First appeared in Asian Art and Culture, vol. VIII, no. 3 (Fall 1995), published by Oxford University Press in association with the Arthur M. Sackler Museum, Smithsonian Institution, Karen Sagstetter, editor.
Republished electronically March 1998, by kind permission of the Journal. Text, illustrations and photos by Sam Quigley ©1995, except where otherwise noted.

These gongs possess a sound that grips one through the splendor that emanates from them, spreading an atmosphere of truly lofty restfulness and power. Whoever has been fortunate enough, be it only once, to hear the benefaction of this timeless booming tone, dominating the teeming sounds of the gamelan, and to hear it, as it were, come out of the silence of eternity, will forever carry it with him as a most precious memory.

Jaap Kunst, Music in Java, 1949

The richly polyphonic music of the Javanese gamelan entrances the ear, while the appearance of the ensemble, with its assortment of gongs suspended from carved teakwood supports framing an extravagance of bronze kettles and keys, delights the eye as well. Essential as accompaniment for life events throughout Javanese society, gamelan ensembles are numerous and vary widely in decoration as well as in instrumentation. From the humblest villages to the royal palaces of Central Java—where some include as many as sixty individual instruments—gamelans are used for ceremonies, to accompany dance or shadow puppet drama, and to provide a serene atmosphere for all those within earshot of their mellifluous sound.

Primary among the instruments of any gamelan is its largest gong, the gong ageng, which sounds at the beginning and end of a composition, and accentuates other significant musical events, sometimes separated in performance by several minutes. Only the most skilled of musicians play the gong ageng; its deep reverberation and meaning can be fully savored only when it is struck precisely at the right moment and with precisely the right feeling. A gong ageng can inspire such deep respect that it is often given a formal, poetic name, such as "The Venerable Tempted to Smile," "The Venerable Aromatic Rain," or "The Venerable Honeyed Thunder;" and it is by this name that its gamelan is known. Elaborate arrangements of food and incense are regularly laid out as offerings next to the gong stand and some even feel that it is through the gong ageng that one is able to hear the voice of the Almighty.

Given the respect accorded these magnificent gongs, perhaps it is not surprising that the gong smiths who make them have always been highly regarded and thought to possess great spiritual strength. Traditionally they purified themselves through meditation and fasting and began the gong-making process only on auspicious days. Inside the forge, they assumed names derived from mythology to ward off spiritual danger while daring to manipulate fire, wind, and water as they transformed earthen elements into spiritually potent musical instruments. In more recent times, ritual practices are not as apparent as previously reported nor is there much discussion of supernatural concerns. However, since most other observable workshop traditions accord to a remarkable degree with those of the past and the products of today are of a very high quality, the attitudes and beliefs of earlier times must to some degree effect the men who are continuing the tradition into the present.

The Work of the Gong Smithy

As on approaches the besalèn (gong-smithy) from a distance, the carefully sequenced melody of the hammers pounding out rhythms on red hot bronze grows louder and ever more insistent. Drawing close enough to peer into the darkened workshop, one wonders how is it possible that the fruit of such apparently primitive technology, the issue of such a humble workshop, could be the famous bronze gongs of Java, their voices so rich and powerful that they sound as if the earth itself is speaking. (fig. 1) Each Westerner who has recorded their observations of this work, beginning with Jacobson and van Hasselt in 1907, followed by Jaap Kunst in his 1933 landmark publication, Music in Java and by Mantle Hood in The Ethnomusicologist (1971), has been similarly awestruck. [note 1] Each has also raised an alarm concerning the imminent demise of the art. It has even been pronounced dead, yet it thrives today. How does this work, carried out in such meager circumstances by so few artisans, show such resilience and vitality? Who were the old smiths who passed their knowledge down to the present generation? How do their inheritors safeguard and carry forward this sacred tradition? How is it possible that these men should retain their basic technology without appreciable change throughout the twentieth century, a time of tumultuous change in Indonesia affecting almost every other walk of life? These are the questions that directed my research in 1988 and 1990 with Tentrem Sarwanto, a gong smith who works near Surakarta in Central Java, the old royal capital, more familiarly known as Solo.

