On March 28, 2026, the Clock-Out Lounge at Beacon Hill was filled with an eclectic mix of sounds from local Southeast Asian American rock band hi hi hi, and touring Indonesian punk band Grrrl Gang. Bookending their sets was Washington DC-based DJ Sir Satrio, also known as Disconesia, who served up Indonesian disco classics to an electrified crowd. “Mari Disco!” (Let’s disco!), sang Adi Bing Slamet amidst funky guitar riffs and a beat that can’t be resisted. And the Clock-Out crowd did exactly that, dancing the night away.
Sir Satrio traces his love for disco music back to his upbringing in Indonesia. “Back in high school, I would save my weekly lunch money just to spend my weekends collecting old Indonesian cassettes at Blok M Square Mall in South Jakarta.” It was just a hobby back then. He grew up, moved out, and migrated to the U.S. Then, a few years ago, he rediscovered two songs on YouTube: “Sesaat Kau Hadir” (The Moment You Appear) by Utha Likumahuwa and “Barcelona” by Fariz RM. According to Sir Satrio, “Listening to them made me realize how rich these Indonesian classics are in terms of sound, lyricism, and overall production. This led me down a rabbit hole of discovery.”
Sir Satrio decided to begin Disconesia independently out of Washington D.C. before playing in venues in New York such as the Xanadu Roller Skating Rink, the Sultan Room, and most recently at 53 inside the MoMA. “Disconesia has allowed me to showcase Indonesian sounds in incredible spaces and has connected me with selectors and musicians I deeply admire.” He also recently went with Grrrl Gang for their U.S. tour, which is what brought him to the Clock-Out Lounge in Seattle. “The response has been wonderful,” he said. “it’s clear that many people are looking to expand their musical horizons, and I am glad to contribute to that global movement.”
Sir Satrio is very proud of the music he is able to share, especially because of his heritage: “Indonesian music still holds a very special place in my heart, and I am constantly discovering incredible new tracks.”
Indeed, Indonesian disco music is special, particularly because of how it came to being, according to Dr. Nazry Bahrawi, assistant professor of Southeast Asian literature and culture at University of Washington in Seattle. Disco arrived in Indonesia at a time that was politically charged and rife with inequality. According to Dr. Nazry, during the 1970s, “Former army general Suharto had institutionalized a military-backed political administration that ruled with an iron-fist, while at the same time pursuing economic growth through foreign investment and trade liberalization.” This meant that Western products, including popular music genres from the US and Europe, rapidly became more accessible to Indonesians. Then, Dr. Nazry explained , “In 1970, the country’s first discotheque, Tanamur, was opened by Ahmad Fahmy Alhady, and local musicians creatively adapted Western musical genres with local music traditions.”
While Indonesia under Suharto experienced rapid modernization, Suharto and his cronies also clamped down on who they perceived to be their political and economic enemies. “Such endeavors have brought about the diaspora of Indonesians, especially Indonesian Chinese to the Western world, including the U.S. in cities such as Seattle and Los Angeles,” according to Dr. Nazry. When they left, they brought with them their cultural products as well. When remarking about the significance of Indonesian disco, Dr. Nazry suspects that it has to do “with the sense of hybridity that punctuates genres like pop kreatif (creative pop), perhaps a nostalgic reminder of their country of origin while also anchoring them in their new abodes of choice.”
Across the Southeast Asian diaspora here in Seattle, this sentiment on music resonates. “Coming to the US was an unplanned turn of events,” recalled local teacher Roger Rigor, who used to be in a Philippine disco music group VST & Company, before making the difficult decision to migrate to Seattle with his family. “I came at a point when tensions were high in the Philippines,” he shared in a short documentary that screened last year at the Seattle Asian American Film Festival. Around the same time that Indonesia was facing Suharto’s regime, the Philippines was also under martial law under Ferdinand Marcos, Vietnam and Laos were plunged into a war goaded on by the U.S., and Cambodia eventually fell under the Khmer Rouge. Many Southeast Asian migrants and refugees arrived to the U.S. with very little but the culture, and especially the music, in their hearts. In a conversation with KNKX Public Radio, Diana Ratsamee of KEXP and local group SEA Vinyl Society talked about the importance of collecting and preserving vintage Southeast Asian vinyls: “These are treasures. Someone risked their lives to keep these so that we could listen to them today.” And in an article in the South Seattle Emerald, John Chu of hi hi hi recalls a time when their family searched for a Burmese song in their CD collection: “Music brings something out in my family that’s hard to access by other means.”
Disconesia brought Indonesian disco grooves to Seattle. But it also brought echoes of the past, stories waiting to be shared, scars that can be only healed by music, on the dance floor.
Adrian Alarilla, PhD, is a program evaluator, writer, researcher, and filmmaker. Born and raised in the Philippines, he is currently based south of in Seattle, and has a PhD in History from the University of Hawaiʻi at Mānoa. Besides contributing to the International Examiner, he is an associate with Alaska-based consulting firm Stellar Group, and has worked with Tribal, governmental, and nongovernmental agencies in Alaska, Hawaiʻi, and the Pacific Islands.
