Emerging from the vibrant cultural shifts of the 60s, dangdut is a popular and widely cherished Indonesian music genre rooted in grassroots communities. The name itself is onomatopoeic, derived from the drum sounds “dang” and “dut” — commonly heard in its music. Dangdut typically features traditional instruments like the gendang (a traditional wooden drum), with modern ones like the electric guitar and keyboard. The flute and violin are also frequently included, adding melodic depth. The genre has spawned numerous subgenres across the decades, including koplo, gondang, pantura, electro, rockdut, etc. Despite the diverse subgenres, the most important common feature across all subgenres is the drums. One of the hallmarks of dangdut is its rhythmic structure, characterised by syncopation that creates this irresistibly danceable groove. The dynamic rhythm of dangdut invokes movements and mirrors the lively energy of the genre, making it not just a form of musical expression, but a communal experience. This infectious quality of dangdut’s groove will remain a central theme explored throughout the article — delving deeper into the evolution of dangdut throughout the decades and its impact on society across different eras.
Rhoma Irama, often referred to as the “King of Dangdut”, played a key role in shaping and popularising the genre. Disenchanted with Western rock music, he was on a quest to develop a new musical style by the early 1970s. His songs are more rock-oriented with an electrified dangdut style as he combined different elements that exist in Malay, Indian and Middle Eastern music. His career trajectory and music were pretty interesting as he wrote more about love in his earlier career days. After returning from his pilgrimage, he started to write lyrics to talk about social issues and to spread the word of Islam. Subsequently, he wrote lyrics in relation to moral laxity, human rights abuses, social inequality and many more[1]. Noting that dangdut was predominantly popular within the lower and working class, the topics covered in his songs offered an intriguing perspective, which was contrary to the upper class’ view of the genre as being unrefined, vulgar, and corruptive to the country’s social values. This inadvertently accentuated the irony of the disparity between the rich and the poor. Consequently, the emergence of low culture versus high culture; where dangdut is a communal experience for the working class and it was important to note that it was cheap, or rather free — due to an increase of pirated VCDs back then. Dangdut being a cheap thrill was not the only reason why it was considered low culture.
As more elements of style of music were incorporated into dangdut, the dangdut koplo subgenre rose in popularity in the 2000s, incorporating even more influences from rock, electronica, hip hop and pop. As much as Rhoma Irama changed the dangdut scene with incorporation of rock elements, Inul Daratista was no stranger to that. She was considered the precursor of koplo, playing a pivotal role in this transformation with her provocative performances that challenged the conventions of ‘classic dangdut’. The defining feature of dangdut koplo is the speed and complexity of its rhythms, which are distinctly faster than those of traditional dangdut, enticing people to move and dance along to its tunes. The genre derives its name from the slang term “koplo” which refers to a cheap hallucinogenic drug commonly sold in Indonesia. Since koplo is played at a faster tempo, it is said to make listeners feel “high”, hence giving the same effect as “koplo pills”. Koplo was often distanced from traditional dangdut practitioners. Even Rhoma Irama expressed his own concerns about Inul Daratista, particularly her signature dance move known as “ngebor” or “drill”. He asserted that it was inappropriate and could degrade moral values in Indonesia, especially owing to the fact that Indonesia is a predominantly Muslim country with conservative cultural norms. Evidently, Inul’s performances sparked significant media attention and public discourse. It was to the point that Inul’s dancing became a focal point in debates surrounding religion, culture and politics — sparking conversations about how human bodies imbued with various meanings and values have powerful implications for discourses about Islam, pornography, women’s bodies and changing forms of media[2].
On top of that, dangdut experts mentioned that Inul’s performances are far from what ‘real’ dangdut is, as performed in rural East and Central Java. However, there are anecdotes from Indonesian locals who mentioned that singers who perform in small towns and villages tend to use erotic and sexy moves. With that in mind, dangdut performances were a hit at Indonesian weddings, local markets and informal gatherings, where the whole neighbourhood would turn up to see the show and young children were allowed to stay up late to watch[3]. This is where the distinction between low culture and high culture comes to play again — dangdut was something that could appeal to the masses in villages and was heavily scrutinised by more conservative and elite segments of the society due to the ‘vulgarity’ of their performances.
