Asmoro Dangdut Club: Almost Gone but Unforgotten
We came way too early to the bar. Located just across the posh BCA building and Grand Indonesia, Asmoro was easy to spot on, but maybe easy to be missed out as well as time is always at its peak in this bustling business district of Jakarta. This establishment that has been operating for more than 4 decades stays true to its roots: only playing dangdut music with live set.
I was expecting the place to be shadier than only an old pub with low ceiling that gives uneasy feeling for any new comer like myself and some friends. It was pitch dark though the pub is really just behind a front door that separated us from main road. A female usher greeted us with awkward tone, probably didn’t expect to have a bunch of female punters. The only ice-breaker was when she saw us struggling to find a way to the table as 4 out of 5 of us have troubled sighting. She giggled and a friend, Mumun grabbed this opportunity to exchange banters with the waiter. She asked what to drink, and we answered with another question, what’s the common drink to have at Asmoro.
Bintang.
Buy 5 then you get 1 for free. She continued.
But we ordered only three as two of my friends decided not to drink that night. She came immediately with three big bottles of beers. Not very common I can tell, as usually beers are served in small bottles of 330 ml, not in 660 ml bottle, unless requested otherwise. I stared at Mumun, trying to find validation that it’s not only me thinking that this is not ordinary size of beer . But then again, dangdut pub in the posh Sudirman area is no ordinary in the first place.
The waiter pat my back, almost screaming to tell me that the live dangdut would start at 8. We’re 30 minutes early and the music playing in the pub made it almost impossible to have a talk with my friends. A friend, Cibo decided to just enjoy the house-remix music that seemingly only consists of upbeat tunes.
I joined Cibo to just get lost into this place. I can smell the dust piling up all over the place, the couch cover was mostly torn and I didn’t see any single effort to just patch up or making the place slightly looking better. The stage was small, the ceiling was full of local beer advertisement. There wasn’t any disco ball, but the lighting in the pub was straight coming from 80s era; it’s just colorful bulbs taking turn to dim. After a little while, my eyes are used to the darkness in the place and started to see clearer. Opposite to where we sat, a number of girls took the seats and looked unamused as they religiously put their attention to their phone screen. The way they dress up was almost similar to each other, utterly short skirt, sleeveless top accompanied with high heeled shoes. Some of them dancing to the music, some just sit and smoke, but never leave the phone screen.
At almost 9 pm, another bunch of girls dressing nicer than us — who only came in tees and ripped jeans came sitting next to our table. Not long after, the band members started to set up their instruments and finally, the live dangdut performance started. One girl from the table next to us came forward to sing. We cheered her without knowing the sudden change of atmosphere in the place — traditional dangdut songs are mostly sad, if not devastated, with minor keys falling all over the songs. The lyric isn’t helping either as mostly telling about the hardship in life; to barely survive and troubled love. I had this idea before coming to this place that the kind of dangdut they play is the house-remix one, with some vulgar attraction from the singer. Boy was I wrong.
While me and Mumun were discussing about how sad everything about dangdut is, another girl from table next to us approached and introduced herself as Septa. She’s a singer who would also be performing that night. She jumped into our discussion and shared the same sentiments. She sipped her beers from straw. I asked her why using straw while drinking beers. A friend, Indah laughed at my question.
So the lipstick is not ruined, you fool.
Mumun apologised on behalf of my ignorance to Septa. She laughed and gently pat my shoulder. Saying something in my ear that I didn’t hear — probably something to make fun of me — before taking the stage to sing. Other two girls from the table across came to the dance floor not long after. Dance to the tragic songs while middle aged men joining them. Judging from the look, the men were definitely cheap ass; came with crocs sandal, didn’t bother to even dress nicely for themselves. I can only imagine all of these men wouldn’t dare to come back to their home had the wives known their whereabouts.
Another girl came forward to give something to Septa. The middle aged man in the dance floor started to grab the escort girl in the hips. She didn’t look bothered to that, I looked away from the dance floor. Mumun decided to join the dance floor just to annoy the guy. He left before the song stopped so I bet it worked, though the girl escort looked even more annoyed. Understandably.
Septa came back to her seat to let another singer took the stage.
You didn’t follow your friend to the dance floor?
I shrugged.
My friend is crazy. I’m not drunk yet.
She took her glass high and nodded to Mumun. I asked what’s another girl giving her when she’s on stage; if it’s a song request from punters.
Money of course. That’s how I make money tonight.
There was a moment of silence after she answered. That explained the queue of singers in the line; distributed equally so each one can get tipped from the guests. I can only imagine for other girls whose job is to escort the ugly middle aged men dancing on the dance floor — what kind of services they have to offer so these people would tip them some money since their earnings are at the mercy of the punters?
This is a part of Jakarta that I never looked into. It’s happening everyday in my waking hours, in the same soil where I live, in the road that I pass through.
Probably aware of the shock and reality bite she gave us, Septa asked what it takes to make us tipping her some money.
Sing any song that’s slightly happy. This club is too sad.
She started to bombard us with titles of songs that deemed happy for us. We can’t really tell since neither me nor Mumun are familiar with dangdut scene in the country, though our country really takes pride in this particular genre.
Okay I know.
When she’s ready to take over the stage for the second time, she pat my back. Just a friendly reminder of the deal we stroke. I prepared some money. Mumun joined her in the dance floor, together with Indah. I came forward to the stage in the middle of the song, approaching one of the girl dancers, asking for procedure to tip the singers, if it should be given to any of the waiters first.
She took my hand where I held my money, and directed to Septa. She laughed. I shivered. Her song stopped. A bald middle aged guy who had danced with the same girl for the past couple songs didn’t go back to his seat. His hand started to caress the back of the escort girl.
We asked for bill. The air was getting even stuffier though the guests remained the same.
We were walking to the front door when Septa suddenly stopped us. She apparently was sitting in the table full of middle aged men.
Where you guys going?
We told her we called it a night as some of us still have to continue working tomorrow though it’s Sunday. She smiled and said thank you. Million times.
I’m only off on Sunday night.
Then she waved at us. Probably hoping we’re coming back for more as we, at least, keep hands to ourselves when tipping her.
That night I have trouble sleeping.
