The Making of "Rahwana's Cry" - Part 2
March/19/2005 by Colin Bass
Recording method, a trip to the market.


Originally we had scheduled three days rehearsal before decamping into the studio, but it was clear that there was a lot to do and that it would be better to start as soon as possible. The band anyway were very well prepared and already very well-rehearsed.
So, on day 3 we move everything into the small recording studio. The main recording room is about 10 meters square with three small isolation booths. The smaller control room is equipped with a very old Teac 1-inch 16 track tape machine with desk. Outboard equipment is limited to a pair of compressors and a yamaha reverb unit. The last time I used the tape machine was when I was recording the Jalan Kopo album in 1997. Then just 13 tracks were working. Now we are down to 11 usable tracks. But not to worry, Ceppy, the best recording technician in West Java, has borrowed a PC from his brother, Ricky FM, a well-known session keyboard player on the Javanese Pop scene. It's a very fast one running Cubase SX, which is exactly what I use at home. This makes things very easy.
The question is: how to proceed.

I’m very keen to capture the sound that Ceppy is famous for, especially the crucial basic ingredients of the deep, rich tones of the big gongs and the powerful and musical bottom end of the khendang drums. With the computer comes a MOTU 8-track digital interface. So we start with an experiment: we set up the gongs and khendang and record them onto 8 tracks of the tape machine and send the same signal via the MOTU into the computer. The result is a no contest. The tape machine sounds warmer, richer and deeper. Of course the tape does have the disadvantage of also carrying a lot of background hiss but, what the hey, I’m sure we can sort that out later.


So we start laying down the tracks. Although all the instruments are played in the studio we are basically just going first for the gongs and the khendang drums. After each succesful take we transfer those tracks to the computer for later replacing of the other instruments.
We carry on in this way over the next days until we have a good 16 or so basic tracks loaded into the computer. Then we start replacing the other instruments.

On different days we work on different combinations. Anklung – the tuned bamboo rattles – rincik and saron - the wooden xylophones – bonang – the kettle gongs used in the traditional gamelan orchestras – kacapi – the zither-like instrument – and the violin and bamboo flutes.


Ismet Ruchimat, the bandleader is on hand the whole time, quietly directing the other band-members when necessary but allowing them all the freedom to try their own ideas. Although in the end most decisions are made by a spontaneous democratic process.


Day 7

Things are moving along on very nicely. There’s a lot to be done and I don’t know if we’ll get everything finished in time. But it’s certainly most enjoyable. Behind the desk in the control room there’s just enough room for a couple of chairs behind which is a window open to a porch looking onto to the courtyard, where the group hang out waiting for their turn in the studio. The ever-present smell of the kretek clove cigarettes drifts into the room the whole day long and, twice a day, members of Ismet’s family arrive with expertly prepared meals of amazing diversity – apart from the essential ingredient of nasi putih - white rice – and of course plenty of sambal – red-hot chili.
At 6 o’clock we take a break and eat the evening meal. As the sun sets, the muezzin are sending out their prayers from the city’s mosques. We talk, laugh, eat and smoke. Life is good.

Sunday Morning 9th January


During 7 days of intensive work, I’ve only managed an occasional walk outside the studio complex down to the internet shop. A pleasant walk past the jeweller’s shops and a row of furniture outlets, say good morning to the man who makes picture frames at his small road-side kiosk – with his display of pictures ranging from a colourful study of a mosque, to a poster of Jennifer Lopez - and across the busy crossroads. Crossing the road in Java takes a bit of courage, some spatial awareness and a sense of object speed and motion. It’s pointless to wait for the pedestrian traffic lights. One must just step from the curb and surf through the cars, trucks, bicycle taxis, and human-propelled portable-shops, like Nureyev rushing through the corps de ballet in Swan Lake, albeit perhaps not so ostentatiously (and without the tights).


Anyway, today I allow myself, after another brief contact with the news and latest spam in my e-mailbox, a further circumnavigation of the block, going back by way of the market street. All down one side are the market stalls. Either side of a narrow walkway. Awnings are tied overhead with string just low enough so that someone of slightly above average European height like myself has to stoop most of the time. One young man at a market stall makes a joke of it, coming up and measuring himself against me, to the amusement of all. On all sides: colourful arrangements of fruits; aromatic displays of dried fish, fresh fish, still-alive fish; artistic displays of every part of the chicken neatly gathered together in small piles of heads, gizzards, feet etc.


One cannot go unnoticed or stand discreetly. From all sides people shout out „hello mister“ and „ikan mister?“ and just one’s presence seems to greatly entertain. I feel like a politician. Diplomatically smiling and acknowledging their greetings. I ask permission to take some photos. Most are courteous and pose with dignified smiles. While I’m focusing there is much jocularity and kidding among the onlookers and sometimes, after the deed is done, a round of applause. It’s a bath in humanity. A faith-restoring warm soak in starkly contrasting unguents. I return to the studio with a spring in my step and a large bag of the hairy lychees known as Rambutan.

The evening session brings another pleasure. With most of the basic foundation tracks ready, we are starting the overdub process and singer Rita Tilu makes her first appearance. A small but striking figure in a white headscarf and a warm, welcoming grin. She agrees to try one of her numbers and we set up the desk for the song "Harepan". In English this translates as "Longing" and is a langorous ballad full of typical West Javanese heartache. We do a couple of run-throughs to check the lyrics and allow Ceppy to tweak the compressor for his trademark vocal sound and then it's Take 1 and we enjoy one of those magic moments in the studio where a performance unfolds that is completely captivating and you find yourself getting excited as the wave-forms appear on the screen and wonder if she'll sustain the standard of excellence until the end. She does, her clear and silver-blue voice wiggling out of the speakers like snakes of liquid mercury, and you can hear the result on the CD (track 11).

end of part 2...


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