The moon was waxing full and the festive crowd was swaying like an exotic undersea organism. Mount Santubong stood majestic and serene absorbing the positive vibrations as an elvish voice sang plaintive Bulgarian ballads that echoed from the hills and rebounded in many a heart.

Looking like a fragile porcelain doll, Desislava Dimcheva plucked delicately at her tamboura (a long-necked Balkan lute) and gazed winsomely into some medieval folk memory. Her low-key but piquant performance was masterfully accompanied by her husband Valeri Dimchev on another tamboura; Aleksandar Popov on clarinet and svirka; and Dragomir Dimov on percussion.

Lan E-Tuyang and the Belaga Asap Group had earlier warmed the stage as merry-makers and pilgrims began to arrange themselves on mats and sheets on the grassy ground, admiring the natural backdrop of floodlit trees in a bona fide rainforest amphitheatre.

This was the Sarawak Cultural Village’s 6th Rainforest World Music Festival (held from July 11-13) – and nobody wanted to miss it, because everyone who had been had enthused about the event. I saw lots of faces I had met last year - or the year before and the year before that. It was truly a grand convergence of music-lovers, party animals, and soul-family - and the energy buzz was so tangible you could almost can it and take it home.

If there was ever any doubt that this annual celebration of world music in Sarawak is an extraordinarily successful event – surpassing the wildest expectations of everyone who had lovingly wetnursed and nurtured it to maturity since 1998 – the genuine joie de vivre and carnival spirit generated at RWMF 2003 fully put paid to it.

Obviously, there is a solid core of competence, goodwill, dedication and sensitivity behind the RWMF concept, first mooted as a means of promoting tourism through inculcating awareness of Sarawak’s rich ethnic music heritage. Outgoing head of the Sarawak Tourism Board, Aloysius J. Dris, deserves a curtain call for having been among the guiding lights of the RWMF from the outset. Yeoh Jun Lin, festival director, must take a bow too, for injecting such passion, taste and warmth into the proceedings. The sound and lighting crew outdid themselves this year and deserve another crate of beer. Stage manager Theo van Rock, ace sound engineers Niall Macaulay and Craig Gaskin, and the technical team from Les Paul – all did a heroic job.

Learning from past years’ experience, the festival organisers have fine-tuned the entire production to the point where loyal RWMFers are already expressing mild anxiety that someone might cash in and upset what has proved to be a beautiful balance between efficient planning and spontaneity. However, judging from the Sarawak Minister for Tourism’s ebullient endorsement at the show’s finale, it seems highly unlikely that anyone would dare ruin such a brilliant, joy-generating enterprise by introducing unnecessary changes or making it a slickly commercial event. Indeed, the annual Rainforest World Music Festival has turned out to be one of Sarawak’s biggest tourist attractions. Why try and fix something if it ain’t broken?

This year the splendid variety of food and drinks on sale at both ends of the sprawling Sarawak Cultural Village was a tremendous bonus – offsetting the lifeless fare served to the performers and the media at Santubong Resort. Someone had created a colourful fruit sculpture at the entrance of the main food court, depicting some sort of Jolly Green Giant with a jagong sarong, inviting all to share the bounty of Mother Earth’s cornucopia. A very lovely touch indeed, reminiscent of ancient harvest festivals celebrated throughout the world.

But the real food for the soul was, of course, the excellent assortment of music – from the red-hot cha-cha, rumba and salsa of the Habana Son Club and the sensual Senegalese m’balax groove of Omar Pène and Super Diamano (who must have the world’s sexiest back-up vocalists in Gueye Diarra and Koite Dieynaba) - to the soul-stirring, rain-stopping Gnawa wails of B’net Marrakech, and the foot-stomping Gallic-Celtic Quebecois folkjazz funk of La Volée D’Castors (aka The Flying Beavers, whose appearance was heralded by a dazzling display by the Flying Squirrels of Santubong).

Although this year the featured acts were all good, the ones that really stood out in terms of aural and visual impact were Tarika, a punchy, raunchy group from Madagascar led by the vivacious and politically outspoken Hanitra (pronounced “Anch”) and her quietly bewitching sister Noro; Huun Huur Tu and Malerija, a dynamic fusion of two Tuvan throatsingers plus a Russian techno-rave combo; and, amazingly, the spritely and phenomenally talented Chipolatas, a high-octane street theatre trio from Britain whose totally infectious clowning, juggling and synchronized dance routines added vitality, zest, and a madcap exuberance to the entire festival. Take another bow, Jasper, Sam and Tristan!

Perhaps in empathy for the sufferings of Afghanis over the past decades of ceaseless warfare, cultural oppression and shady geopolitics, the 5-piece Ensemble Kaboul was very warmly received. Led by master rubab player Khaled Arman, with Hossein Arman on vocals and harmonium, and Osman Arman on tula (a Middle Eastern flute) Ensemble Kaboul boasted two excellent percussionists - Ghulam Nejrabbi on zirbaghali and Prabhu Edouard on tablas – who entertained the crowd with an extended virtuoso duel.

