The Open Mic
A room is yours and your band's. The Open Mic is the one place you step onto on purpose — and step off again whenever you like.
Being findable is a switch, and it starts off. Your songs stay in your room until you put one up. Three decisions make something public. Each one is yours, and undoable.
Put a song up and name what it's missing — bass on the second verse. The ask carries the song with it: the audio, the key, the tempo, what's on it already. Answering is one tap.
"Guitarist" doesn't tell you metal from jazz. Pick what you play, press Listen, hear the songs that need it. The rest you judge by ear.
No badges, no levels, no streaks, no chart of the most liked. The moment a room ranks people it stops being a room. A phone recording gets in as readily as a mastered mix.
Anywhere somebody else's music, picture or message appears, you can report it and block them. Blocking closes anything already open between you. Nothing from a stranger is reviewed before you see it, and the app says so.
A noticeboard, not a feed. Nothing scrolls forever. Some days nobody needs anything — that's a small room, not a broken one.
The beta is small and free, and I read everything that comes back.
Email for an invite