specific, enchanting and absorbing world.

During my most recent trips to Bali in 2013-14 it’s been such a pleasure to learn more about the variety of Balinese musical styles, and to get to know—and play with—some excellent Balinese musicians.

In September I made time to learn more about the Balinese suling (bamboo flute). I enjoyed a two-hour lesson, then, with I Wayan Karta, a suling master and bamboo flute maker. My time with him focused on the circular breathing technique used by suling players. I also bought a flute from him, tuned to play western music.

Our exceedingly well connected guide and driver, Ida Bagus Oka, found an alto sax for me to play. (I later helped him buy a new one of his own.) It was great to sit in with a couple of very talented Balinese blues bands based in Ubud: Moko’s Blues Band (featuring Komang, the Taj Mahal of Bali) and the more youthful Cool Tones Blues Band, featuring the tasteful and very soulful Agung on guitar.

What a pleasure it is to play with both groups! Komang and Agung are exceptionally warm and welcoming guys—and wonderful artists, deeply rooted in the American blues tradition. As young men they discovered that blues music let them express their individuality more fully than they could do playing the gamelan music that they cut (and filed!) their teeth on.

I was also delighted to meet Jelle (a.k.a. Jelle Oortman Gerlings), a Julliard-trained Dutch saxophonist (turned television and film director), who generously loaned me a Mark VI tenor to play while I'm in Ubud. Now I can play tenor and alto at the same time—something perhaps never seen before in these parts!

It was great fun to have sons Jonathan and David join me, sitting in with the Cool Tone guys, at their regular gig at Ubud’s Siam Sally restaurant and bar. Wonderful food and atmosphere! The Henderson family was a hit, with both the band and the customers.

Even more challenging, and fulfilling, was the chance all three of us had to work with I Wayan Sudirana. Sudi, a native of Ubud, has recently returned from a 10-year stint in Vancouver. There he earned a Ph.D. in ethnomusicology and worked with the university's gamelan. During his sojourn in North America he also played with a number of other gamelan groups and world music ensembles.

Sudi is a consummate musician, composer, and teacher. Chok Wa, the member of Ubud’s royal family who is the local patron of Balinese performing arts, invited us three Henderson boys to take part in a New Year’s Eve music “collaboration,” led by Sudi. We went to three, three-hour rehearsals, with a rotating cast of Balinese performers, at the beautiful “new palace” for performing arts, which Chok Wa is constructing on the edge of one of Ubud’s most spectacular ravines. In a previous post I described playing Chok Wa's wooden saxophone in this same setting last September.

Rehearsals took place on Chok Wa’s stunning porch (the most beautiful rehearsal space I’ve ever seen!), where we drank coffee, watched the sun set, and admired the statues, waterfalls, and nearby rice terraces. We improvised together, shared teaching techniques (such as rolling large wooden dice to signal spontaneous changes in the group’s rhythm or pitch), and worked on one of Sudi’s compositions.

That piece, “Kaju Fenny,” is probably the most rhythmically challenging music I’ve ever attempted to perform. Basically written in seven (actually 21/8), much of it has a two-against-three feeling. Plus, there are quite a few meter changes (to 12/8, 18/8, and 27/8). Solos are played over a cycle of measures that “count down”: 7 measures, 6 measures, 5, 4, 3, 2 and 1. Then the cycle repeats. Perhaps most amazing is how singable the melody is. This piece is truly a gem!

But Jonathan (on bass), Dave (on cajon), and I (on alto) really had to woodshed our parts! I’m glad we had each other to rely on—and partners who were willing for us to arrange our vacation schedule to accommodate rehearsals both at Chok Wa’s palace and in our hotel rooms.

By the evening of the performance, the piece was sounding pretty good. Playing melody lines with the sax were a western-tuned, small xylophone (played by a guy who, in an hour, learned by ear and by heart the part that took me three days to almost play right!), and a violin played by a Balinese woman of Chinese descent. For the performance Sudi decided to play cheng cheng (cymbal pairs on a stand), although over the course of the rehearsals he performed and taught parts of his composition on suling, xylophone, voice, and various percussion instruments.

The only disappointment was that New Year’s Eve turned out to be excessively rainy. The large and beautiful outdoor stage at the Lotus Café in Ubud had been prepared with lights and a sound system for our performance. However, the weather did not cooperate. After waiting for two hours, hoping the skies would clear, the musicians (about 20 in number and carrying a variety of western, eastern, and Balinese instruments) retreated to a nearby, closed Starbuck’s, where we proceeded to entertain ourselves (within earshot of the Lotus Café customers). What a memorable session it was! We played Sudi’s piece and maybe a dozen others. 

Balinese are soft-spoken people, and their vocal styles tend to reflect this cultural preference. Dave’s approach to singing is quite the opposite—but people loved it. A spoken word artist was inspired (perhaps even challenged) to offer poetic reflections on the new year. The highlight of the evening for me was sharing a version of “St. Thomas,” which included a reference to “Auld Lang Syne.” After Jonathan had played a beautiful bass solo, and the instrumental theme was ready to restate, the Balinese musicians spontaneously added a “kecak” rhythm to our performance. It was so cool I almost couldn’t play out the head!

For Jon, Dave, and me (and, I think, for the Balinese musicians too), New Year’s 2014 was a memorable one. Food came out at midnight, and we wrapped up our “show” as fireworks burst overhead with everybody toasting both the new year and the universal spirit of the rhythm, melody, and harmony that brought us all together.

