From ‘grantrepreneurs’ to FOMO: What Borneo’s music scenes can learn from each other

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By Shikin Louis

KUCHING likes to describe its creative scene as “developing”, but that word hides a more complicated reality.

What does a “developing” music scene actually look like on the ground?

On the surface, Kuching appears well-supported. The city has no shortage of talent, and it certainly has no shortage of support. Grants, government-backed programmes and festival platforms exist in ways many smaller scenes would envy. On paper, the ecosystem looks complete.

But the reality on the ground is more uneven. Live performances tend to be event-based rather than continuous. Artists often wait long gaps between gigs, and many depend on curated festivals or occasional shows to stay active. Less stage time means slower artistic development, regardless of ability.

This creates a scene that is visible at peaks, but quieter in between. Progress is shaped less by continuous exposure and more by access — who gets selected, when opportunities open, and which projects receive support.

It is within this structure that the term “grantrepreneurs” was raised during a sharing session held alongside the MUARA mini showcase under the Breaking the Border campaign by ZASS Puravida at Star On Stage eatery on April 29, highlighting how some creatives adapt to the system.

Giacherie “Chary” Tipik, a Kuching-based musician and organiser, noted that the Malaysian and Sarawak governments are generally supportive of the creative industry, with funds, allocations and grants readily available to help organisers execute events and, in some cases, expand further. However, he cautioned that reliance on such support can shape how creatives sustain themselves over time.

“Grant can be a good thing, but it becomes a problem when we are dependent on it. Some have come to rely heavily on funding mechanisms to keep projects going,” he said.

He also highlighted the limitations of audience size in Sarawak, noting that while appreciation exists, it does not always translate into sustained demand.

“In Sarawak, people appreciate what we do, but the amount is not that much. That is why numbers matter — not just for artists, but also for organisers.

“It becomes a question of: how many followers do you have on Instagram, how many followers do you have on Facebook? So it turns into that kind of metric,” he added.

Across the border in Pontianak (Indonesia), however, the scene operates on a very different rhythm.

What happens when opportunities are not structured around grants or formal programmes, but around constant activity instead?

In Pontianak, live music is more frequent and more embedded in everyday creative life. Artists do not wait long gaps between performances. Instead, shows happen regularly enough that performing becomes part of routine practice rather than occasional opportunity. Over time, this repetition builds familiarity, confidence and stage discipline in a way that irregular exposure cannot easily replicate. That consistency is not driven by large-scale funding structures, but by collaboration.

According to Galih Bismara, the vocalist of Syndrama band, many events are built through shared contribution among artists, organisers and vendors. Resources are pooled where needed, and roles are often flexible, with the emphasis placed on making the event happen rather than maximising return.

“Sometimes, we have to keep the scene alive not based on money, but based on the movement we create together. That is what keeps the scene going. In the end, we are all the ones sustaining it.

“When that happens, people around us begin to appreciate what we have built because everything is based on collective effort. That, I think, is why over there things like followers grow quickly and movements pick up fast. If we look closely, it is because everything is done together,” he said.

Galih also highlighted how this collaborative spirit extends beyond artists and organisers, involving even vendors who contribute to making events possible despite limited resources.

“Even vendors may not always have money. They might say, ‘I don’t have money,’ but then someone will say, ‘Come help us with the sound system,’ and they will respond, ‘Okay, let’s go’. That kind of shared effort is what makes the scene work,” he added.

In such a system, sustainability depends heavily on participation. If people do not contribute, events do not simply scale down — they often do not happen at all. This creates a scene that is highly responsive but also deeply community-dependent.

Audience behaviour reinforces this structure. Pontianak benefits from a larger population base and a stronger sense of ‘fear of missing out’ or FOMO, where audiences are more likely to attend shows because they do not want to miss out. That dynamic feeds directly into turnout, visibility and momentum for artists.

