Da Puki Kleng Hood

Aprecious ritual of the Balinese, when having a drink outdoors anyway, is the habit of giving their island the first sip, by tipping a new bottle towards the ground as an oblation to the holy gods. This shows how much they respect the nature around them and at the same time sharing some good will for a great celebration. This happened backstage of the Legian Festival when a bottle of whiskey was freshly opened, and people spilled out a little too much of the contents onto the sand. Everybody is saluting each other with their hands: high fives, then fist bumps.
Beatmaker-emcee DwixNaskleng set his two faint eyes that were hidden under the shadow of his brown porkpie hat on the sand that was drowning his sneakers. Out front on stage, beatmaker-preacher Oddy and other emcees, Tyo BigTBlack with Wira 8-Bless are busy babbling, laughing, passing the empty glass around that was demolished by Erik – the last emcee who was standing with a slightly humped-back posture – wearing an army jacket and a beer can grasped in his left hand waiting for the command to go on.

When the command finally arrives, Erik’s Flores jaw is rattling with gracious attitude and flowing with his fiery adrenaline. “This is the time for war!” exclaimed Erik heroically to me as he passes. The funnel is echoing and the boys are ready to get inside the ring to fight like a chin up demonstator in front of a police shield. Then their turntableist starts releasing his needle, scratching loud from black asphalt grooves of Harlem spirit.
Goldvoice was formed eight years ago in Bali. Their album, F*ck Your Side (released in 2013 via Rumble Records) barked out like a riotous dog. A vigorous debut where every rhyme on the record is like an anger shell, resulting from the dissident poems. The motive is, of course politics, and in this case the failure of the decorous Indonesian nationals wanting their complete liberty.
In Bali, among the social discourse between stick to the roots or doing the capital investment, Goldvoice slap their land’s lullabies with royal words like ‘puki (twat!)’ and ‘naskleng (dick!)’. Getting mad in every exclamation mark, comma and dot, supplicating catastrophe for the capitalist cockroach families. Out loud and berserk. Through Oddy – who has a muddy voice, spurting and heavy like an old gorilla when rapping, Goldvoice manifests their position in this social order. “We prefer to abstain. What’s the difference? Whoever the winner, it’s only going to be news without reality. Politics is a game of illusion,” he said.

While Eric says before getting on stage that he wants to get onto the battle field, at the same time the rest of his compatriots are already shaping a warhorse. Their fierce shadows are illuminating the stage then spreading in war-like formations rotating some angsty jabber dance: five emcees with their faces fluctuating from expression to expression; grinning, grumbling, snapping like laughter upon the dignity of their true honest prose. So blazing until Oddy has to borrow some sentences from Nietzsche’s Zarathustra to express, “We can only feel the love of life when we’re on the battle field. And for us, the stage is our battle field. Because only from there can we raise our voices.”
In the end, rap has become one of the most vulgar and obnoxious products that was born from the words of art, presenting a certain faith of life, struggle and militant resistance. Music for the oppressed and the glutinous, however, blatant but genuine blood flows in their heads. Goldvoice shout, “F*ck your side!”.
By Rio Tantomo

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