IR: As a foreigner have you experienced friction trying to document music in Indonesia? How have you navigated those moments?

PK: I think that actually, on the contrary, my status as a foreigner, and especially as bule or white person, has often helped my work go smoothly. Contrary to other parts of the world where outsiders or foreigners may be looked at with suspicion, most foreigners travelling through Indonesia have likely experienced the opposite. The profoundly positive, curious, generous attitude towards foreigners is a strange privilege. I know of Indonesian ethnomusicologists who have attempted to fieldwork in an area outside their home and been met with suspicion. I, on the other hand, rarely have people question my motives, even when I’d actually like them to! The “bule effect” is especially strong as I travel to areas that see few tourists. So, in an odd way, the musicians and communities I meet are often, strangely, just as delighted to meet me as I am to meet them and hear their music. This often makes for good vibes and a comfortable atmosphere, but it can also result in some odd dynamics. I sometimes have to direct the attention back towards the musicians if a crowd has gathered: we’re here to enjoy this beautiful music, I’ll joke, not to take selfies with the bule! In these moments, I try to recognize the ever-present privilege of being a white person in Indonesia, and to humble myself in front of the musicians and their communities, centering their efforts above my own.

IR: Almost invariably, cross-cultural projects that seek to share cultural practices with new audiences must navigate complex issues surrounding power and representation. What challenges does Aural Archipelago face? How do you navigate them?

PK: This is an issue that I am constantly thinking about. I will never be without privilege, and the music that I share will never be mine. With those things in mind, I have to be very conscientious as I do this work. It’s an odd thing, as Indonesians themselves are so agreeable and polite that I’ve never been questioned about these issues, so I’m forced to instead be hard on myself about it. It is an honor to share so much of this music with the world, but it is also a huge responsibility and one which I take seriously. I always, when possible, try to express my intentions with the project to the musicians I’m working with, and to gain explicit permission to share their music in this way. Again, this is not my music to share, so I am profoundly thankful that musicians are almost always quite happy to share their music with the world.

As for representation, I am very careful in my writing and in my documentation not to exotify or objectify the musicians I work with. I think the humans behind the music are often forgotten in field recording work and some strains of ethnomusicology, so I try my best to foreground the people I meet who give life to this music in a way that is fair and feels right.

IR: How do you ensure the platform serves people creating the music instead of your own goals?

PK: Luckily, my goals and those of the musicians I meet are rarely at odds. My goals are to share music and information with the world, and in turn raise awareness about music and cultures that others may not know about, even within these communities themselves. The musicians I meet often express the feeling that their music is forgotten, invisible even to the young people in their own community. Just having someone arrive who cares, who is interested, can be a spark. Then to have their music out in the world, being shared across islands and across continents, can be a big thing.

So if I ask myself, who is this all for? I’d like to think it’s for everyone. I can’t deny that it has rewards for me: it is essentially an overgrown hobby, so there’s no doubt that one aspect of it is for my own pleasure. But ideally it serves the musicians and their communities equally. I know this is all a bit abstract: I’m one guy with limited funding meeting hundreds of musicians across the country, so on a material level there’s only so much I can do. But I’m always thinking about how I can do more, and how I can use this privileged platform to help the people who have helped me so much.

IR: In what ways does your work benefit from the internet and social media? Are there any drawbacks?

PK: I’ve grown up on computers and on the internet, so as a medium, it seemed like a no-brainer to host the material I gather and create online. Streaming audio is a big boon, making recordings accessible online in a way that wasn’t really possible even ten years ago. In an age where almost every Indonesian now has a smartphone and a data plan, it’s also a huge bonus that this medium is far more accessible to the average Indonesian than any other. Were many Indonesians buying CDs of Balinese field recordings in the 90s? Not likely. Did any Indonesian at all have access to Jaap Kunst’s wax cylinder field recordings in the 30s? Almost certainly not. But with increasing access to internet and data, it’s amazing to see Indonesians themselves engaging with some of this material, a lot of which has been ignored by the local recording industry.