After my initial impressions gave way to daily study, I soon discovered many inescapable similarities between the 1907 practice of Bin Hama's besalèn and that of Tentrem in the present. Certainly there were a few differences, but in general it seemed as if time had been suspended. No radical modernization of traditional instrumental types had been introduced; instead, the old forms are venerated, and change in the technology that produced them is considered unnecessary. No machinery or other technological change has speeded up manufacture, replaced workers, or regulated product quality; instead, the employment of fairly large groups of workers and the basic division of labor—both fundamental to the art—have been fully retained. Observing the operations in Tentrem's shop, I felt as if I were witnessing a drama that had been rehearsed for centuries. The team of artisans carried out their assigned tasks in perfect accord, and little was said to direct the proceedings; reprimand was utterly unnecessary. Here was a community in the broadest sense of the word, based on the practice of a time-honored art, interconnected by family ties, and consciously following workshop traditions that had guided their ancestors for generations.

Perhaps the most striking difference between the 1907 account and the process as I observed was the relative casualness inside Tentrem’s besalèn. Unlike their counterparts of eighty years before, or even fifty years before as reported by Kunst in 1933, the men no longer assumed protective mythological names. Nor did they seem to treat their hammers with visibly conspicuous respect by resting them on special wooden platforms as was reported in 1907. Another difference lay in the remarkable candor, the nearly evangelistic enthusiasm, with which Tentrem discussed the once-secret knowledge of voicing and fine-tuning gongs. The most objective difference, however, had to do with the materials used for some of the tools. In Bin Hama's besalèn, for example, the three standard anvils implanted in the besalèn's floor could be made only of stone procured from a particular village near the active volcano, Gunung Merapi; in Tentrem's besalèn, two of these had recently been replaced by steel. Another difference, which may well have been caused only by the amount of work commissioned while I was on hand, was the quantity of bronze smelted at one time. Jacobson and van Hasselt reported that enough was made each Friday afternoon to provide the basic material for the entire output of the besalèn in the coming week. While I was with him, Tentrem chose to prepare the bronze for each instrument individually, immediately before its fabrication a procedure that also cut costs, since precious material is lost as slag each time the metal is brought to a molten state. Aside from these differences, and some terminology that I will note, the process I observed in Surakarta in 1988 and 1990 was identical to that described in Semarang in 1907.

Comparing photographs of both shops (figs. 2, & 3), one can see that the floor plan of Tentrem's besalèn is similar to that of Bin Hama. Most important, the anvils in both shops are placed in the same positions relative to the fire. The only significant differences are the location of the pool of water used for quenching the red hot metal and the comparative roominess of Bin Hama's besalèn. Indeed, the ceiling height and distance of the walls from the fire are no small matters: because of limited space, both Tentrem and Resowiguno (whose biography is presented later) report having burned down their smithies (or nearly so) when making gongs larger than the design of their workplace could accommodate.

The day's work at Tentrem's besalèn begins with the smelting of enough high-tin-content bronze (ten parts copper to three parts tin, the same as was reported in 1907) in a crucible with a weighed quantity of copper and buried in one of the fire pits (figs. 4 & 5). There are two complementary air conduits: a downward-directed metal tube (not made of bamboo, as in Semarang) with an elbow formed of a heat-resistant mixture of clay and sand, and an upward-directed subterranean channel. Each measures about ten centimeters in diameter and has a goatskin bellows tied to the tube with an open end which, when properly manipulated between the body and the forearm of the operator, feeds massive amounts of air to the fire. Once the copper is molten and the tin has been mixed in, a small amount is poured into a mold with two coin-sized indentations. In Semarang, the mold had only one indentation; the other coin was formed by pouring some of the alloy into a depression in the floor. The coins thus produced are used for assaying the alloy. One coin is quickly cooled and broken to reveal the granularity of the metal at the fissure. The other is hammered to a thickness of about 2 mm and bent over onto itself to test the mixture's malleability. Adjustments are made by adding the appropriate element until the smith determines the suitability of the bronze, which is then poured either into troughs in the floor for usage at a later time (called leleran in Semarang, luluhan in Solo), or into the pre-heated open concave mold to begin making the instrument.