Despite the concept that dangdut is ‘sinful’ and that one should not indulge in the genre, dangdut koplo can also be seen as a celebration of Indonesian culture and heritage. Through its lively performances, it honours the rich traditions and spirited essence of the nation. It didn’t take long until dangdut also swept the feet of their neighbouring countries — Malaysia and Singapore. In Singapore, dangdut’s presence first emerged around the late 70s and 80s. Back then, dangdut in Singapore was popularised through social gatherings, live performances and nightclubs that catered to the Malay community. Local events featuring dangdut bands or singers became a common way for fans to enjoy the genre. Singaporeans often consumed dangdut music through radio broadcasts, cassette tapes, and later CDs, many of which were imported from Indonesia and Malaysia.
Similarly, conservative segments of the community sometimes criticised dangdut performances for their perceived sensuality, reflecting similar tensions seen in Indonesia. Gathering anecdotes from the older generation, it seems that dangdut had a negative stereotype as it was associated with Malay men going to nightclubs to enjoy dangdut — a term I would hear often was ‘pakcik menggatal’ (which translates to flirty uncle). Fast forward to today, dangdut in Singapore remains a niche genre, enjoyed mostly by the Malay community and often celebrated during cultural events or private gatherings. It also maintains a presence through modern digital platforms like Spotify, YouTube and even TikTok. Early last year, there was a “Dangdut Koplo Extravaganza!” concert by Ochi Alvira and Syahiba Saufa at Esplanade, and tickets were sold out. This is all thanks to their immense following on various media platforms. With a combined following of over five million followers on TikTok and Instagram, international viral hits like Rasah Nyangkem 3, and millions of views on YouTube, Ochi and Syahiba have cemented their status as stars with distinct appeal. Their musical chemistry has undoubtedly established them as iconic figures in the current dangdut scene.
As the genre continues to evolve constantly, this is where we are able to observe dangdut being more receptive and we are now in the Jedag Jedug era.
The turn of the 21st century saw another significant shift in dangdut’s evolution, marked by the influence of electronic dance music (EDM) and modern pop. This period, often referred to as the Jedag Jedug era, introduced more fast-paced beats, electronic synths, and a greater focus on digital production. Artists like Inul Daratista and Nella Kharisma (dangdut and koplo singer) began incorporating electronic elements, creating a new, electrifying sound that appealed to younger generations. Indonesian DJs like Alva Kenzo, DJ Jedag Jedug, and Maman Fvndy have curated their own playlists of remixed tracks. With the incorporation of auto-tune, drum machines, and electronic beats, they have transformed dangdut into high-energy, crowd-pumping anthems.
According to my readings of both academic and non-academic articles, it seems like dangdut is gaining an increasingly better reputation, owing to the fact that the stigma associated with listening to dangdut or watching a dangdut performance has dissipated, contributing to a cultural rejuvenation. On the flip side, going back to how the old stereotype of dangdut was about ‘pakcik menggatal’, it has now evolved to the younger generations, where mostly ‘mat and minah’[4] listen to the genre. As TikTok videos and Instagram reels continue to rise in popularity, thanks to their short video format, many creators can be seen dancing to trending or indie songs, sharing memes, posting short holiday vlogs, and showcasing their talents, among other content. In relation to dangdut, jedag jedug was first popularised on TikTok, with social media users showcasing their motorcycles in CapCut[5] edited videos — users would use jedag jedug music to edit their videos in a unique way, syncing the photos with the beats of the music. It then expanded to dancing, showing a compilation of selfies, celebrity fan edits, promotional videos and many more. Some would find these videos fun and cool, and some would find the editing and song choice to be awfully tacky. Regardless, it is inevitable to acknowledge that these TikTok videos are increasingly making dangdut popular among the younger generations. In a study that was done in Indonesia, it was found that TikTok actually plays an important role in making jedag jedug popular. Comments presented in the study vary from “loud and enjoyable”, “the remix is interesting”, “Indonesian people are creative, they can remix all the songs, even sad songs” to “I associate jedag jedug with jamet”[6]. Jamet is an Indonesian slang that is usually associated with people who are weird and tacky. This is where we observe similar tensions when it comes to stereotypes surrounding jedag jedug.
