The gamelan: one instrument played by twenty people

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The sound under every Balinese dance is the gamelan — a tuned percussion orchestra of bronze gongs, metallophones, drums and cymbals. The thing to understand: the shimmering speed you hear is an illusion built by two players sharing one line. A fast passage is split between an "on-beat" and "off-beat" player who interlock so tightly it sounds like one impossibly quick musician. That technique is kotekan, and it's the engine of the whole style.

Most stage shows use gong kebyar, a bright, explosive 20th-century style (kebyar means "to burst into flame"). It sounds ancient; it was largely codified in the early 1900s. Two more things surprise first-timers: the bronze keys are deliberately tuned in shimmering pairs slightly out of phase, which gives the music its liquid, vibrating glow — and there's no written score and no conductor. The lead drummer steers tempo and cues by feel.

The dances you'll actually meet

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You don't need the full catalogue. Five names cover almost everything a visitor sees:

• Legong — the refined court dance, usually young women in gilded headdresses, all darting eyes, flickering fingers and snapped-shut fans. This is the "postcard" Balinese dance and the one on most Ubud stages.
• Barong & Rangda — the island's great good-versus-evil drama. Barong, a shaggy lion-like creature, is the protective spirit; Rangda, the fanged widow- witch, is his opposite. It's not a simple morality tale — the point is balance, not victory, and the story traditionally ends unresolved.
• Baris — a solo or group warrior dance; twitchy, proud, trembling with martial tension. A showcase of pure male technique.
• Kecak — the famous "monkey chant," where a ring of men are the entire orchestra, voices only. Spectacular, and a 1930s creation for audiences, not an ancient temple rite — worth understanding properly before you go.
• Sanghyang — the genuinely sacred trance dances (a possessed girl, or the fire-treading sanghyang jaran). This is the real ritual root that the theatrical sanghyang-derived shows borrow their power from.

Barong and Baris often stage an episode; Legong and the Kecak lean on the Ramayana and Mahabharata epics. You will not follow the plot in detail, and that's fine — read the mood, the eyes and the drums.

Sacred vs staged — and why it matters

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Here's the honest part. Most performances you'll pay to see are theatre, not worship — professionally staged for tourists, and there's nothing wrong with that. But Bali also runs a live ritual calendar where the same dances are performed as genuine offerings inside temple courtyards, sometimes with real trance. The difference isn't the choreography; it's the intent and the setting.

Practically: a ticketed evening show on a stage is fair game to photograph and enjoy. A dance happening inside a temple during a ceremony is not a performance for you — watch quietly from the back, dress properly (sarong and sash), never block a worshipper or a procession, and put the flash away. If you're unsure which you're looking at, assume the more respectful posture. (The belief system behind all of it is worth a few minutes of reading.)

Where to see it, honestly

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How to watch it well

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Sit close enough to see the eyes and hands — the darting seledet eye-flick and the curled fingers carry more meaning than the footwork. Listen for the drum and the interlock, not a tune; there isn't a hummable melody, and once you stop waiting for one the music opens up. Don't clap for silence between sections the way you would at a concert — the flow is continuous. And give the gamelan a minute at the start: the bronze needs your ear to adjust before the shimmer really lands.