Every Voice Has A Price

Restaurants and shops are now paying royalties. (Unsplash)

Music and spicy noodles are rarely discussed in the same breath. But in 2025, the two met in court. The story left many with a bitter truth.

After two rounds of mediation, PT Mitra Bali Sukses (Mie Gacoan) finally agreed to pay Rp 2.2 billion in royalties to the Indonesian Music Licensing Center (Selmi). This amount covers song usage from 2022 to the end of 2025. Selmi's Secretary General, Ramsudin Manullang, explained the calculation: Rp 120,000 per seat per year.

Earlier this August, Minister of Law Supratman Andi Agtas witnessed the signing of a peace agreement between MBS—the license holder of Mie Gacoan in Bali and outside Java—and Selmi. The case began because MBS failed to pay royalties since 2022. Legal pressure led to the indictment of one of MBS's directors before they finally settled their obligations.

The royalty calculation is simple: number of seats × rate per seat × number of years × number of outlets. This system has been in place for almost a decade. However, many businesses continue to ignore it.

Supratman emphasized that royalties are not taxes. The state doesn't receive a single cent. The funds are fully distributed to creators, producers, and artists through the Collective Management Institution (LMK) or LMKN.

The problem is that awareness of paying royalties remains low. The data Supratman revealed is embarrassing. With a population of 280 million, Indonesia only collects IDR 270 billion in royalties per year. Compare that to Malaysia, where a population of 33 million can collect IDR 600–700 billion.

This means it's not a small market, but weak awareness. Restaurants, hotels, malls, karaoke bars—all play music to attract customers, but many are unwilling (or haven't yet) to pay the creators' rights.

The Mie Gacoan case sparked a backlash. Many cafes replaced songs with foreign music or bird sounds to avoid legal issues. However, LMKN Commissioner Johnny Maukar said, even natural sound recordings can have related rights. Changing playlists is not the solution.

Piyu, guitarist for PADI Reborn and Chairman of the Indonesian Composers Association, emphasized that the business owner, not the performing musician, is obligated to pay royalties. Ikke Nurjanah, a commissioner of the National Music Association (LMKN), reminded us that performing rights are the right to present musical works in public spaces—at varying rates, for example, IDR 120,000 per seat per year.

The Indonesia-Malaysia royalty gap illustrates one thing: We enjoy music, but we're reluctant to pay for it. Perhaps, for some entrepreneurs, music is just a free "bonus." Yet, every note heard in public spaces is a valuable asset.

Enforcing performing rights isn't just about punishing the unruly. It's about building a healthy music industry ecosystem. Without it, songwriters will continue to lose their economic rights.

Ironically, the biggest reminder about the importance of paying royalties came not from a major musician, but from a popular spicy noodle chain popular among young people.

Perhaps the sharpest lesson this year wasn't in the bowl of noodles, but at the royalty table—where we realize that every note has a price.

Creative Economy Minister Teuku Riefky Harsya said that regulations for cafes and small food stalls still need to be reviewed, pending revisions to the Copyright Law. However, the principle is clear: Music has value, and that value must be paid for.

In the digital age, a single beat of music in a cafe can unlock the royalty system. Every playlist spin isn't just entertainment, but moral currency. And like all currencies, if we continue to view them as worthless, one day Indonesian music will be completely unpaid for—not with money, but with its sound disappearing from our ears.

This is a problem in Indonesia's creative economy. Small shops and big musicians both have a stake. If the system is transparent, distribution is fair, and technology is affordable, prosperity can flow.