It started with “I’ll do it when I get home.”

I was managing setlists the way a lot of bands do: some paper, some spreadsheets, some messages and a surprising amount of memory. None of those tools was terrible. Together, they created constant friction.

I wanted to move a song while we were talking about it. I wanted the rest of the band to see the change without another text. I wanted the list to hold the key, the tempo, the form, and who takes the next solo. On stage, I wanted big type I could read from behind the kit, not a tiny grid. When paper was the better choice, I still wanted to print it.

The goal was never to add more software. It was to stop the scramble over which list is current and which key we moved, so the band could get back to playing.

So I built the first version for my own band. Songs added to a gig became part of the repertoire instead of another duplicate. The set could be reordered on the device already in my hand. Bandmates could open the same current version. A dark stage view replaced squinting at the editing screen.

Then the edges grew naturally. Gigs needed venue details. Subs needed invitations. Repeated songs needed a real library. Posters needed the same title, date and venue already stored in the gig. It grew into a small toolkit for the band, but the original test stayed the same: does this save us time before the next count-in?

The Apple app is the next expression of that idea. iPhone and iPad fit the rehearsal and editing loop. Apple Watch fits the moment when you need one glance and both hands belong on the instrument. The web remains useful when a keyboard and a bigger screen are the right tools.

Setlist is still built from that original annoyance, and from a simple belief: a working band should not have to fight its own tools to know what it is playing next.