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Location: Batutamonga, Tana Toraja, South Sulawesi
Sound: Karombi (also called Pa'karombi)
Karombi is the bamboo mouth harp of the Toraja people of Tana Toraja, in the highlands of South Sulawesi. Similar to many other mouth harps found throughout Indonesia such as the the genggong of Bali and Lombok, the kuriding of South Kalimantan, and the rinding of Central Java, the karombi consists of a small length of carved bamboo - the bamboo is placed to the player's lips, and an attached string is pulled, setting a "tongue" in the center of the instrument to vibrate. The pitch of the buzzing vibration is then manipulated using the mouth as a resonator - tongue, throat, and breathe working together.
The karombi seems to be nearly extinct, with only a few instrument makers capable of producing the instrument, and what seems to be an equally small number of people who are able to play it. Like most jew's harps, it is not an instrument that is used for performance or ritual, merely for personal entertainment. I've found one source, however, that suggests that in times past, the karombi was played by parents of children sick with smallpox, its sound soothing the children to sleep and recovery.
Context:
As I travelled around the area of Tana Toraja on motorbike, I would occasionally ask locals if they know anyone who could play karombi. Most people had heard of the instrument, especially if I mimicked the playing style with my hands, but none knew anyone around their village who played - as one man said, "everyone who played karombi is already dead."
However, my previous research on the internet had turned up a promising lead - a man nicknamed Ne'Karombi, living in the village of Batutamonga in the hills above Rantepao, had already been featured in an extremely low-quality YouTube video, and I'd found one single web page, created by the uploader of the YouTube video, containing some photos and a sketchy biography of sorts. When I showed the video to my friend Frans, a local artist who kindly hosted me in Rantepao, he laughed, pointing at the screen, and told me if I looked behind the musician in the video, I could see Frans himself sitting in the background. Go to Batutamonga, Frans told me, and Ne'Karombi will surely play for you.
The next afternoon I headed to Batutamonga, a village popular with tourists for it's panoramic views of the valley below and its proximity to treks and cultural sites such as graves carved into massive boulders. Upon finding a simple homestay, I asked Mama Yos, the owner, about Ne'Karombi - she seemed confused, but one of her kids piped up and said he knew the place. She insisted I walk to his home escorted by her small child, who shyly practiced English with me along the way.
When we got to his house, Ne'Karombi was outside picking coffee berries from a nearby tree. His house was a typical rumah panggung, a kind of raised, wooden house found all throughout that part of Sulawesi. I'd read that Ne'Karombi had previously had signs outside his home advertising his skills as a musician, perhaps hoping to attract backpackers headed down the small road to Rantepao. At the time of my arrival, he seemed to have given up that scheme.
Upon telling him of my project and politely asking if I could record his music in a quieter area, Ne'Karombi led me up into his simple home, through a room with creaking wooden floorboards and no furniture except a television. We settled in a relatively well-lit corner (one dim lightbulb lit the house) and he proceeded to show me his instruments.
His name, he told me, was Pelipus Randan, but people called him Ne'Karombi, or "Grandpa Karombi." Few people, he lamented, could play his instrument anymore - even a son of his who could make the instrument was unable to play it. Together with his wife, Ludia Sombo allo, he kindly played for me over the sound of passing motorbikes, giggling grandchildren, and roosters.
An informal instrument by nature, the karombi doesn't even have songs, merely certain patterns that can be played. For a few "pieces", Ne'Karombi's wife joined in on a differently pitched karombi, playing patterns that sometimes matched up, and sometimes didn't. I realized that, like other mouth harp music I've encountered here in Indonesia, it is not a serious artform, with structured compositions or deep spiritual meaning. Rather, it is played merely for the joy of playing.
