Balinese performing arts don't separate into neat packages labeled "music," "dance," "drama." They're all interconnected, and all drawn from spiritual traditions. The most spectacular dance entertainments draw their movement vocabulary from ancient temple rites, and all performances begin with a prayer. Gamelan Galak Tika's concert last Friday night at MIT's Kresge Auditorium spanned all these ideas in an hour and a half of sparkling interplay.

A simulated temple gateway and two fringed umbrellas formed the backdrop for the gamelan itself: a collection of flutes, drums, metallophones, tuned bowls, and gongs that can create a wonderful variety of rhythmic and coloristic effects. It has no conductor in the European sense, but it's led by a drummer (artistic director Evan Ziporyn), who sits modestly on the floor upstage near the gateway and cues the musical changes with nods of the head and special drumbeats. In some numbers there's a corresponding drummer; in others a subleader spurs on the metallophone section with huge wrist and arm gestures and exhibitionistic twirlings of his mallet.

After the 32 musicians took their places and made a reverence before an offering -- a tall display of fruit and flowers spiked with incense sticks -- they began the first piece, Penyembrama, a contemporary musical composition (by I Gusti Gede Raka and I Wayan Beratha). It opened quietly with flutes and muted gong sounds, then swung into the full clamor and shimmer of the gamelan, as four female dancers entered two at a time through the gateway carrying small bowls draped with ribbons and flowers. This welcoming dance ends with the women sprinkling flower petals toward the audience, but first they glide back and forth in the small space between the two sections of the gamelan, their bodies angled in S shapes, arms zigzagging out from the joints, feet flexed, heads tilting, everything jutting in multidirectional exclamation points.

After Ziporyn gave a brief introduction to explain how the gamelan instruments create interlocking rhythms and sonorities, guest artist I Gusti Ngurah Ketut Artawan performed two numbers in Topeng style. Topeng, the Balinese mask dance, is a solo form in which one actor becomes a whole succession of characters by putting on their masks. Pak Artawan, who comes from a family of Topeng dancers based in the village of Cabang Sari, became Topeng Keras (a young warrior) and Topeng Tua (an old king).

As the gamelan played an introduction, the blue curtain at the gateway quivered and shook, the character's spirit demanding attention. Bit by bit the character was revealed, sitting just beyond the gate -- a dark face gazing out, with bug eyes and prominent teeth. At last he stood and stepped with great dignity over the threshold. Slowly he advanced toward the audience, drawn up to an impressive height, clutching the edges of his gold-brocade costume to his chest. To the gamelan's clattering downbeats, he shot threatening looks out in every direction, rising even higher with an exaggerated step. Having sufficiently intimidated the watchers, he turned upstage, made a bow toward the temple gate, and left.

When the curtain next opened, a white-faced old man was sitting there, with white bushy eyebrows and moustache. He seemed to be dozing or slightly confused. After drifting for a while, as old people do, he noticed the audience for the first time, with a sudden locking in of his focus. You can't see the focus, of course, but the whole point of masking is that this piece of carved wood comes to life as the actor merges with its spirit.

The old man stood up and creakily stepped over the threshold, swayed downstage, pointed at some kids in the front row, waved to them, then seemed to perk up, seeing he had an audience. For a moment he regained his strength. The gamelan got faster, he strode around greeting the musicians, stumbled and almost fell. He shook hands with one of the kids, then tottered away, bumping into the gate as he misjudged where to exit.

The program also included an instrumental piece in Kebyar style that featured all the flashiest things the gamelan can do -- rocking rhythms accelerating into loud, agitated breaks and complicated counterpoint. The so-called bumblebee dance Oleg Tambulilingan, created in 1952 by the celebrated dancer I Mario, wound up the evening, with Ketty Rosenfeld and Cynthia Laksawana as a pair of courting insects. They moved the same way as the first dancers, except the female was a bit more flamboyant, and the male won her by shadowing and circling. They almost rubbed noses, but they never touched.