Transforming the cast disk into a gong ageng, a gong with a diameter greater than eighty-five centimeters, is a repetitious process of hammering and re-heating the piece which can easily consume the labors of 13 men for as long as three working days or longer, if problems arise. The division of labor is predetermined so that, as the day's work proceeds each worker has some time to rest between his required tasks. The bellows operators work while the master gong smith manipulates the disk in the fire until it is red hot; they rest while a helper transports the piece from the fire to the hammering area. Working almost as if possessed of a single mind, the team of as many as five smiths, shoulder-to-shoulder and wielding nine-kilogram hammers, rains rapidly falling blows on the disk as it is slowly rotated on the anvil by the master's primary assistant. The sights and sounds of this process are absolutely mesmerizing. (figs. 6 & 7) After a short period of rapid hammering, the piece has cooled and must be ferried back to the fire by the helper. While the fire roars again, the men rest their hammers and relax and the primary assistant reshapes a mound of clay next to the anvil which is used to properly support the disk during the next round of hammering. As the process is repeated, again and again, the disk takes on many surprising shapes (figs. 8 & 9).

The wall of the gong, its edge, and its inward inclination are set initially on the main anvil which by now has had enough clay built up to support the disk at a steep angle. (fig. 10) Attention is then turned to forming the knob, or pencu, called endas by the smiths in Semarang, by gently hammering the center of the nascent gong over a small cavity which has been hollowed out in the besalèn's earthen floor next to a different steel anvil. This is a delicate process since Tentrem, as before in Semarang, uses no predetermined form to guide the shaping of the knob. For most small gongs less than 60 cm in diameter, an indentation, or widheng, is formed surrounding the knob at its base. This feature produces a fuller tone and, while not characteristic of all traditions, its use is mentioned in the 1907 article as being particularly favored by the Solonese. (See figure 11 for a diagram of the parts of a gong.)

As the hot forging nears completion, the interior and angle of the sidewall, or bau, is set using an anvil with a vertical face which, like those of Semarang, is still made of stone. To accomplish this, the gong is laid onto two wooden beams which are held as an adjustable platform for the gong while it is hammered against the face of the anvil. When this shaping is completed, a welded steel hoop (klowong according to Tentrem, blengker to Bin Hama) is fitted around the open end of the gong to minimize any deformation of its shape during quenching. The gong is then completely and evenly reheated and, with little ceremony, quickly immersed in the pool of water.

Once cool to the touch, the gong is given its final shape, voice, and pitch by a sequence of processes, all involving cold hammering. To establish the final contour of the rising collar (recep) surrounding the central flat section (rai), the gong is clamped down onto a horizontal anvil with tremendous pressure exerted on it through a movable wooden stake held in place by a stout wooden lever measuring approximately five meters in length (fig. 12). While the face of the gong is flexed in this way, the areas on each side of the wooden stake are vigorously worked with short iron hammers until the curvature is fixed. Then the lever is lifted to release the pressure. The gong is rotated a little bit and then reclamped and hammered again. The steps are repeated until the entire face of the gong assumes its final form.

