The sound of her voice, the feelings she expresses, and the haunting melody of the bamboo flute, following her in unison like a devoted lover, float through the night. Sometimes the emotion hangs heavily in the air drawing the heart to the sound. At these times, heads bow...It's about 2 A.M. The female singers, sitting in the Minangkabau way with legs to the side, face the by now mainly male audience on a low, open-air stage. Their heads are bowed so as not to lock eyes with the male gaze as they sing their innermost thoughts.. Field notes, 1997 Sanday 2002: 149

If one were to attend a saluang performance anytime in the last 20 to 30 years, one might assume that padendang have always been people who identify and are identified as women (a note about the use of gendered terms in this project) because men are infrequent participants, if not entirely absent, as vocalists during this time. Writing in 2002, Peggy Sanday, quoted above, writes of a world where it seems that padendang were always women, that the relationship between voice and saluang is a fundamentally gendered one. But it is important to know that the genre has not always been gendered in this way, where tukang saluang identify as men and the padendang identify as women. In the past, in the first half of the twentieth century, all performers identified as men. But even that statement obscures the true history. All the professional singers--those who sang in public, in front of crowds, and received fiscal payment for their services--were men. The singers we know about from the first half of the twentieth century are all men, probably because they were recognized as the professionals.

But there are stories--and even documentary evidence in the form of commercial 78 r.p.m. records--that illustrate women did sing: just not in public venues in front of audiences that included men. Adriyetti Amir, for examples, writes that it was common practice for women to sing "quatrains [i.e. pantun] while doing other work", explaining: 

Usually women working in the paddy fields, whether planting or harvesting paddy [rice] sing sad, sarcastic, or erotic quatrains. They sing without the accompaniment of instruments. They sing to overcome tiredness. They are unpaid. They can exchange quatrains with almost anyone who passes near their working area; but usually they do not sing about people whom they respect, like their religious teacher, pangulu, or their matrilineal family's sumando .... (Amir 1995:31)

Amir continues to explain that men also sang in informal work contexts, but only "while relaxing during lunch and after the noon prayers (zohor). Sometimes they do bring along the saluang, then they will sing either quatrains [pantun] that are created spontaneously or quatrains that are commonly known"  (Amir 1995:31). This information suggests that singing pantun was a common Minangkabau past time for both women and men. It is not clear, however, what songs were used, and if those tunes were affiliated with the genre of saluang we know today. I suspect there is cross-over in the repertoire, that the tunes are mutual. To be clear, in discussing the gender of padendang in saluang throughout this site, I am referring to the professionalized saluang scene, unless otherwise specified.  

This issue about gender and performing in public has to be understood within the context of Minangkabau values, especially according to the principles of adat (complex set of cultural practices most frequently glossed as “custom” and “tradition”). In the past, it was considered entirely inappropriate for a woman to be out late at night in front of men, especially those who were not related to her. In the Minangkabau matrilineal system, a woman’s mamak, her maternal uncle, not her father, was tasked with policing and managing her morality, making sure no harm was done to the family reputation. Permission to depart from these mores should be granted by the mamak. 

The first generation of professional female padendang were trailblazers, breaking the glass ceiling, at great risk to their person and to the reputation of themselves and their family. There are stories of these women being personally threatened with a gun, maintained by authorities, questioned and shunned. I even heard a story once of a woman being killed by a jealous husband. It’s very hard to fathom just how difficult it would have been for the first generation of women, the stigma they would have had to overcome, both amongst audiences at the time and within the broader society. Needless to say, these women would have been extremely talented and knowledgeable to be accepted within professional circuits, not just among audiences but especially among fellow performers. For the first generation of women, their participation was possible though one of two mechanisms: they sang under the disguise of presenting themselves as a man or they were supervised by a close male relative, either their mamak or their husband. For some, like Nurana, the economic gains--the possibility of making a livelihood--was the motivating factor.  

This history of saluang is critically important. There is no other genre in West Sumatra to my knowledge in which women not only became equal participants as singers (participation as instrumentalist is entirely different) but actually came to thoroughly displace their male counterparts. Nobody wants to hear male padendang these days, which speaks more to why some pagurau are interested in saluang now compared with the past. Go here to follow that story. 

Putting together this history is like being a detective, scouring what resources exist in the historical record, essentially research produced by people affiliated with Institut Seni Indonesia, and putting together pieces of the puzzle. The historical record is spotty, the information as complete as what is found in those records, amplified with ethnographic interviews with singers like Syamsimar, Mak Ajis, and Mak Sawir who were involved back then in 60s and have since passed, or the oldest generation participating today, like Te E who started singing in the 70s. 

It’s a history that deserves to be better known. We share what we have come across here but welcome contributions to enhance the record: dates, stories, and especially photos.

Resources: 

• Adriyetti Amir 1995
• Erlinda 1999
• Erlinda 2001
• Peggy Sanday 2002