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installment B
Well, hello again! How is the gamelan coming? Quite
well. We had a demo film made by KPBS and Alex put the idea in their heads
to make a documentary about us, so now we have a film crew regularly following
us about, watching us undress and throw fruit at one another before concerts.
We played on a very nice gamelan at the Indonesian Consol’s house in LA
for a big Indonesian Independance day celebration (August something). The
gamelan was old and of a beautiful, exotic intonation (species of tuning).
We got to eat afterwards. There were many dignitaries there including the
mayor of LA and the Secretary of State of California (March Fung Eu— I
saw her at Palomar once for commencement and somewhere else, too). The
food was great and we played very well; the consul enjoyed it immensely.
He and his wife presented each of us with a gift, which proved to be a
vase when unwrapped. Each vase was different, some in style, and all in
decoration. The designs matched our personality— Garit’s was African looking,
Edmundo’s was very unusual, and mine was kind of, well— like their’s but
not with any category you could put it in (perhaps my playing was too generic,
simplistic, undeveloped? Oooooo... (as Christopher would say). Well, it
was still a very nice handmade and etched unique vase from Indonesia, signed
by a famous artist! I like it. The more I accepted it, the better it got.
We played at this weird German (Frrrrahnkke)'s birthday
and opening of his new metal sculptures at his eccentric Point Loma home.
The tres chic artiste type guests had arrived from France, Germany,
Vietnam and Yugoslavia and mingled in groups speaking French, German, Vietnamese
and Serbo-Croatian. The ones who spoke English regularly either did so
in affected tones or quickly became drunk on punch. Although they loved
it, especially Edmundo’s impromptu demonstration of the famous Baris
dance, Ju-Hua (we call her Wei) was very agitated at our low standard of
professionalism, prompting an extended 2AM discussion outside the music
complex after we had returned the instruments to the second story gamelan
room.
We played at Palomar college, which was my idea. They held it in the
theater too! The Palomar concert was after Franke’s and the bitter feelings
helped make the concert a disaster as well, although fortunately no one
at Palomar was familar enough with gamelan music to tell the difference until Made
extensively apologized for our poor performance after the concert (although
I’m glad he made this statement to a faculty member and not the audience at large).
Well, it’s a wonder that we played well at an SDSU
demonstration concert, but I’m glad because everyone could tell that the
Gamelan was now happy. (After Franke’s concert, Made was sad: “I forget
light incense. I feel bad when Phil bring incense while we playing. I know
then I forget. Gamelan mad because I forget.” Well, we all felt bad to
not have shown proper respect for the Gamelan beforehand.)
After the SDSU concert, Made asked: You play on Tuesday?
Me: Well, yes, if you want me to, Made.
Made: It’s OK.
Me: Great.
So, I was going to play at the Javanese concert at the Indonesian Consulate.
Since I’m in the Balinese gamelan, that was a bit unusual since I don’t
normally play Javanese.
Well, the night before I asked Matthew what the concert was for:
Matthew: It’s at the Consulate.
Me: Yeah, but why are we going?
Matthew: To play there.
Me: Yeah, but for what — is it a party or are we just practising with
them?
Matthew: It’s a gathering of sorts.
Me: Who’s going to be there?
Matthew: Certain people.
Me: Who? Somebody special?
Matthew: You might say that.
Me: Who?
Matthew: The King of Jogjakarta.
Me: What?! Not the most powerful King in Indonesia! The last remaining
King in Indonesia with any power? He’s coming to the Consulate?
Matthew: Actually he’s coming to a place in downtown LA called the
California Club. There’s going to be a special reception for him there.
Me: What’s the California Club?
Matthew: It’s a very exclusive club. You can bet you’ll see some very
important people there.
Me: You mean like the President or Governer?
Matthew pauses and smiles as if speaking to a child: Neither of the
people you mentioned would be able to get into the California Club. Membership
is beyond their reach. It’s a very exclusive club that charges no fees
and membership is by invitation only. The members are the people who really
have the power, not the puppets.
Me: It’s for the very rich?
Matthew: Not rich in money, but rich in power.
Me: Have you been there before?
Matthew: Yes. Many times.
Me: You’re a member?!