The process of voicing and tuning is extremely complex, but Jacobson and van Hasselt offer little insight, claiming "the tuner himself was almost entirely unable to account for the 'how' and 'why' of his methods." [note 2] They say only that, in contrast to the practice in Banjanegara, hammering is preferred over filing as the method for voicing and tuning a finished gong. In this Tentrem agrees but his practice appears to differ here from that in Semarang some eighty years ago. Only two of the six primary voicing techniques reported are now referred to by the same name (njuluk and ngendak). Most significantly, Bin Hama did not mention using clay during voicing and final tuning. Tentrem considers the affixing of clay to various portions of a gong's face essential, as the clay temporarily alters the way the gong vibrates, thereby helping him determine where and with how much force he must hammer to produce the best voice. While it is unlikely that such astute observers as Jacobson and van Hasselt would have neglected to mention the clay, it is possible that Bin Hama chose not to disclose the entire process, perhaps being reluctant to reveal his most specialized knowledge. For whatever reasons, we are now left to speculate about this crucial operation in the fabrication of the famous gongs of Semarang.

The Art and its Transmission

That the workshop traditions of the Javanese gong smith changed little over the course of the twentieth century—a period of unprecedented change—is remarkable. As the product of the art is expensive, its very survival requires a reasonably stable economy. Even so, very few could derive their livelihood solely from its practice. When that economy was besieged during the final phases of export-oriented colonialism and revolutionary war that followed,the survival of gong smithing was at risk. Because the primary cost of gamelan manufacture has always been the purchase copper and tin, materials which were particularly precious during wartime, we can presume gamelan commissions virtually ceased during the economic and cultural dislocation from the mid-1930s to the mid-1950s. Further, since new gong ageng are usually made only when a full gamelan has been ordered (and are its most costly elements), it is highly probable that not a single opportunity to make a gong ageng was to be had throughout this nearly thirty-year period. Thus, the vanishing of the art, forecast by Kunst in 1933 and then decried by him in 1949, must be understood primarily as a symptom of a terribly distressed economy, and not as indicating disinterest or inability on the part of gong smiths.

On the contrary, the resilience of the gong smith’s art has long depended on its direct transmission through the traditional apprenticeship system which was sustained by the need for replacements of broken parts and for smaller instruments, which require the same skills but practiced on a less grandiose scale. It must be pointed out, however, that when attempting to make a gong ageng, all aspects of the instrument maker's art are not merely incrementally greater. Small workshops could conceivably expand their modest facilities to make gong ageng, but the art of the instrument maker and effort—in cost of materials, demands on the gong smith’s mastery, the size of his besalén, the length of time he needs, and number of his assistants, not to mention his own spiritual strength—are magnified disproportionately.

I believe that this is precisely what happened in Surakarta, where there was a tremendous amount of musical activity and where the gongsmiths would have been required to maintain hundreds of gamelans. Jacobson and van Hasselt statement that the Semarang smiths specialized in the manufacture of gong ageng and left the smaller instruments to others creates an unbalanced impression of gong smithing in and around Surakarta, where royal patronage had provided both the money and the demand for instruments—including gong ageng—of the highest quality. This claim to specialization may also help to explain why the Semarang besalèn ceased production: because of the nature of their product, they were in a less favorable position to withstand the rigors of wartime economy. The Solonese, on the other hand, were able to maintain their skills at a modest level until the demand for big gongs resumed.

Workshop Lineage and the Gong Smiths

For centuries, the art of the gong smiths was learned and passed on through apprenticeships largely within families. Today, at best, the few written accounts of these instrument makers can synthesized with oral history to produce brief, and in some cases speculative biographical sketches. [note 3] Much of the information that follows came from personal conversations with Tentrem Sarwanto. It is offered with full recognition that it is incomplete; there be other gong smiths from same period equally deserving of recognition. Moreover, identification is often uncertain because surnames are not inherited, several different spelling conventions are in use, and a person may be known by several unrelated names that are frequently shortened with certain syllables given different leading consonants. Nevertheless, it is important to document the lineages and relationships of Javanese gong smiths as we can now reconstruct them, not only for their inherent interest but for the insights they offer into the transmission of tradition in Javanese culture.

