B U K I T T I N G G I T A L E S

JUDE COWAN MONTAGUE

MY THYROID LOBECTOMY LEFT ME A BIT WOBBLY AFTER COLLEGE. I WANTED TO GET AWAY FROM ENGLAND FOR A BIT, SEE THE WORLD ETC ETC SO I WENT TO SEE A FRIEND IN BANGKOK. I HAD DREAMS OF STAYING AWAY LONGER BUT NEEDED TO RENEW MY VISA. I WENT WITH ALL THE OTHER ‘FARANGS’ TO PENANG BUT INSTEAD OF GOING BACK TO THAI-LAND, I HOPPED ON THE FERRY TO MEDAN, AND TOOK THE COACH DOWN INTO SUMATRA.

AFTER A COUPLE OF ADVENTURES, JUMPING OFF THE BUS AT INAPPROPRIATE STOPS, BUYING PINE FRUITS AT THE SIDE OF LAKES THAT LOOKED LIKE THEY SHOULD BE IN SWITZERLAND AND MEETING BUTTERFLIES THE SIZE OF HOUSES, I ROLLED UP WITH THE REST OF THE TOURISTS AT THE HILL TOWN OF BUKITTINGGI. THE FIRST EVE-NING WANDERED DOWN INTO THE MARKET. THE STALLS WERE MOSTLY SHUT. THE SELLERS OF FISH AND STICKY RICE HAD FINISHED FOR THE DAY. HAUNTING MELO-DIES WERE RIDING ON THE TWILIGHT AIR. THOSE STILL IN THE SQUARE WERE LIS-TENING TO THE STRANGEST, HAUNTING MUSIC. I JOINED THE GAGGLE DRINKING KOPI AND HEARD THE SALUANG SOUNDS OF MINANGKABAU FOR THE FIRST TIME.

THE SALUANG IS A BAMBOO FLUTE PLAYED WITH CIRCULAR BREATHING. THE SINGING WORKS WITH ITS SOFT, AIRY BREATH IS VERY NASAL AND SHARP SOUNDING, OFTEN WAILING ABOUT SAD TALES SET IN THE BEAUTIFUL LANDSCAPE OF THE REGION. I MADE FRIENDS WITH THE FOLK MUSICIANS, LEARNED SOME TUNES FROM THEM AND JOINED THEM AS A NOVELTY IN THEIR PERFORMING, AND AS A WEIRDO – A BLONDE SINGING MINANGKABAU CLASSICAL SONGS – I HELPED OUR LITTLE GROUP MAKE A FEW RUPIAH.

WE WOULD TRAVEL ROUND THE VILLAGES, ESPECIALLY AT THE END OF RA-MADAN AND WOULD ENTERTAIN LARGE GROUPS OF PEOPLE AMONG THE RICE FIELDS AND MOUNTAINS. THIS IS A RAINY AREA IN THE EQUATORIAL RE-GION, WHICH NEVER GOT AS HOT AS I EXPECTED IT TO BE, WITH MY SCHOOL-GIRL’S GEOGRAPHY, FROM ITS LATITUDE, BECAUSE OF ITS ALTITUDE. THAT WAS HOW I EXPLAINED THE DAMP AIR AND THE FREQUENT BRONCHIAL AFFLICTIONS. I HAD A MASSAGE WITH A COIN AND MENTHOL OIL FOR A COLD THAT I CAUGHT.

I ALWAYS THOUGHT I WOULD RETURN BUT SO FAR THIS HASN’T HAPPENED. YET MY EXPERIENCES OF SINGING IN THE MINGKABAU DIALECT OF SUMATRA BARAT HAVE SURVIVED AND TRANSMUTED INTO STRANGE AUDIO PATTERNS THAT I CARRY AROUND INSIDE. THIS ALBUM CONSISTS OF IMPROVISATIONS LOOKING AT THESE MEMORIES OF SONGS WITH THEIR MIS-REMEMBERED WORDS AND MELODIES. EACH TRACK LASTS APPROXIMATELY TEN MINUTES AND IS IMPROVISED IN MY HOME STU-DIO IN MOTTINGHAM, SE LONDON WITH MICROKORG, MOOG AND RING MODULATOR.

