Sthala Ubud Village Jazz Festival 2025 didn’t waste a second before setting the night on fire.
The countdown echoed, dignitaries stepped off the opening stage, and suddenly Lodtunduh’s air was pulsing with the fierce heartbeat of a big band in full swing.
The East West European Jazz Orchestra (EWEJO) stormed the Giri Stage with a brass section that fired off swing bullets straight from 1940s Harlem—only to veer sharply into the Balkans, letting Eastern European folk rhythms tumble and whirl through the crowd like a village festival gone rogue.
And then she appeared. Dian Pratiwi. Not just a voice, but a force of nature with Jakarta in her soul, Germany in her technique, Latin heat in her phrasing, and pure joy in her smile.
One hand on the mic, the other reaching out to the crowd: “Come on, let’s dance!”
It was like someone flipped a hidden switch. The audience, moments ago politely perched with drinks in hand and phones half-raised, began to sway, shuffle, then step forward.
One, two, three people—and suddenly a wave. Dian wasn’t just singing; she was breaking down the invisible wall between stage and floor, reminding everyone that jazz was never meant to be watched from a safe distance.
The Giri Stage became a collective dance floor, EWEJO exploding behind her in a whirlwind of swing, funk slaps, and soulful hugs. Jazz wasn’t something happening up there anymore—it was something happening to all of us.
Later that night, I found Dian at the Sungai Restaurant, cooling down, a glass of water in hand, the afterglow of the performance still lighting her face.
She leaned back, smiling as she told me, “I’ve been playing with these guys for a long time. Twenty years in Germany, singing non-stop. Some of these musicians were my students at the Jazz Academy in Dortmund. So the chemistry? It’s just there. We don’t even have to think about it.”
On connecting with the audience, she said, “It’s all about the vibe. If the atmosphere’s relaxed, it’s easy to get people involved.
At UVJF, the audience already knows I’ll invite them to dance—it feels like coming home. But the real key? Two things: confidence and happiness. If you’re scared of making mistakes, the show gets stiff. Jazz is freedom of expression, and freedom only lives where joy lives first.”
Our conversation drifted like a good jazz solo, unhurried, finding its own path. “Singing is not reading the news,” she laughed.
“You have to live inside the song. When I sing a ballad, people sing with me because they understand the story. When it’s happy, you have to let that happiness pour out. And when you’ve been heartbroken, you bring that pain in too. Music heals, but it’s not a pill you can mass-produce—it’s medicine made from your own life. And if you’ve never had your heart broken? Well, then you imagine it. You have to feel the blues, or it isn’t real.”
That night, EWEJO and Dian Pratiwi gave more than music. They reminded us that jazz is not an ivory tower reserved for “serious listeners.”
Jazz is a story told in sound, an emotion spilling out of a horn, a rhythm that moves your body before your brain catches up.
Jazz is freedom, shared and multiplied. At Sthala UVJF 2025, it felt less like a concert and more like an invitation to dance—an invitation no one wanted to refuse. (kanalbali/IST)
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