A habit I kept on purpose.

I'm Adryan Putra, and this is the part of my life that lives in a spreadsheet.

1999, on a borrowed console

I met DanceDanceRevolution before I ever stood on a real pad — a PlayStation copy of 2ndMIX, played on the floor with my hands. The arcade came later, in high school, on a 7thMIX cabinet running そばかす FRECKLES. I got on it in front of my friends and it was a total failure. That should have been the end of it.

It wasn't. In 2006 someone gave me a home mat, and by early 2007 I had gone from LIGHT to HEAVY in a single afternoon and passed MAX 300 for the first time. From there it stopped being a game I played and became a place I went.

The arcade years

Fun City in Ciputra Mall, TIMEZONE at Taman Anggrek, Supermall Karawaci — and eventually EMI Gajah Mada Plaza, which became the basecamp. My first Perfect Full Combo landed in October 2009. Between 2009 and 2011 there were tournaments at Gajah Mada and Margo City, and people I learned the game by losing to: Chris, Banji, Jupan, Vari, and Ade Septian, who was a national-level monster.

Then work happened. From about 2013 to 2017 I barely played at all.

Why single digits

DDR A arrived in Indonesia in December 2017 and I came back to it. The timing window had changed, and with it the thing worth chasing: not just a full combo, but one with fewer than ten Perfects — an SDP. I got my first in 2019.

That's what this archive is counting. In modern DDR a Perfect costs you exactly ten points off a million, so “3P” and “999,970” are the same sentence said two ways. A zero would be a Marvelous Full Combo. I'm still looking for my first.

Somewhere in all of this the game stopped being a hobby and became, as I once wrote, a healing potion for many kinds of problem.

Most of the clears in this archive didn't happen in an arcade. They happened at home, on machines I ended up owning outright.

The red cabinet

The pandemic closed every arcade I played at, and after thirteen months without a cabinet I stopped waiting. Importing a home pad from Poland was one option; buying a real machine turned out to be the other. I surveyed four locations and found it in a shuttered arcade branch — a Japanese DDR SuperNOVA2 red cabinet, with a rare intact 31kHz CRT and the previous operator's maintenance records still inside.

It weighed over 450kg, came apart into four partitions that were still pretty hefty, and took three people to get into the living room. Its hard drive was dead, so I negotiated to swap the computer unit out of another SuperNOVA2 on the floor. Then came days of disinfecting, a water level to sit the cabinet true, leg levelers wound down to lift the casters off the floor, four dead sensors, dead buttons, missing corner brackets — and the slow work of remembering SuperNOVA2 timing.

The Japanese DDR X HD

The third machine was the one I actually wanted: the Japanese DDR X HD, Konami's 10th-anniversary cabinet from December 2008 and the last JAMMA-based DDR. The Japanese build is solid black where the Western Betson and Raw Thrills versions are covered in artwork, and it has the paired Satellite Unit light spires that animate with the music.

It runs a 37-inch HD panel at 1376×768, four full-range drivers in the header over a pair of subwoofers, a Bemani PC Type-4 “Dragon” board I've since put more RAM and an SSD into, and 48 LEDs around the frame. It came in on 220V and needed a step-down converter to run at 100V. The coin counter read past 54,000 when it arrived.

Stripping it down turned up both the good and the bad: original DDR X artwork preserved under a later overlay, an unexpected find of hidden treasure — and rust under a cushion that looked perfectly intact, after years of somebody else's sweat. The pad clean was herculean. It was worth it.

Owning them changed what this archive is. No closing time, no queue behind you, so a chart stops being a coin and becomes a question you can sit with for a month. Most of the single-digit runs in here came from exactly that.

For years the archive was one spreadsheet: a letter-per-column grid, a song name, ESP or CSP, and a Perfect count. Useful to me, unreadable to anyone else. This site exists because I wanted the thing I'd been keeping to actually look like what it is.

What it had to be

Three rules. The spreadsheet stays the source of truth — I'm not re-typing 642 rows into a database. Nothing gets invented: if a song's level isn't known, it says so instead of guessing. And it had to feel like DDR, which is why the background is the 2014 attract screen and the headline is what the announcer says when you AAA a song.

Building it with AI

I designed it; Claude built it. That split worked better than I expected. I brought references, copy and judgement calls; it wrote the pipeline that reads the workbook, worked out that a Perfect costs exactly ten points so every score here is exact rather than estimated, and went and found the missing chart levels — including the discovery that a lot of my songs never appeared on a Japanese arcade cabinet at all, only on the PS2 ports and the European Dancing Stage releases.

The parts I'd have given up on are the parts it did quietly: matching 642 hand-typed song titles against community databases, pulling jacket art and old banners, and rebuilding the whole site from the sheet in one command.

How it stays current

I update the spreadsheet. One command re-reads it, re-matches everything and regenerates the pages. No CMS, no database, no build step — just files I can open in a browser in ten years.