IT’S TIME TO GET BACK ON THE ROAD FOR ANOTHER MUSICAL TRIP …

JALAN JALAN!

JUDE COWAN MONTAGUE MARCH 2012

ONCE, A YOUNG GIRL TOLD TALES IN THE BUKITTINGGI AFTER-MARKET

ORAL FANCIES DISPENSED IN THE DIALECT OF THE WEST, ADD EXTRA TASTE TO SWEET AVOCADO OR SUGARED KOPI SPOONED INTO A GLASS. UNI NOR’S NASAL TONES RISE AND FLIP LIKE TOSSED RICE, DISH SAUCY DITTIES OF A CHAP’S TICKLES, OR TEACH HOW A TRIBE OF VICTORIOUS WATER BUFFALO WANDERED FAR FROM INDIA, LIKE THOSE TIGERS THAT ROAM, SAID A MOTHER FRYING FISH, THE ORANGE ORCHARD BEYOND THE BOTTOM OF MY GARDEN. I HAVE SEEN ONE SAD ZOO SPECIMEN PROWLING HIS CAGE BELOW JAM GADANG, THE OLD DUTCH CLOCK DECKED WITH A POST-COLONIAL TOP.

MY FRIEND’S PUFFED CHEEKS FORCE OUT MOUNTAIN DAY, INHALE WET TWI-LIGHT DOWN FLARED NOSTRILS, SO HIS SALUANG CAN HOLD FURRY NOTES STAR-CONSTANT AND MY PURPLE TUNE MAY TRICKLE UP THE VOLCANOES WHICH DAB THIS EQUATORIAL BULGE. I, SUMATRA’S EXOTIC BLONDE, BURBLE BLUES THAT DRIP INSIDE A RAINFOREST RIVER. WONKING MOPEDS BURR THROUGH VIO-LET THAT DARKENS INTO SLEEP. HILLS SETTLE RELUCTANTLY. SO, THE SECRETS OF SONG DEEPEN WITH THE YEARS, AND WORDS TRANSFORM INTO MEANINGS, NAN, NAN HILANG, TAKANA JUO: THE ONE I HAVE LOST, I WILL NEVER FORGET.

WHEN MY VISA RUNS OUT IN BANGKOK,

I HEAD SOUTH, T R Y T O S L E E P O N D E C K S S T R E W N W I T H I M P A T I E N T Y O U T H S

M ISS ING THA I LOVERS . YOUNG MEN IN SHORTS SWEAT BENEATH NEW CONSTELLAT IONS , COLON ISE THE N IGHT W ITH CLOVE-LESS SMOKE .

THEY PLAN TO DOUBLE BACK TO A BEACH CLUTCH ING INKY STAMPS , BUT I WILL PASS THE EQUATOR. FIRST, THERE’S THE BUSY PORT OF MEDAN

FROM WHERE MY CHAMPING COACH SETS OFF. IT SNORTS PAST MOUNTAINS A N D P I N E S , G R E Y G L A C I E R L A K E S , T U N N E L S T H E R A I N F O R E S T ,

C A R E E N S , N E A R L Y S L I P S C H A N G I N G G E A R T H R O U G H A V I L L A G E T H A T ’ S S L I D I N G D O W N R E D M U D , T H E N D I P S I N T O A P O O L

OF SULTANIC BUTTERFL IES FLUTTERING ABOUT THE ROTTING FOREST WHERE ENCHANTED, I ALIGHT. I ’M ENGULFED BY CHILDREN AS CURIOUS

AS THE SHERIFF WHO INVITES ME FOR TEA AND TO TELL ME LIFE TALES OF THE BATAK FAMILY, FAR FROM LAKE TOBA, WHO ARE PLANTED ABOVE LOCALS

BY GARDENERS OF JAVA , THOSE WHO PROTECT H I S HORNED HOUSE FROM THE MO IL ING SEA OF K IDS WHO RUSH ME BACK ONTO MY BUS

WHERE BACKPACKED IN ORDER TO JALAN JALAN SENDIRIAN, I CONTINUE TO RACEDOWN INFINITY AT SOLO-HYPERSPEED, ALONG THIS ISLAND’S SINGLE LANE

1. MALEREANG

2. GALI DEN UDAH

3. SAPULUAH

4. BUKITTINGGI BLUES MEDLEY