I don’t clearly remember the moment I fell in love with music. Maybe there wasn’t a single moment. Maybe it was a thousand little memories stitched together over the years. All I know is that music was everywhere around me, like oxygen something you don’t notice until it’s gone. At home, we had a Technics deck with hundreds of international and national cassettes stacked in uneven piles all genres: pop, hip-hop, folk. I still remember that feeling of holding a cassette in my hand. That physical connection, that sense of holding music, is unmatched. Digital music can never replace that feeling.
In the car, we had a customized Pioneer stereo system, the kind that could shake the windows when a deep note hit just right. When I walked alone or sat quietly on the terrace, I had my Aiwa Walkman in my pocket, chewing through batteries faster than I could afford them. Music followed me everywhere. It stayed with me in every mood, every season of my life. That era, before smartphones, before streaming felt like pure magic. You didn’t just listen to music back then. You owned it. You held it in your hands.
This isn’t an article. Not even close. This is a feeling poured onto a page. This is the story of three individuals who didn’t know each other, who lived in different cities, who had different lives but were brought together by one thing: the desire to make something beautiful sound even more beautiful. To bring life back to a machine that carried decades of stories inside it.
I’ve always been equally in love with music and technology. People say it’s a strange combination, you’re either creative or a techie. But I’ve never accepted that divide. I am both. Maybe that’s why I’m drawn to things that have a soul hidden behind wires and circuits.
My father bought a Technics deck when I was just an infant, and it’s still with me today. A piece of home that has traveled with me through time. When I moved to Canada, one of the first things I bought was a Technics SL1600 turntable, along with an H-Class Technics receiver and a Technics cassette deck. I told myself I would stop there, but of course, I didn’t. Day by day, I started collecting more and more pieces, each one carrying its own story, its own scars, its own history.
For years, I stayed loyal to Technics. I knew the brand, the feel, the sound. But one day, something nudged me to step outside that comfort zone. Everyone around me kept talking about Marantz, almost like it was some mystical instrument wrapped in a golden glow. Honestly, I thought it was hype. Still, curiosity won. I decided to give it a chance.
Within three months, I bought a Marantz 1060 with a wooden case, a Marantz 2215B, Marantz 1070 and a Marantz 2230. The moment I powered on the 1060, my entire understanding of sound shifted. It looked beautiful, yes-but the warmth, the depth, the softness in the tones… it felt like the music was breathing. I could almost feel the capacitors waking up, stretching after years of sleep. That moment changed everything. I knew I had stepped into a completely new world.
Then came the 2230. I found it on Facebook Marketplace after days of stalking listings like a hungry hunter. It wasn’t in great shape—rust on the body, a damaged button, scratches that openly showed its age. The seller had no real information about the unit, so I walked in blind, hoping for the best. And yet, even after fifty long years and all its cosmetic wounds, when I connected it to the speakers, it played with a confidence that surprised me. It sounded better than my 1060. Better than most of what I owned.
I remember sitting there, listening to it, eyes closed, and thinking—if it sounds this incredible now, imagine how it would sound after a proper restoration. That thought struck me like a lightning bolt. In that instant, I knew exactly what I wanted: a complete restoration and a custom wooden case that would truly honor its legacy.
I searched everywhere for the right artisan. I messaged dozens of people. I sent sketches/references. I explained my idea again and again, hoping someone would truly understand my vision. Nothing worked. At the same time, I was also searching for someone who could restore the Marantz, someone who wasn’t just a technician, but an artist.
One day, in a Marantz Facebook group, I posted about my 2230. Shortly after, a man reached out to me privately. He said just one thing: “There’s only one guy you should trust with this. No one comes close.”
He gave me a name.
I contacted him, and quickly realized he was an artist in the real world. We spoke for hours, not just about the restoration, but about sound, history, and why these machines still matter. By the end of that conversation, he agreed to restore my Marantz.
Around the same time, I contacted another guy for wooden case, who immediately understood my initial requirements through chat. We spoke more, and eventually, I visited him at his workplace. I shared my clear vision how I wanted the design to match the soul of the machine, how it needed to feel handcrafted, personal, and emotional. From the design to the color, everything had to complement the warm glow of the receiver’s lights. He didn’t hesitate. He didn’t question a thing. He simply said, “I understand exactly what you want.”
And at that moment, everything aligned.
Three people. Three different cities. Over 500 kilometers apart. Different jobs, different skills, different lives. None of us had met before. Yet we shared one obsession—to bring this Marantz back to life in the best possible way. To restore not just a machine, but a piece of history.
What started as a random Facebook Marketplace purchase slowly turned into a journey, one filled with trust, artistry, nostalgia, and a kind of passion that only true music lovers understand.
Here are some photos from the early stages of the project…
This is only Part 1.
In Part 2, I’ll take you deeper into the journey—into the quiet mastery that shaped every decision long before a single screw was turned. It’s a story that unfolds slowly, through long conversations that stretched late into the night, drifting from circuitry and components to memory, philosophy, and the soul of sound itself. What began as a restoration soon became something far more personal.
There were unexpected challenges along the way moments that tested patience, trust, and belief in the process. Times when progress seemed invisible, when all you could do was wait and hope. And then, one day, there it was: the finished case. Seeing it for the first time was overwhelming. A machine that had been silent for decades suddenly felt alive again, as if time itself had folded back onto the present.
Along this journey, two other people quietly entered the story. One gave new life to the wooden case, shaping it with patience and reverence for its history. The other worked on the Marantz itself, bringing years of experience and disciplined precision to every component. Together, their craftsmanship turned restoration into revival.
And then came the moment that made everything else fade away. The first song. The first breath of sound after years of silence. As the restored Marantz played, it carried more than music—it carried time, memory, and soul. In that instant, it was clear: this was never just about bringing a machine back to life. It was about preserving something that refuses to disappear.
More soon…!!!