What happened on Saturday night is difficult to describe. The crowd reportedly swelled to over 11,000 – and yet it was still possible to pick one’s way through the happily grooving throng. Those who accidentally brushed past you would say, “Oh, sorry!” or “”Scuse me!” Never have I seen a better mannered or more goodnatured sea of celebrants. Nor were there policemen or riot squads in sight. Though a small platoon of RELA volunteers were on hand to help with crowd control, they were for the most part unobtrusive and a few were even swaying along with the funky sounds. Therein lies a big difference between the Bornean and the Peninsular psyche: in Sarawak it’s not an offence to have a good time, and the authorities don’t panic at the sight of a large public assembly.

Then Kaigal-ool Khovalyg and Sayan Bapa - the solemn-faced Tuvan throatsingers from Huun Huur Tu (which means “sun propeller” - referring to the beams of refracted light often seen at dawn or dusk) - began singing ethereal overtones using a technique called xöömel, and they were joined by Sergey Klevensky on clarinet, tin whistle and kaluka (a short reed pipe), Alexander Cheparukhin on congas, and Ilja XMZ on an impressive array of keyboards and electronic gizmos. The unexpected combination of hard-core techno-rave and mystical throatsinging drove the crowd into ecstatic throes and spontaneous trance. Little wonder, as the Tuvans claim descent from a Siberian shaman lineage! Looking around at the rippling sea of luminous faces, joyous hearts and gyrating bodies, it was impossible to believe that anyone on this earth would ever need to go through hell again.

It was a cinch for La Volée D’Castors to up the voltage with their irresistible brand of funky electric folk, rhythmically backed by the man with the most articulate feet in the world, Frederic Bourgeois, who foot-stomped his way into everyone’s heart. With their exuberant energy, youthful good looks and impeccable musicianship, the band (which reminded me of that “funkadelic” bunch from Edinburgh, Shooglenifty) fully embodied the wild, whooping joy and life-affirming glee that the Rainforest World Music Festival has come to represent for a growing number of music-lovers around the globe.

Nobody wanted the party to end that Saturday – and indeed it did carry on the next evening, but on a mellower key, not least because of the rain that began as the Mah Meri of Pulau Carey took to the stage. Umbrellas went up, raincoats were donned, and many simply surrendered to the bliss of dancing in the rain or huddled snugly under plastic sheets. The usually reserved Mah Meri were uplifted by the good energy and a few dancers were actually seen to smile, even through their masks. Their ceremonial singer nonetheless succeeded in maintaining her grouchy demeanour throughout.

The rain stopped in awe and astonishment soon after five fat and feisty girls from Morocco, better known as B’net Marrakech, came on, belting out Sufi songs with a relentless beat. Such powerhouses they proved to be - particularly belly-dancer extraordinaire Malika Mahjoubi, whose supreme self-confidence and utter lack of inhibition must have been immensely liberating for all to behold, especially the betudunged. She wiggled her wide hips, pulsated her generous navel, and tossed her curly mane at the audience; then, changing into a red sequinned dress, proceeded to perform her trance dance with a flaming tray of candles and flowers balanced on her head. Miriam Noor-Ledoux, the ladies’ elegant manager, later explained to me that the candle routine had profound mystical significance: the flaming candles symbolized the celestial light, and Malika was essentially flirting with the divine effulgence as a prelude to consummating their union.

Krakatau, a much-touted ethnic-jazz group from Bandung, Java, was a bit of a letdown – despite the inarguable charisma and vocal power of their diminutive singer Trie Utami. Their attempt to emulate pioneer jazz-rock fusion groups like Jethro Tull, Emerson, Lake & Palmer, Genesis, or Yes fell technically short and sounded, well, pretentious (a word I rarely use). Perhaps the bassist needs to acquire more chops and the keyboardist more precise timing. But not too many noticed these minor weaknesses and what saved the act, apart from Trie’s excellent performance, was the focused commitment of gamelan-player Zainal Ariffin and percussionist Adhe Rudhiana.

The Habana Son Club produced great party music and had a couple of male vocalists (Vicente Izquierdo and Luison Bocalandro) with true Latino machismo. Pint-sized band leader Vladimir Fuentes was outstanding on transverse flute and cowbell and oozed sex appeal, but I was intrigued by the shortest member of the group, trumpeter Ernesto Couto, whose fedora really added to Habana Son Club’s smoky nightclub mystique. Musically, however, the group didn’t have sufficient dynamic range to close the festival with a bang – but when all the other performers scrambled on stage for the finale, it almost erupted into a Mardi Gras. An unforgettable touch was the sight of Chipolata Jasper’s silver clubs dancing rhythmically in mid-air and catching the lights as the ace juggler wove around the stage, never letting any of the clubs fall. Absolutely amazing. See you there next year!

For more photos, CLICK HERE to go to Antares' Festfoto Gallery.