In the dim shadows of Manggarai Station’s yellow platforms, Dodo often sought refuge amidst his melancholy. There, he would silently observe the ebb and flow of people returning from their daily toils. A similar ritual unfolded at Jatinegara Station in those days when both stations still clung to their unrevitalized past. For Dodo, there was a peculiar serenity in witnessing the human tapestry: the greetings exchanged, the hurried footsteps chasing commuter trains, and the frantic dance of bodies as the doors closed, sealing fates in the speeding carriages.
After these moments of quiet contemplation, Dodo would retreat to the comfort of his home, his ears often serenaded by the haunting melodies of M. Mashabi, especially the somber strains of “Renungkanlah.” “The details in his recordings are exquisite, but his voice trembles,” he’d say in his hushed conversations.
In the pages of history, M. Mashabi, a name not widely recognized, found immortality as a street sign connecting M.H. Thamrin Street and K.H. Mas Mansyur Street in Melati Subdistrict, Tanah Abang, Central Jakarta. Born in the heart of Jakarta in 1943, M. Mashabi, the second of fourteen siblings, inherited his musical soul from his father, Salim Mashabi, a stalwart member of the Al-Wardah Gambus Orchestra, a realm where Arabian influences melded with Indonesian tunes.
As the harmoniums harmonized with violins and drums, Melayu music underwent a transformative journey, ushering in the dawn of dangdut. The tunes grew more complex, weaving together threads of Arabian, Indian, and European musical heritage. Melayu music, with its soulful melodies and poetic lyrics, gradually embraced dangdut, a genre perceived as crude by some yet captivating the hearts of millions.
In 1956, the Al-Wardah Gambus Orchestra, under the enchanting spell of gambus musicians like Husein Bawafie, introduced a hit: “Boneka dari India,” a song that resonated with Ellya Khadam’s poignant voice. Its lyrics, coupled with the rhythmic beats of the drums, stirred emotions, becoming an anthem that transcended societal boundaries. It was in this era that M. Mashabi took center stage, collaborating with Ellya Khadam on classics like “Harapan Hampa,” “Hilang Tak Berkesan,” “Kecewa,” and “Ratapan Anak Tiri,” the soul-stirring soundtrack of a 1970s film bearing the same name.
Mashabi’s genius lay in his ability to distill the complexities of traditional Melayu music, infusing it with a modern spirit adorned with Indian nuances. With simplicity as his muse, he crafted melodies that resonated with the hearts of those nursing heartaches. Tracks like “Hilang Tak Berkesan” heralded the shift from Melayu to Dangdut, marked by the dominance of drums and flutes. Together with fellow musicians, M. Mashabi paved the way for dangdut, turning it into a dynamic musical phenomenon that echoed the desires and pains of the masses.
Through the passage of time, M. Mashabi’s legacy has lived on. His melancholic tunes found new voices, echoing through the vocal cords of artists like A. Rafiq, who breathed life into “Renungkanlah,” crafting a cover that some argued surpassed the original. In April 2006, Meggy Z paid homage to M. Mashabi’s brilliance, breathing new life into his classics through the album “Karya Mashabi Bersama Meggy Z.”
Yet, despite his significant contributions, M. Mashabi’s story met an untimely end in 1967. His songs, sung with unwavering passion and love, became immortal whispers, etching his name forever in the saga of Indonesian music—a pioneer who sculpted the nation’s sonic identity.