“The Indonesian population is large. And in Indonesia, there is also the issue of FOMO — fear of missing out. The FOMO culture is very strong in our society,” he stressed.

From the Kuching side, singer-songwriter Steff Fleur highlighted another internal challenge — fragmentation across different music communities in Sarawak. While each scene, whether Iban, hip-hop or DJ culture, is strong on its own, cross-collaboration remains limited, affecting how unified the audience base can become.

“Sarawak is made up of multiple ethnic groups that speak different languages. So the Iban industry has its own strong ecosystem, and it is very strong within itself. Other industries exist too, like hip-hop and DJ scenes. Sometimes collaboration does happen, but I think it is really about strengthening collaboration between these separated industries,” she said.

When placed side by side, Kuching and Pontianak are not so much contrasting in quality, but in architecture.

Kuching operates within a support-driven model. Funding, institutional involvement and festival circuits form the backbone of its creative ecosystem. This provides stability and access, particularly for larger-scale productions and cross-border cultural positioning.

Pontianak, on the other hand, operates within a participation-driven model. Its strength lies in frequency, collaboration and audience responsiveness, which keeps the scene in motion even without heavy institutional infrastructure.

Melvin, a key figure behind Tiba Tiba Production in Pontianak, acknowledged that while the music scene in his city is driven strongly by grassroots participation, there is still value in Kuching’s more structured support system, particularly through grants and government-backed initiatives.

He said such mechanisms, while sometimes debated in terms of dependency, provide stability and opportunities for artists to develop within a more formalised ecosystem — something that is less established in Pontianak.

“In Kuching, there is stronger government attention and support through grants and programmes. That is something we don’t really have in the same way in Pontianak. And honestly, that kind of support is not a bad thing. It gives artists space to grow and build their work in a more structured way.

“In Indonesia, there is a lack of government involvement in the development of the music scene, including in Pontianak. Right now, it is still very rare for the government to really pay attention to small bands and new emerging bands in the regions,” he stated.

Meanwhile, Galih Bismara pointed to Sarawak’s ability to link the performing arts with tourism and large-scale festival ecosystems as something that gives local artists access to wider platforms.

“If we look at the creative industry, it is actually one of the ways to attract people from outside. Why are people more interested in coming to Kuching? It’s because there are many international-level festivals in Kuching,” he said.

Another key difference lies in the commercial ecosystem surrounding the creative scenes, particularly in terms of brand sponsorship.

In Malaysia, the involvement of certain commercial brands — especially alcohol and tobacco-related companies — is heavily regulated, with strict limitations on advertising and promotional partnerships within public events and cultural programming. This naturally narrows the range of corporate sponsorship available to organisers and artists, particularly at grassroots level.

In contrast, in Indonesia, such sponsorship frameworks tend to be more flexible, allowing a wider mix of commercial brands to participate more openly in supporting events and music activities. This broader sponsorship base often translates into additional funding channels for organisers, which can help sustain live events beyond ticket sales or public grants.

This difference in regulatory environment also shapes how creative ecosystems operate financially on both sides of the border, influencing not just how events are funded, but also the scale and frequency at which they can be organised.

As raised during the MUARA sharing session, this contrast is not framed as a matter of right or wrong, but rather as a structural difference that affects how far each scene can expand its commercial sustainability.

What emerges from both sides is not a question of which scene is better, but what each system prioritises.

Kuching prioritises structure, funding and formal access. Pontianak prioritises movement, collaboration and audience energy. Both approaches create sustainability, but through very different mechanisms.

The real opportunity, as repeatedly suggested during the session, lies in what happens when these two systems interact more directly. Cross-border showcases, shared stages and artist exchanges were repeatedly raised as practical ways to bridge that gap.

Because in the end, the divide between “grantrepreneurs” and FOMO is not just a cultural contrast. It is a reflection of how creative ecosystems are built, and how much stronger they could become if structure and momentum were allowed to meet in the middle. — DayakDaily

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