This Small Duplication Shop is at the Center of Indonesia's Cassette Revival

Amar's small cassette duplication business was almost a thing of the past.

The shop, which he runs out of his house in Ciledug, Tangerang, was once the mainstay of Indonesia's pirated music industry. At its height, Amar's shop would turn out as many as 1,000 pirated tapes a day—each copied on a homemade wood-framed duplication machine that could make 24 cassettes at a time. It was good money, but Amar was always conscious of the fact that he was breaking the law.

"It was overwhelming," he said. "Everything was pirated: Western rock music, local music, dangdut, even tapes of the Quran."

Shops like these are currently in the undergoing a resurgence after years of slumping sales as Indonesian hipsters embrace a medium that's more "real" than Spotify, and more portable than vinyl: the humble cassette tape. Indonesian indie bands, from punks like The Kuda to darlings like White Shoes and the Couple's Company, are all releasing albums on cassette. It's all fed by a number of intertwining ideas: tapes are nostalgic, they are easy to use, and they are cheaper to make than vinyl.

Amar's story starts in the 1980s. He was working at a furniture store in Jakarta when his boss' brother approached Amar with an offer of a new job. The man had a tape duplication business running out of a shop in Glodok—Jakarta's Chinatown and the home of its bootleg electronics industry.

He was a quick study, learning how the duplication machines work by watching the technicians take them apart. Within a few years he was ready to resign and start his own business.

"I would see the technicians fixing the tape duplication machines," he said. "I absorbed their techniques, learning how to create a PCB board down to the wiring. Once I figured the whole thing out, I started 'stealing' my boss' customers, convincing them to order from me instead. He knew the whole time, but he just laughed it off."

Amar built a homemade tape duplication machine and got to work. Soon word spread of his skill in building a low-cost machine and orders started to come in from all over Indonesia. Within the span of a decade, Amar sold more than 20 of his machines—each of them a tiny piracy factory that could produce hundreds of tapes a day.

He was also running his own piracy business, but eventually law enforcement caught up with him. By the late 2000s, there were 500 million pirated cassette tapes and CDs being produced in Indonesia. Music companies were complaining that piracy was undercutting their business. Soon enough, Amar was feeling the heat.

"I got raided twice," he said. "The time they took away my machine. The second time I had to spend two nights at Prodeo Hotel. They finally let me off the hook [after I paid a bribe]. I was moving around a lot. My life was never peaceful. I couldn't even leave my door open. I had to always keep it shut tight.

"The police only catch small players. The big-time pirates were left untouched. If you really want to eradicate piracy, then shut down Glodok. But Glodok has some strong support. It was rumored once that pirates up there were paying out as much as Rp 1 billion ($74,000) in bribes."

But by 2013 it all started to collapse. Digital albums were the new thing and the old-school record shops were the first to go. First it was Aquarius Musikindo, then Duta Suara, and finally Disc Tarra—which shuttered at the end of 2015. Stalls stocked with pirated music were still doing well, but the CD had dethroned the cassette tape as the preferred medium. Yet, Amar stuck with his cassettes, refusing to switch to CDs despite declining sales.

"It has always been cassette tapes," he said. "That's how I make a living. I never thought about leaving this profession."

There were times when business dried up completely. Other times, Amar would only receive orders for 500 tapes in an entire month.

"Things were tough," he said. "Between 2005 and 2010, I only got orders for folk and dangdut songs," he said.

But the business still provided him with a sense of security. He was able to support his family and send his four children to university. Then, in 2011, cassette tapes were suddenly cool again. The Jakarta-based Dispersion Records were one of the first labels in Indonesia to push cassette tapes again. The label began release tapes from the likes of Joy Division disciples Pawns and noise-punks Haldol. The label's owner Chris said the main reason he switched to tapes was because of the price.

"Nostalgia is one factor," Chris said. "But the main reason is because tapes are affordable."

But by this point, most of Indonesia's tape duplication shops had shut down. When Chris went shopping for a duplication plant, he only found Lokananta down in Solo, Central Java, and Amar in Tangerang. Most of the people Amar sold his machine to had already left the business,.

"We can try to find those duplication machines, but if no one knows how to operate them, then why bother?" Amar said. "Those machines are fussy and need to be maintained. Even finding replacement parts is difficult."

Today, Amar's house is a hive of activity. He fills orders from Indonesian bands like Sigmun, Sore, and White Shoes and the Couples Company. Many of the musicians and label owners stop by in person and hang out.

He still charges only Rp. 7,000 to Rp. 8,000 (USD$0.52-$0.60) per tape. It's pretty cheap considering that most bands sell their tapes at Rp. 25,000 to Rp. 50,000 a piece.

"I know all these people by word of mouth," Amar explained. "I'm so lucky. Now I don't do pirated stuff anymore. I'd rather do this and help out these musicians. Every month, I can duplicate between 1,000 and 2,000 copies."

He still does everything by hand, picking up the raw materials at the factory and assembling the tape sleeves himself. His shop has no other employees.

"It's hard to find honest employees," he said. "I had one guy but every time I sent him to the factories, he would take Rp. 100,000 and put it in his pocket without my permission. I ended up owing money to the factories. That's why I would rather do this alone."

Amar tried to get his son interested in the family business, but he wasn't interested.

"He didn't even reject the idea when I offered it to him, he just didn't say anything," Amar said. "No response at all. So I'm not sure what to do. I don't know what the future will be like for this business. So for now, I'll just keep doing it alone."

Amar stared out the window and thought for a second.

"If you think about it, this is a lucrative business with very few competitors," he eventually said "Unlike those phone credit dealers."