Through conversations with the younger generation and ‘doom scrolling’ of TikTok, it seems like jedag jedug is considered low culture, due to the perceptions of who would upload a jedag jedug video. In a recent jedag jedug video that was circulated on TikTok, two students were seen dancing to jedag jedug in their uniforms. Unfortunately, due to the distinctive nature of their uniforms, people were commenting on the irony of students from a prestigious, elite school engaging in activities typically associated with neighbourhood school students. Some even commented, ‘mat minah dah pandai seh’, which translates to ‘mat and minah are already clever people’. This reflects the stereotype that in Singapore’s youth culture, dangdut/jedag jedug is associated exclusively with a particular subculture — a subculture that is usually associated with certain styles, attitudes, or behaviours that some perceive as less polished or mainstream. This incident underscores the broader stereotype within Singapore’s Malay youths, where jedag jedug is often exclusively associated with a particular demographic. Such associations perpetuate a class divide within the Malay society, where certain forms behaviours or self-entertainment are seen as inherently tied to socioeconomic or educational backgrounds. While some may view this stereotyping as harmless and humorous, it accentuates the deeper societal biases that exist within the Malay community. The irony of elite school students engaging in this form of entertainment forces a reexamination of these cultural hierarchies and challenges the idea that certain forms of expression belong exclusively to any one group. This is where labelling theory comes into play where these stereotypes instill a stigma to a subculture, leading them to experience social withdrawal and low self-worth.
The evolution of dangdut from Gelek to Jedag Jedug reflects the genre’s adaptability in the face of shifting cultural, technological and social influences. From its roots in traditional Indonesian music to embracing electronic beats, dangdut has consistently mirrored the changing tastes and identities of the masses in Indonesia, Malaysia, Singapore and maybe even other countries. Although some purists argue that the incorporation of electronic and pop elements dilutes dangdut’s traditional charm, dangdut is still able to symbolise Indonesia’s rich heritage and its ever-changing genre that flows with the times. I for one believe that the genre’s ability to evolve and adapt suggests a promising future.
On the argument that jedag jedug should be a fun thing, and not a catalyst to stereotyping people, I honestly am a proponent of the notion that music knows no boundaries and that it should not be a genre that creates these stereotypes amongst the Malay community.
1Gorlinski, V. (2024). Rhoma Irama. Britannica. https://www.britannica.com/biography/Rhoma-Irama
2Weintraub, A. (2008). ‘Dance drills, faith spills’: Islam, body politics, and popular music in post-Suharto Indonesia. Popular Music, 27(3), pp. 367-392. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0261143008102185
3Vaswani, K. (2012). Raunchy dangdut music stirs debate in Indonesia. BBC News.
4Colloquial terms of a Malay youth subculture
5CapCut is a mobile video-editing app with various templates to choose from
6Tiantini, W. B., Afdholy, N. & Puspita, Y. M. (2023). Jamet stereotyping in jedag-jedug music: An analysis of jedag-jedug music stereotype. Jurnal Seni Musik, 12(2). https://journal.unnes.ac.id/sju/index.php/jsm/index
Qamar Jannah Fateen is currently a Research Analyst at the Centre for Research on Islamic and Malay Affairs (RIMA). She holds a master’s degree in international development practice, specialising in sustainable economy. Her current research interests include social inequality, cultural development and diaspora of Austronesians/Malays.
