Walkthrough
The wandering
Albumary's app screens are currently shown in English.
The inner sleeve
There's a strip of cream paper standing proud of the cover. Pull it out.
It's the insert: who played, and how many of your other records those people are on. Which pressing you have. It only appears when there's genuinely something on it — a record the app knows nothing about doesn't get an empty sheet.
Following a name
Tap any name and you get every record in your library that person touched. Not every record they ever made — every record you own.
Someone you'd never heard of turns out to be on two of your records. That's the moment the collection stops being storage and becomes a collection.
Finding something
One field, at the top of every room, saying the same thing everywhere.
One list comes back. Titles and artists first, then genres, then everything that arrives by association — a song surfaces the album it's on, a person the albums they're on, a tag everything carrying it.
It's instant, it's local, and nothing you type ever leaves the device. Search doesn't go to the network to answer you. There's nothing to wait for, so there's no spinner — and nothing found waits until it's actually true rather than flashing while results are still arriving.
Typing a name and tapping a name give you the same answer, because they're the same question.
The map
Above the results, a line about what the store can see. Sometimes it's an invitation.
Sometimes it says it's still gathering. Sometimes it says nothing here connects to the rest of your shelves. Those are two different answers and the store doesn't run them together.
Take it and the store goes dark.
Move to a record and the middle becomes the record, with its people around it — the bass player, the engineer, the designer — and you can put it on from there.
Step to one of them and the middle becomes a person again.
You wander by alternating — record, person, record, person — until something pulls you in. Nothing on the map comes from outside your collection: only records you have, whether they sit in your library or arrived on a tape. The point isn't discovery of the world; it's discovery of your own shelves.