Figure 14: A chart of some workshop lineage traditions in Surakarta and Semarang

Gunaprawira, a highly respected gongsmith in Surakarta was born about the middle of the nineteenth century. He lived and worked in the kampung (neighborhood or residential district) known as Kemlayan, just west of the Kraton (royal palace, the residence of the Sunan), where many abdi dalem (court servant or employee) lived, especially musicians and instrument makers. (fig. 15) He was probably the proprietor of what Tentrem referred to as 'Perusahan Gunapangrawitan' (perusahan can be translated as 'firm of') located in the eastern portion of the kampung, an area known as Nonongan. His younger brother, Warsajaya (died 1914), was also highly esteemed for his skills as a gong smith in the family business. Since Warsajaya's only child was a daughter, one of his young apprentices, Kamija, became his adopted son and designated successor. When Warsajaya died, some of his tools, and perhaps other parts of his estate, descended to Kamija who by that time had taken on the name Kartapandaya (see below), later became the father of Tentrem Sarwanto. At least one of Warsajaya's tools was still in use in Tentrem's besalèn in 1990.

In the next generation was Gunapradongga, who was probably closely related to Gunaprawira and Warsajaya. Kunst locates Gunapradongga’s besalèn in kampung Sangkraknyayan (probably another name or a misspelling of Sangkrahjayan; today known as Sangkrah), désa Jajéngan, sub-district Serengan and infers that he was capable of making gong ageng which Kunst defines as a gong with a diameter up to one meter but not usually larger than sixty or seventy centimeters. This is also probably the same man with whom Resowiguno (see below) studied sometime between 1942 and 1955 when he is said to have been working in Gandèkan, which is part of Serengan. Gunapradongga was most likely born about 1890 and probably a close relation—if not a brother—to the great Kraton musician Prajawiguna (died mid-1940s), who lived near the family's business, in kampung Kemlayan. Since proprietorship of Gunapangrawitan passed to Prajawiguna's younger son Hadipurwaka (see below), Pradjawiguna had probably maintained some level of interest in it. This assumption would make sense only if the proprietorship had been passed down through the family to him by Gunaprawira or if his brother, Gunapradongga, had had no heirs interested in the business. Prajawiguna's younger son, Hadipurwoko (ca. 1910–1985) was a musician of considerable skill. Another son, Gunapangrawit (ca. 1910–1979) was also a great Kraton musician who benefited from the family business for part of his income, like his father before him.

Approximately the same age as Gunapradongga was another pair of brothers, Karyopradongga (ca. 1880–ca. 1930) and Yasapradongga (ca. 1890–ca. 1942) who were also involved in making and playing musical instruments. Karyopradongga was originally from kampung Kaumen but moved to the adjacent kampung Kemlayan where he lived the rest of his life. Before becoming a gong smith, he first served Pakubuwana X as a Kraton musician for about three to four years, with the name, Ki Danapangrawit, after which he took on the name by which he is known today. He is remembered as a great maker of instruments, and was capable of making gongs up to about 65 cm in diameter. His brother, Yasapradongga was apparently not quite so highly regarded as a musician but was, in the opinion of some, an even greater gong smith. He had his own besalèn in Kemlayan but also used the two Kraton smithies (located in kampung Gambuhan, Baluwarti) as abdi dalem. Tentrem often remarked that Yasapradongga ‘s work was of the finest quality. The brothers’ workshop in Kemlayan was close to the instrument-making business in Nonongan, and they can be presumed to have participated in it from time to time, depending on the size of the instruments commissioned.

Another man of a later generation took the name Karyopradongga and can therefore be referred to as Karyopradongga II (ca. 1915–1975), though not related to the brother of Yasapradonggo. He lived and worked in kampung Kemlayan very near Gunapangrawitan. In his small besalèn he was known to have made excellent metallophone keys). He taught at the National Arts Academy (A.S.K.I.) in Surakarta after its founding in 1964 and was one of the experts interviewed by S. Pranoto for his monograph on gong smiths.

