Every company in the world is playing somebody else's music.

Why it exists

Every company has values on a wall. Almost nobody in the building can say them out loud without looking. The words are usually fine. The format is the problem: a list is something you read once, and a song is something you carry.

This album takes the same ideas out of the mouths of the people who run the place and the people who do the work. Nothing is invented. If a value is not real, it does not survive the interview, and finding that out is itself worth the money.

Whose voices

The founders or the leadership team, plus staff from more than one level of the company. Six to ten voices, because ten is where each person still gets a track of their own.

Where it plays

One shape it has taken

Not a template. No two albums made here have had the same shape, the same number of tracks, or the same number of voices. This is what one of them looked like.

Why it exists

Onboarding is a handbook nobody finishes and a lunch with whoever was free that day. What a new person actually needs is the unwritten part: how decisions really get made, what earns respect, what to do when something goes wrong.

Those things are known by everybody and written down by nobody. This gets them said out loud by the people who learned them the hard way, and hands them to the next person on day one, the same way in every office.

Whose voices

People who joined recently enough to remember what was confusing, and people who have been there long enough to know why it works that way.

Where it plays

One shape it has taken

Not a template. No two albums made here have had the same shape, the same number of tracks, or the same number of voices. This is what one of them looked like.

Why it exists

Recognition budgets buy things people throw away. The voucher, the engraved glass, the extra day off. They are appreciated for about an hour and then they are furniture.

This is one interview per person and one track per person, built only out of what that person said about their own work and their own life. It is played back to them, and to the room. Nobody has yet forgotten the day they heard theirs.

Whose voices

Everybody. That is the entire point, and it is why this one is priced by headcount rather than by track.

Where it plays

One shape it has taken

Not a template. No two albums made here have had the same shape, the same number of tracks, or the same number of voices. This is what one of them looked like.

Why it exists

A deck is read once, in a meeting, by somebody who is also checking their email. Then it sits in an inbox. Nothing about it survives the walk to the lift.

Seven tracks do the same job and keep doing it. The last one is your contact details, written so that it is a song and not an advertisement. It is handed over at the end of a meeting or sent instead of a follow up, and it gets played in the car, in the kitchen, on a run.

Whose voices

The founder, and usually one person from sales and one client who agreed to an hour.

Where it plays

One shape it has taken

Not a template. No two albums made here have had the same shape, the same number of tracks, or the same number of voices. This is what one of them looked like.

Why it exists

Your happiest clients have already said the most persuasive things anybody will ever say about you. Those words are sitting in a case study nobody opens, or in a review nobody reads past the star rating.

One client at the centre of each track, in their own words, with their permission in writing. Nothing is embellished, which is exactly why it is believed.

Whose voices

Clients who agreed to an hour. Their words, their permission, and their names used only if they want them used.

Where it plays

One shape it has taken

Not a template. No two albums made here have had the same shape, the same number of tracks, or the same number of voices. This is what one of them looked like.

Why it exists

A launch film is watched once, on the day, mostly by people who already work there. A week later the launch is over and there is nothing left to hand anybody.

An album made from the words of the people who actually built the thing. Why it exists, what it took, what nearly killed it. Released alongside the product, and still being played months afterwards.

Whose voices

Engineers, designers, whoever spent the year on it. Not the marketing department, which is the usual mistake.

Where it plays

One shape it has taken

Not a template. No two albums made here have had the same shape, the same number of tracks, or the same number of voices. This is what one of them looked like.

Why it exists

A cause that lives in a leaflet reaches the people who already care. Passing on a leaflet feels like asking for a favour, so most people quietly do not.

An album is a thing people send each other for their own reasons. Made out of the words of the family, the volunteers, and where it is right, the person it is for, with their consent and nobody else's words put in their mouths.

Whose voices

The family, the volunteers, the organisers, and where it is their wish, the person themselves.

Where it plays

One shape it has taken

Not a template. No two albums made here have had the same shape, the same number of tracks, or the same number of voices. This is what one of them looked like.

Why it exists

Conference music is the most forgettable thing in the building, and it is usually licensed, which means the venue is paying for it and nobody remembers it afterwards.

Music written out of the language of the event itself, running on loop between sessions. It has been done for a room of more than a thousand entrepreneurs at Estadio Espanol in Barcelona, across two days.

Whose voices

The organisers, several of the speakers, and sometimes the attendees, interviewed before the event.

Where it plays

One shape it has taken

Not a template. No two albums made here have had the same shape, the same number of tracks, or the same number of voices. This is what one of them looked like.

Why it exists

Background music in a commercial space is a permanent line on the accounts. A licence to a collection society, renewed every year, for music somebody else wrote, playing in a room that is supposed to feel like yours.

An album you own sits outside that arrangement. It plays in every site you have, for as long as you have them, and it generates no further invoice. This is the one a finance director says yes to fastest.

Whose voices

The owner, the people who work there, and often the regulars, who describe the place better than any brochure.

Where it plays

One shape it has taken

Not a template. No two albums made here have had the same shape, the same number of tracks, or the same number of voices. This is what one of them looked like.

Why it exists

Fifty years gets marked with a dinner, a slideshow, and somebody reading out a history that cannot be heard over the cutlery. The people who were actually there are in the room and do not get to speak.

This gives them the microphone. Ten voices across the decades, one at the centre of each track, and a record of the company that outlives everybody currently working in it.

Whose voices

The founder if they are alive, the longest serving people, the family, and the newest joiner, who sees it differently.

Where it plays

One shape it has taken

Not a template. No two albums made here have had the same shape, the same number of tracks, or the same number of voices. This is what one of them looked like.