In Indonesia, faith and fun collide after sexy dangdut show at Islamic event

JAKARTA – One song, one stage and one banner were all it took to ignite a national debate in Indonesia over the boundaries of faith and fun.

In Banyuwangi, a regency in East Java, a stage was set to celebrate Isra’ Mi’raj, one of Islam’s most sacred nights commemorating Prophet Muhammad’s journey from Mecca to Al-Aqsa Mosque in Jerusalem and his ascension to heaven. The setting was intended for sermons and prayer.

But, on Jan 16, what followed the sermons and prayer was something else entirely: A dangdut singer in a skin-tight tube dress took the stage, her hips swaying to the lively dance beat of dangdut in the Osing dialect, while a man climbed onto the stage to dance and tip her.

Someone filmed it. Within hours, the clip spread across social media, unsettling many in the public.

Isra’ Mi’raj is solemn, while dangdut performances thrive on physical closeness and crowd interaction. For critics, the two worlds had collided.

Organisers insisted there had been no disrespect.

Mr Muhammad Hadiyanto, head of the local committee, said the religious programme had ended, and the clerics had left before the music began. The performance, he said, was intended only to entertain committee members during the clean-up.

“I apologise sincerely for the misunderstanding that occurred,” he said on Jan 16.

The apology did little to quell outrage. Religious leaders called it a moral failure.

“This incident is deeply regrettable,” said Mr Sunandi Zubaidi, deputy chairman of Banyuwangi’s Indonesian Ulema Council (MUI), on Jan 16. “The nobility of dakwah (Islamic preaching) has been stained by actions that do not reflect Islamic values.”

He warned that sacred events should not be mixed with acts leading to immorality, including exposing aurat (intimate parts of the body according to Islam), erotic dancing and ikhtilat (mingling of men and women). He added that such actions could constitute blasphemy.

Lawmakers echoed the concern. Parliamentarian Singgih Januratmoko said the issue cut to the heart of how society protects the sanctity of religion.

“The claim that the entertainment was held after the main event does not in itself resolve the issue,” he said on Jan 19. “From a religious standpoint, the setting, symbols and context are inseparable.”

Police said no criminal offence had been committed, but confirmed the dangdut show was not listed in the event permit.

Whose responsibility?

Public anger was initially directed at the singer. Among cultural observers and industry insiders, however, the responsibility lay elsewhere: with the organisers.

“If you invite a dangdut singer, she is simply doing her job. She comes to perform. Please do not blame the artiste. We do not know what happened behind the scenes,” Mr Muhamad Said, founder of Koji Management Artistes and Talents, told The Straits Times. The dangdut singer involved in the incident was not represented by his agency.

Organisers must understand the nature of an event and ensure performances align with its concept and audience. For religious occasions, that might mean selecting “religious dangdut” styles, such as marawis percussion ensembles, modestly dressed singers, or religious songs, Mr Said noted.

According to him, managers must also weigh timing, audience and context before sending an artiste to an assignment. Energetic or provocative performers are avoided for solemn events, while those with a religious repertoire are preferred. If organisers misrepresent an event or fail to provide full details, adjustments can sometimes be made on-site.

“When a clip goes viral, people only see what happens on stage. They do not see the preparation behind the scenes – the coordination, the briefings, the warnings.

“Yet the public reaction is often, ‘Why is dangdut like this?’” he added.

Dangdut, one of Indonesia’s most popular music genres, is built on hypnotic, tabla-like rhythms and blends Indian percussion, Malay melodies and Arabic phrasing.

It emerged in the 1930s and gained prominence in the 1950s during President Sukarno’s anti-Western cultural drive, which restricted Hollywood films but allowed Hindi cinema. By the 1960s, local singers appeared, though the genre remained closely tied to villages and the social underclass.

In the 1970s, Indonesia’s “King of Dangdut” Rhoma Irama electrified dangdut with guitars and rock influences drawn from bands such as Deep Purple, bringing the genre beyond rural communities. He rebranded his group, Soneta, as “The Voice of Moslem”, blending dangdut with Islamic themes. He also introduced gender separation on stage and replaced rock elements with religiously oriented performances.

Early concerts were met with hostility, with stones and sandals thrown at the stage. MUI initially declared it haram – forbidden under Islamic law – to sing Quranic verses but later endorsed the dangdut legend’s work.

Like other Indonesian musical art forms such as jaipongan and campursari, dangdut has increasingly incorporated sexually suggestive lyrics and raunchy dance moves, testing boundaries in the world’s largest Muslim-majority nation.

Dangdut is no stranger to controversy. In 2003, dangdut star Inul Daratista sparked outrage with a dance move dubbed “goyang ngebor”, or “drilling dance”, where she would make rapid hip movements as if drilling the ground. The move was later banned in several provinces.

The late Julia Perez continued the boundary-testing trend with revealing costumes and sexually charged lyrics, drawing comparisons to Western pop stars such as Lady Gaga.

Traditional dangdut musicians argue that such performances tarnish the genre and erode moral values. Yet, the racy style remains wildly popular, highlighting a persistent tension between culture and entertainment, and conservative norms.

Mr Endo Suanda, an ethnomusicologist who has long studied traditional performing arts, said the issue lies instead with placing performances perceived as vulgar, sensual or erotic in a public religious space.

“Art like this exists because there is an audience for it. The question is not taste, but placement. In a religious event, I would say that kind of performance is highly inappropriate, indecent and improper.

“The problem is not the art but the organiser,” he told ST.

Social media amplifies outrage

Social media has intensified disputes over performances at religious events. Clips that might once have remained local now circulate nationwide within hours, often detached from context.

“They all have no brains, just arrest the committee, do not forgive them, that is blasphemy, just arrest them so it can be a lesson for others,” said YouTube user AlimuhammadAzwar.

“This is religious blasphemy and cannot be forgiven,” added another user, BeriPutra.

The Banyuwangi incident echoed a similar controversy in Wonosobo just months earlier during a Maulid Nabi celebration in September 2025 to mark Prophet Muhammad’s birthday.

A female Ndolalak dancer performing to dangdut music was later joined on stage by a young man, while several audience members – including military personnel – filmed the act. Organisers said it was a local youth initiative and stressed that the performance took place after the main programme had concluded.

Experts said organisers must recognise that inappropriate performances carry consequences in the social media era.

“If the organiser deliberately wants that kind of performance, there will be social sanctions. Today, everyone has a mobile phone. Everything can be uploaded,” said Mr Said.

Mr Endo added that online outrage does not always reflect the views of local communities.

“Social media creates a new kind of community. People who are not directly involved can become furious because they encounter the issue online.

“That does not mean local communities are unaffected. There are certainly people on the ground who feel offended as well,” he said.

He also cautioned against blaming artistes based solely on viral content.

“Artistes do not exist in isolation. They live in society and respond to audience demand. It is unfair to blame them without also looking at the audience and the organisers,” he said.

In Banyuwangi, the stage has been dismantled and the banner removed. Yet the question persists long after the speakers are switched off: not whether the music should exist, but who decides when, and where, it must stop.