Music that matters to me
The records that made you, on a shelf you can see.
Search an album by name and the cover art comes with it. Then put down what you can't get from a play count: the age you were, where you heard it, who you heard it with, and what it did to you.
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A play count is not a memory.
Streaming can tell you that you heard this record forty-one times. It can't tell you it was the summer you turned fourteen, or that it was on in the kitchen the week everything changed. That part only exists if somebody writes it down — and nobody else is going to.
Covers, at the size they were meant to be
Search by album or artist across Apple, Deezer and MusicBrainz at once. Pick the right release and the artwork, year, genre and tracklist arrive with it. No typing, no spreadsheet.
Notes that pile up instead of replacing each other
Every note is its own entry, kept in the order you wrote it. Come back in five years and add another. The record ends up reading like a diary, because that's what it is.
Down to the track
It's rarely the whole album. Star the tracks that are yours, and write against the one song that actually did it — the note keeps its place on the record forever.
The age you were
Put a number against a record — I was 14 — and your collection can be sorted by it. Reading a shelf youngest-first is reading your own life in order.
Three ways to stand in front of it.
The same collection, filtered and sorted however you like, shown three different ways — because looking for a record and sitting down with one are not the same thing.
The shelf
Cover art, face out.
The wall of sleeves you'd have if the last twenty years hadn't happened. Hover one and the record slides out from behind it.
- Filter as you type, across titles and artists
- Sort by artist, album, year, rating — or by the age you were
- A mark on every record you've written something about
The crate
Spines, edge on.
Flick along them the way you would in a shop. Each spine takes its colour from the record's own artwork, and the one under your cursor lifts out of the crate while the panel beside it tells you what you're holding.
The book
One record to a spread.
White paper, the sleeve as a plate, the tracklist beneath it and everything you've written on the facing page — laid out like an architectural monograph and read with the arrow keys, a leaf sweeping across the spine as the page turns.
- Album notes and track notes read as one thread, in order
- Favourites and note counts printed beside the tracklist
- Narrow it to the records you've actually written about
The album page
Write it down while you still remember it.
Big artwork, the full tracklist, and a box that's always open. Add a note in ten seconds or sit with it for an hour. Nothing is ever overwritten — an edited note says so, and the ones before it stay exactly where they were.
- Notes on the album, or on any single track
- Star the tracks that matter; the shelf remembers
- Cmd/Ctrl+Enter posts, arrow keys walk the collection
- Add a record by hand — a bootleg, a tape, a private press
It's your shelf. Not a product that happens to hold your memories.
There is no feed, no recommendation engine and nobody else reading what you wrote. The whole business model is that there isn't one.
Private by default
Your collection is visible to you and nobody else. There is no sharing, no public profile and no way for another account to see a record of yours.
No trackers, one cookie
No analytics, no advertising, no third-party scripts. The only cookie is the one that keeps you signed in — which is why you've never been asked to accept anything.
Leave with everything
Export the collection — records, notes, favourites, ages — as a JSON file in one click, any time. Ask for the account to be deleted and it goes, along with everything in it.
Start with one record.
The one you'd grab first. Search it, look at the cover for a minute, and write down why it's that one.