Another significant gong smith who studied with Karyopradongga (I) was Atmawiguna, born late in the nineteenth century. He was affiliated with the Mangkunegara (probably as an abdi dalem), and located his besalèn in kampung Gendèngan. Kunst lists him as one of the three gongsmiths active in Surakarta and indicates he was capable of making gong ageng. Atmawiguna probably deserves much greater notice in his own right and may also have been authorized to use the besalén in the Istana Mangkunegaran (palace of the Mangkunegara, located barely one kilometer northwest of the Kraton, which was later to become the site of Leppin Karyo Yasa. If this speculation is true, he may have had a direct influence on a number of gong smiths from Jatiteken Nglaban, including Pawirasetsma and possibly Kartapandaya (see below).

Kartapandaya (1884–1972) was the firstborn son of Trasengaya, an instrument maker living in Yogyakarta. About 1890, Kamija (his familiar name) and his mother moved to Solo and shortly thereafter, began working for 'Perusahan Gunapangrawitan.' As previously mentioned, Warsajaya adopted him, thereby making him one of the inheritors of the Gunaprawira tradition and launching a long career in which he would play a central role in the transmission of the tradition in Surakarta. As with several other gongsmiths, young Kamija first wished to become a Kraton musician and for a short time served as a magang niaga ("entry-level" musician). However, Pakubuwana X gave him employment as a gong smith and gave him the name Kartapandaya (which Tentrem translates as: karta, meaning "calm", and pandaya, meaning "powerful"). In 1912 Kartapandaya moved his household to kampung Ngepung in Semanggi, just south of Sangkrah and a little farther than one kilometer from the Kraton, where he served as an abdi dalem. Kunst includes him with Gunapradongga and Atmawiguna as the only three gongsmiths active in Solo but indicates that Kartapandaja was not making gong ageng [note 4]. According to Pranoto, Resowiguno studied with Kartapandaya for some undetermined length of time between 1943 and 1955. Considering Resowiguno's goal of learning to make gong ageng, it would seem likely that Kartapandaja was at least capable of teaching him how to do so. From a letter in Tentrem's possession we also know that in 1959 the cymbal manufacturer, M. M. Paiste & Sohn was directed to Kartapandaya by the Indonesian Consulate in Germany as a vendor for "Gamelan-Gong-Orchestra Instruments." Apparently an employee was sent to study with Kartapandaya at that time, and, according to Toomas Paiste, by 1963 his father's firm was making tuned knobbed gongs in the range of three octaves.

Kartapandaya married the daughter of an abdi dalem in the service of Mangkunegara and thereby became the brother-in-law of Pawirosetomo (see below). Considering the years in which her sons were born (Sajio in 1937, Sutarjo in 1938 and Tentrem Sarwanto in 1941), Kartapandaya's wife must have been considerably younger than her husband. Perhaps Kartapandaya arranged the marriage so that he would become connected to the Mangkunegaran, or maybe romance simply blossomed during the time when Pawirosetomo was working for the older gongsmith. According to Tentrem, Karyopradongga II also studied (or worked) with him Kartapandaya for some period, as did Wongsosemito and his son, Wikpaiman. Thus, because of the tradition in which he was trained, the advanced age when he first became a father and his very long life, Kartapandaja played a central role in the transmission of gong smithing in Surakarta by providing direct training to two generations of several families while he brought up his own sons as gong smiths as well.

