There is pain in Senyawa’s music. And there is suffering too. It’s been one month since the Indonesian metal hardcore prodigies Rully Shabara and Wukir Suryadi played a blistering concert in Control club from Bucharest. A lot of crazy things happened around that period of time, some of them even becoming unexplainable. From last-moment Schengen visa issues to absurdly timed 24h airport strikes, the experience (and the challenge) of handling all kinds of twisted situations in order to have Rully and Wukir in Bucharest, felt as much emotionally charged as their own music. Like thunders.
One day before the concert we spent some good hours in our local nest for a heavy session of intercultural exchanges with Senyawa; a thoughtful experience. We watched all kinds of different recordings of trance rituals from Indonesia, played Romanian psych rock and jazz from the ‘70s and ‘80s, figured out on the map projected on the big white wall that Indonesia is the largest island country in the world by the number of islands, with more than 14.000 islands and 34 provinces. There are many things that differ a lot from Europeans to Indonesians, on so many different sheets: politics, religion, culture, day-by-day life. But in the same time we are very alike, not only because we speak the same language, which is music, but also simply because the world is round and all humans used to be kindred spirits.
The overall excitement and the booze, which played its part too, made our conversations blurry. We frantically skipped from a subject to another, played gipsy music and Romanian manele, altogether with metal and Indonesian punk, but in this little sweet chaos I could feel that we involuntarily keep relating, once in a while, to our geographic conditions and try to draw invisible transcontinental borders.