Why you're here
It only
exists if
you put it in.
Fifty years of this scene, and most of it lives in people's heads, on a phone, on a flyer in a drawer. The record fills the gaps it can prove. The rest is yours to hand over.
You don't need a tidy story. A band name. A venue that's gone. The night the power cut and nobody left. The kid who ran it before anyone clapped. That's the history.
Goes in under your name, or no name. Your call, every time.
What it asks
What should I call you?
A name, a handle, or nothing. You can stay a ghost in the record if you want.
What were you, in the scene?
Roughly when?
The night you remember most. What happened?
The gig, the venue, the band, the date if you've got it. What it felt like. The thing that went wrong or went perfect. Be specific, ramble if you want.
Who or what did the history miss, or get wrong?
A band, a person, a venue, a label, a zine, a night I left out or a date I got wrong. I'd rather be right than look right.
Why did it matter to you?
Only if you want to. What the scene was for you, what you miss. No wrong answer.
Got photos, flyers, posters, recordings, screenshots?
Drop a link, or just say what you've got and DM it. A blurry phone photo beats nothing.
If I use your words or photos, how should you be credited?
Contact, if you're happy to be reached
An Insta handle or an email, only if you don't mind. Never published, never shared.
The scene's not done. Want in?
Five minutes · it goes in the record
Hand it
over.
Fill it in right here; your night, your correction, your name or no name. Then it's in, and the history stops being only mine.
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