Tentrem Sarwanto (born 1941) (fig. 16) and his elder brothers continue Kartapandaja's tradition into the present. Atypically, the youngest son was designated by their father as his spiritual successor and the one to carry on his tradition. Like several mentioned above, Tentrem wanted to become musician but since becoming an abdi dalem is not a realistic option these days, he enrolled in the National Academy for Performing Arts. Bpk. Humardani, the Academy's late and highly esteemed director, stressed the need for continuity in the gong smithing tradition and encouraged him to follow his father's work. In the early 1970s Tentrem, with Hadipurwoko as his guarantor, was commissioned to re-tune the primary gamelan at RRI, the radio station in Surakarta (and the one heard most often on commercial tapes released by Lokananta). About 1974, he and his brothers began to make small instruments in their father's besalèn and in a few years became familiar with the foreign students studying gamelan in Solo (including the author). Perhaps because of the relative proximity of his besalèn, or possibly because of his very personable style, in time he had attracted the notice of many prospective instrument buyers. Since then he has sent quite a few ensembles to Japan, Australia, Europe and North America. He is well appreciated in Indonesia. About 1987 made a cemengan gamelan, in which all bronze pieces tuned while still in the fire and left fire-blackened and unpolished. This unusual gamelan, now at the University of North Sumatra in Medan, has a very powerful visual impact and is a strong testimony to Tentrem's ability. His shop can make all kinds of instruments and has successfully forged at least one gong ageng measuring 105 centimeters in diameter.

Resowiguna (1916–1994) was well known in Central Java as the most prominent gongsmith from about 1958 onward and is the one to whom Mantle Hood refers in 1971. [note 5] Resowiguno (also known as Rekso Wiguno) seems to have been a remarkably self-motivated man who, about the age of thirty and with no family background in gong smithing, apprenticed with the three primary gong smiths of the time: Kuwat Bin Hama of Semarang, Gunapradonggo of Surakarta, and Kartapandaya of Ngepung, on the outskirts of Surakarta. In 1955 he set up his own besalèn in the village of Wirun near Bekonang (about five kilometers from Kraton Surakarta) and after three years of experimentation, began to make gong ageng successfully. About at this time Hood offered financial support to underwrite the continuation of his efforts but this support was apparently not as necessary as it had seemed previously because the local market for gong ageng was beginning to revitalize. Also at about this time, a gamelan production factory, the Leppin Karya Yasa (also known as the Pabrik), was established within the palace of the Mangkunegara. It supplied new gamelans to a number of foreign embassies, consulates, large Indonesian employee groups as well as the 1965 New York World's Fair. Although invited to be its director, Resowiguno chose to remain independent but to be the main supplier of its gong ageng. Although this venture lasted only a few years, Resowiguno continued making gamelan instruments for his own customers, including several gamelans for A.S.K.I., well after the Pabrik terminated production. He had three sons: Supono (born 1948), Supono, and Panggyo and Supono has now taken over the business. The besalèn makes very fine instruments and is able to make gongs with diameters of eighty-five centimeters and larger.

It seems that the village of Jatiteken, about 3 kilometers from the Kraton, has long been a center for gamelan instrument making and perhaps for the fabrication of gong ageng as well. Three of the six makers named by Pranoto live in this village and it seems to have been the primary supplier of smaller instruments to the Pabrik. Although Kunst states that Kartapandaya was active in Jatiteken as of 1933, I am inclined to think that unlikely, though Kartapandaya did have strong connections with other gong smiths who lived there. Primary among these was Pawirosetomo (ca. 1910–1981), the son of an abdi dalem in the service of the Mangkunegara, and himself an abdi dalem, given the name Rangga Pawirosetomo by Mangkunegara VII (died in 1944). Pawirosetomo was the younger brother of Kartapandaya's wife and therefore the uncle to Tentrem and his brothers. Although I was unable to ascertain the capabilities of his besalèn, Pranoto indicates that he had a besalèn at his home and that the largest instrument made there was a gong suwukan (usually about sixty centimeters in diameter). Pawirosetomo's son, Supardjo (born about 1940) is now a gong smith of considerable standing and may well be the man referred to by Pranoto as Kartosumardjo. If this is so, on the day Pranoto visited his besalèn in the mid-1960s, he was working on a kenong (a tall kettle about forty-five centimeters in diameter) with five other workers and was said to be capable of making gong suwukan, just like his father. This would seem to indicate a fair degree of organized activity but unfortunately, nothing more about his gong making activities during this period is written. As can be seen in figure 1, Suparja is sometimes called in to be an active participant in Tentrem’s besalèn. Another gong smith of about the same generation, Wongsosemito (born ca. 1910) was a brother-in-law of Pawirosetomo and father of Wikpaiman (born ca. 1935). Both Wongsasemita and his son worked for Kartapandaya. At present, and depending on the level of activity in Tentrem's besalèn, Wikpaiman again travels to Ngepung to assist his cousins.