Aural Archipelago definitely has a niche audience, but it wouldn’t have an audience at all if it weren’t for social media. The particularities of social media have had a measured effect on how I work and what I share. For example, I’m an audio lover, so in the beginning I almost never made video, choosing instead to focus on the pure sound experience. Social media is a visual space, though, one which prioritizes images and video over anything else. With that in mind, I started to focus on sharing video on platforms like Facebook and YouTube, a strategy which has found whole new audiences for the music. The downside is that people don’t go on social media for a rich, in-depth learning experience. Most people probably watch the video for ten seconds, then keep on scrolling. Few people even click over to the site proper, which is full of so much of what I consider vital: contextual information, photos, full credits. Still, it’s there for those who are curious.

IR: How do you measure Aural Archipelago’s success? What could it do better?

PK: As my aim is to get this music out there into the world, my general measure of success is how many ears this music is reaching. So far I’ve been pretty happy with this, with great views on Facebook (mostly from those outside Indonesia) with good engagement on YouTube (mostly from Indonesians, especially those from the area featured in any one video). Like I said, though, it’s still a niche thing, whereas I’d love to be an Indonesian music evangelist, sharing this music and my love for it with as many people as I can. It’s an interesting challenge to grow the project without “selling out” or changing the form dramatically. The idealist in me, though, wants the project to be enjoyed by more Indonesians, and on that front it could definitely do better. I share almost all of my material in English simply because I’m not confident at all in my written Indonesian, but I’d love to create an Indonesian language version of the site so that the accompanying information that I consider so vital could be accessible to even more people.

IR: What are the greatest threats to the long-term sustainability of the project?

PK: To be frank, the biggest threat and/or obstacle is always going to be money. From day one I have run Aural Archipelago as a passion project, funding it all out of my own pocket and using most of my salary from my teaching job to do so. This is possible because I do everything backpacker style: not using super-expensive gear, travelling with everything in a backpack on my own motorbike if possible, relying on the generosity of others to stay in people’s homes. There is, of course, a limit, and there are musics whose performances I’ve never commissioned simply because I couldn’t afford it. These are the pitfalls of doing ethnomusicology independently: I have no grants, no sponsors, no patrons other than the very few who donate through my site. I’m interested about exploring alternative models like Patreon to fund the work, but never feel fully comfortable asking for money. I’ve done okay so far, but in many ways I’ve had to limit the ambitiousness of the project simply due to financial considerations.

IR: Are there any Indonesian musics that you would like represented in Aural Archipelago that you haven’t had the opportunity to record yet?

PK: Oh, so many. I’ve been doing this for more than five years now and I’ve heard and documented only a fraction of the music in this incredible country. One area that I would truly love to explore is Papua. That area is so culturally rich but almost no recordings are available of traditional Papuan music, and with almost no in-depth research done there. Understandably so – it’s a volatile region heavily under state control. Partially because of this state control, its a misunderstood part of the country, with most non-Papuans thinking of the people as backwards, primitive. Having more access to the depth and complexity of Papuan culture would be one way to remedy that issue. I’ve left Papua alone until now, though, precisely because of the complex ethical issues that would come with working there, but I’d love to find a way to navigate those some day.

IR: Indonesia is replete with music inspired by or assimilated from other parts of the world. Do you foresee Aural Archipelago venturing into non-Indonesian music as it is practiced by Indonesians?

PK: I’m conflicted about this. There’s a lot of fascinating “non-Indonesian” music going on across the country, from the noise scene in Jogja to electro jams from Flores. I think the music that I’m most drawn to research and share on Aural Archipelago, though, has always been music that, ancient or not, bears audible markers of the place from which is comes. It’s a strange line to draw, though. I understand that all music is of a time and place, and that an import like noise music can become just as localized as a string band playing church songs in Maluku. I’ve never consciously come up with rules about what or what not to share, so ultimately it’s a matter of feeling it out.

IR: Does Aural Archipelago have any forthcoming documentation that you’re excited to share with people?

PK: I’m sitting on a backlog of material that I can’t wait to share. Goblet drums and chanting in North Sulawesi, musical bus horn music of West Sumatra, trance music from Java. This year Aural Archipelago will be releasing an album of field recordings on a great label – that one’s still in the works, so stay on the lookout. And I plan to continue to travel to corners of the archipelago not yet covered on the site: South and Central Kalimantan, the Riau islands, maybe even Bali! The journey continues, with so much more to share and explore!