Bali: One Bad Day in Paradise

Bali is as awe-inspiring as ever, even though traffic and tourism have grown MUCH bigger and badder since we were last there in 1996. Still, it was not hard, we discovered, to forsake the whining motor scooters for the solace of rice fields, temples, and quiet family compounds.

It was doubly delightful for Jan and me to share our re-experience of the island with our midwife friend, Elizabeth Walters (who was visiting Bali for the first time). 

Our guide and driver, Ida Bagus Oka, did much to help us encounter the “real Bali” we sought. He had taught (math, science, music and badminton) for 30 years at the primary school (grades 1-8) on Monkey Forest Road (just across from the soccer field). Recently retired with a government pension, this Bali Brahmin decided that driving a taxi and introducing selected foreigners to his culture would be a good way to continue supporting the adopted children he has been putting through school for decades. Even as my “transport” payments helped Ida, Ida helped me meet a suling (bamboo flute) player and maker; he also found me a saxophone and took me out to jam with two excellent bands in Ubud.

On our last evenings in Bali (as detailed in a previous blog), Ida arranged for all of us to meet the musical Prince Chok Wa of Ubud. During our stay in Bali Ida also facilitated our participation in a “touching the earth” baby ceremony (See Jan's HUG blog), helped us purchase and wear proper “Balinese costumes” in order to receive blessings at several temples, took us to all “the best” performances and arts outlets, and even brought us to his home for a special “smoked chicken” dinner our last night there. 
  

Of the sixty days Jan and I spent in Bali, only one was a disappointment—and this one was doubly or triply disappointing. Fortunately for them, Jan and Elizabeth chose to opt out of the adventure that went awry for me, in order to spend a restful evening poolside with gin and tonics.  The sad story starts with Ida’s enthusiasm for my seeing only “the best” aspects of Balinese culture. The Kecak Dance is perhaps most emblematic of all the Balinese performing arts. Accompanied only by their voices and bodies, Kecak dancers dramatize the rescue of Sita by Lord Hanumon and his monkey allies. Ida said I must go to Uluwatu to see “the best” Kecak Dance, not only because this was an entirely professional company but also because of the setting. In Uluwatu the backdrop to the performance area is the setting sun, a device that figures prominently in the story itself.

The traffic to Uluwatu was particularly snarled that Sunday. Road construction was underway near the new airport. That slowed us down. So did an extra-large number of tourist buses—all headed for Uluwatu. We had not purchased tickets in advance. In retrospect, we should have. A simple dinner in the village took longer than anticipated.

We were running late. Ida had prepared and brought offerings so that we might visit the beautiful seaside temple prior to the performance. As it turned out, the main temple area was under renovation. We did meet a priest, and he did bless our offerings and us, but it was in a rather unattractive side precinct, without the famous sea view. Hurrying next to the ticket booth, we were told upon arrival that tonight’s performance had been completely sold out. No Kecak Dance for Ida and me, even though we could see and hear it from a distance. Trying to salvage a sinking situation, Ida suggested that we proceed to the cliffside sea walk to take in the setting sun.

The sunset was, indeed, magnificent, as were the temple profiles, the color on the sea, and the silhouettes of the monkeys (long-tailed macaques, Macaca fascicuiaris) that walked along the top of the wall—as their human imitators danced and chattered, in staccato syncopation, a few hundred meters away. Trying to make the most of a sad situation, I snapped a few photos of monkeys. They were great photos, some of the best I had taken on our trip. Sitting down on the wall next to Ida, I was looking through my camera to show him a shot or two. 

On my other side I felt a monkey approach, but I knew enough not to look him in the eye. After I showed Ida the photos, I glanced back to see if the monkey was still there. He was—and in the blink of an eye he deftly removed my glasses and scampered, chattering with glee, down the wall, onto the roof of a pavilion, and then up to a higher roof still.  I was pissed.

These glasses were expensive, prescription lenses (with UV coating) and fancy, titanium frames. Elizabeth had just brought me this new pair, after I had lost them in Hawaii when I was blind-sided by a wave. I shouted and ran after the feral offender. An older couple stopped me, and said they would handle things. Ida explained that they were the “monkey police.” They began rolling fruit up the roof to the monkey, trying to bribe him into giving up the stolen goods. I had to pee, so I left, doubting I would see my glasses again. As I emerged from the Gents’, the monkey policeman handed me my glasses. They were twisted and scratched, with chewed up nose pads. “Wait. I will clean them!” the man said, beaming with the glow of his success. “Give him 50,000 [$5],” Ida said. I had my glasses back, but they were useless.

I had not seen the Kecak Dance. The temple was much less than advertised. It was a long drive back to Ubud. We tried the new “bypass,” which had just opened—but because it was toll-free for just one more day, the new “quick” route was jammed. Bumper to bumper. Ida was quiet. I was quieter. When I got home, I told Jan and Elizabeth the story of my stolen glasses. Jan rolled her eyes and claimed not believe me. I think that Elizabeth did; at least, she laughed! I had to call Jonathan and David (who remembered how intimidating monkeys could be) and my friend Dave Smith (who, as Jan knows, has a trusty nose for bullshit), to tell them all the story before Jan would believe I was telling the truth. As I said, this was an expensive pair of glasses. That monkey had busted our budget. Now I can only hope that my optometrist’s office (staffed by former students Dr. Aaron Rosenstein and Tim Barco) will also believe my tale of woe, and do what they can to restore the glasses they already kindly replaced and shipped for me once on this trip!