From Jacobson and van Hasselt we know that Bin Hama (ca. 1870–ca. 1930) was one of the seven smiths working in Semarang in 1907. Their use of the term, "smith," is ambiguous, however, since the first two they list (Pak Ladina and Pak Alia) are described not working smiths but as proprietors of smithies. Bin Hama (also referred to as Hama) is thus the ranking smith of the remaining five. He appears to be about forty in the photograph taken for Jacobson and van Hasselt ‘s article (fig. 17), so he must have been born about 1870. In 1933 Kunst states that Pak Alyiah (presumably Pak Alia) was making gong ageng with Sarasa (possibly Bin Hama’s first son, Santosa). Nothing is known of the others listed in 1907. From Pranoto we learn that Bin Hama's besalèn could reliably make gongs of 110 centimeters in diameter early in its active period. After his death the besalèn descended to his first son, Santosa Bin Hama (born ca. 1910), who operated it until his death when it passed to Bin Hama's second son Kuwat Bin Hama. Apparently Kuwat Bin Hama was still active when Pranoto was conducting the research which he published in the late 1960s. He states that by the time the besalèn had descended to Kuwat Bin Hama (probably the late 1940s), the gong smiths there no longer even attempted to produce gongs more than ninety centimeters in diameter.

The Survival of the Gong Smith’s Art

It is unfortunate that only the gongsmith's art as practiced in Semarang was carefully documented in the past. Why this is so cannot be known. It may have been that Semarang was, indeed, the most important of all the sites or it may have been simply the most convenient venue for these observers. Kunst indicates that as many as twenty-one smiths were making some kinds of bronze gamelan instruments in all of Central Java just prior to the publication of his Music in Java. In fact, he lists eight active in the vicinity of Blora alone—six more than he named in Semarang—yet we know nothing about the nature and level of their activities. Perhaps even more disappointing is our lack of knowledge about the art in Surakarta. Jacobson and van Hasselt point out the desirability for comparison of gongsmithing in Solo and Pagongan (probably meaning Bekonang), and it is a great loss that no one took up their recommendation. It is my hope that this article will stimulate research while it is still possible to piece together even an incomplete understanding of what was most probably a thriving specialty.

Fortunately the actual art of gongsmithing has been perpetuated through a combination of traditional transmission and academic research carried out primarily by faculty and students at A.S.K.I. Happily, it also appears to be thriving as it responds to a strong Indonesian and international market.

Bibliography

Edw. Jacobson & J.H. van Hasselt, De Gong-Fabricatie te Semarang; Rijksmuseum voor Volkenkunde, Ser. 2, no. 15, (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1907, translated into English by Andrew Toth as "The Manufacture of Gongs in Semarang," Indonesia 19 (April, 1975): 127-172
The only historical written record of the process.

Jaap Kunst, Music In Java. 3rd ed., Ernst Heins, editor (The Hague, Martinus Nijhoff: 1973)
The starting point for nearly any inquiry on Javanese music.

Jamie Murray Linwood, Indonesian and African Tuned Percussion: A Selective Study (Unpublished Masters Thesis, London Guildhall University: 1994).
The bronze instrument section (pp 10-69) is a very detailed and well-illustrated presentation of techniques currently in use in Tentrem's besalèn and could be considered nearly a companion volume to Jacobson and van Hasselt.

Sam Quigley, Copper, Tin and Fire: Gongsmithing in Central Java (Video documentary: 1989)
A 42-minute narrated presentation of gong manufacture in Tentrem's besalèn from start to finish.

Neil Sorrell, A Guide to the Gamelan (Faber, London: 1990)
An excellent introduction to the music of Central Java with an extensive section on instrument manufacture.