Matthew: No, I have associates who are members. Remember my trip to
New York?
Me: The one where you were supoenaed to testify in a trial you can’t
talk about?
Matthew: Yeah. Don’t ask me any more questions.
(Matthew leaves)
Me: Garit, you know Matthew pretty well. Is all that true?
Garit (wryly smiling): Oh, yes! So you’re going to the California Club...
Well, well!
That evening, I said to my Mom: It looks like we’re going to play for the King of Jogjakarta at
the California Club.
(Mom freezes in a look of astonishment)
Me: What?
Mom: The California Club? You’ve got to be kidding. Oh my goodness!
Me: What’s so special about it, anyway?
Mom: I’ve never met anyone who’s been inside the California Club. And
you know I’ve known a lot of famous and powerful people. I’ve always wanted
to talk to someone that had been there. It’s just that — not many people
are ever invited there and no one really knows who the members are. You’ve
got to take some pictures. No one’s going to believe this.
Me: OK.
So we played there.
There was a giant ice sculpture of two elephants standing on their hind
legs, fighting, their tusks locked in battle.
We were kept in a back room for a long time with little to eat other
than enormous apples as big as grapefruits. We wandered around unmonitored
through a maze of unoccupied corridors, staircases, and sequences of enormous
and cozy rooms filled with incredible antique furniture that surpassed
anything I’ve ever seen in a museum.
The film crew came but their cameras were not welcome.
We played.
The King liked us and we were allowed out of our cage. The King — considered
a god by the people of Indonesia — spent the evening talking to Made about
gamelan and piling food on Made’s plate. Made was stunned and ecstatic. You
know how nuts the English are about their queen and all the etiquette involved?
Well it’s 100,000 times more extreme in Indonesia. People visiting the
King are expected to crawl out backwards on their hands and knees from
his presence. Fortunately, these rules were relaxed for the States. A good
thing too. I tripped over the legs of some lady who was sitting in a fancy
chair. I gave her a cursory apology and walked away. I later realized that
she was the Queen — also considered a diety. I’d probably have my head
chopped off if I was in Indonesia. She was nice though — she and the King
play in the court gamelan back home.
The food was unbelievably fabulous. I guarantee you’ve never seen
or tasted food anything like this and you never will.
At the end of the event, the King called for each of us to be presented
with an ancient carved puppet — made for a King. Again, each puppet—given
apparently randomly—perfectly matched the personality and skills of each
receipient. I received a rare and beautiful goddess. My playing was still
bad but I felt truly incompetant and humble, yet gave it my best shot.
Made’s night vision is terrible so I had to drive him home.
While leaving the California Club, Made wanted to jump out of the car and talk to
someone. But there was no parking allowed on the street and cars were coming.
I tried to circle the block, but this is not possible in LA!! After twenty
minutes I was driving among stripped cars on blocks and old bearded guys
with filthy and ragged long coats warming themselves above trash-cans filled
with fire and Chicano young adults with red bandanas, vests, and Levis.
I had only seen this in movies before.
I had to get back on the freeway and duplicate our California Club approach
in order to find Made an hour later. He was mad. He wanted me to take a
certain exit but I thought another way was shorter. After I missed the
interchange Made wanted, he explained that he was mad because we were following
the film crew to a restaurant where we were going to discuss something
very important. Well, he could have told me that instead of yelling, “Turn
here! Turn here! Aieeeee!” while pointing to a freeway that didn’t go directly
to San Diego.
Made was silent and sulking for a few minutes. Once he calmed down in
the car, a smile appeared on his face. Suddenly, he started kicking the
dashboard and screaming jubilantly. “I meet King! I meet King!” he shouted
over and over again. “I. . . meet. . . King!! Yaaaaah! Aieeeee!”
He looked at me and very slowly and seriously inunciated, “King talk
to me. Today, I talk to King!!!" He then started shouting again and
kicking and shaking his head vigorously. As he did this, his tongue was
flapping wildly out of his mouth. “Yaaaaaaaahhhh!” he shouted with a smile.
“Yuni never believe this! I meet King!! Yaaaaaaaahhhh!”
He was like this all the way back to San Diego.
It was a great gig.
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