One album. All the way through.

The rule is older than the site. You put a record on. You let it finish. You do not treat forty minutes like a menu.

That is the whole product, if you strip the type. An intimate listening night is not a playlist party. It is not a silent disco. It is not a supper club with a soundtrack. It is one album, chosen by the host, played in sequence, in a room small enough that you can see who else is listening.

The record is the conversation. Words mean more when they have to wait.

We keep three formats because three is enough. Pure Listen: silence on side A, a short break, side B, then talk. BYOV: each guest brings a record and two minutes on why — the host still opens the night with the album on the card. Album Club: the record is announced a week ahead; you listen alone first; the gathering is the conversation you could not have in your kitchen.

Phones go face-down. There is a bowl by the door and we mean it. You came to be in a room with music and people, not to half-listen while a lock screen lights up. If something is on fire, step outside.

Capacity is the other half of the format. Twenty seats, no more. We tried the larger number in our heads and it turned into a venue. Hosts can go as small as six. The point is not exclusivity as a brand trick. The point is that a living room stays a living room.

Hosts hold the room. They are not staff. They choose the record, write the invite, and decide whether the night is free or paid. If they charge, they keep most of it — Side A takes about eighteen percent so the rails (seats, messages, payouts) exist. If they do not charge, the night is still a night. Taste is not a ticket tier.

After the needle lifts, the room decides. Sometimes the record is the only thing anyone wants to talk about. Sometimes nobody talks. Hosts will not run a seminar you did not ask for. The format is the album. Everything else is manners.