Built solo, by a concert fan, for concert fans
Gigvault is a concert diary app: log every show you've been to, keep setlists and photos with each night, get a Concert Wrapped after every gig — with social features on top. Free forever, no ads.
Gigvault is a concert diary: every show you've been to, in one place, with the setlist, your photos and the people you went with. This page is about who builds it and why it works the way it does.
It started with a number that was wrong
Alex — founder of Gigvault
Alexandra is a metalcore and pop punk fan from Munich who had been going to shows for years without keeping a list. Asked how many concerts she'd been to, she guessed around thirty. When she finally wrote them all down, the count came back at 68 shows, in 6 countries, by more than 260 different bands.
That gap — between what you remember and what you actually lived — is the whole reason this app exists. Nobody undercounts their streaming. Everybody undercounts their concerts, because there is no list.
Concert memories deserve better than a database. A ticket stub gives you a date. A photo gives you a moment. Neither one tells you who opened, or who was standing next to you — and those are the parts that fade first. The support act nobody had heard of yet. The friend who drove four hours. The song they only played that night.
In thirty years, when the loud rooms are behind her, she wants to open one app and find all of it still there — every band, every opener, every person she went with. Not because the data matters. Because the evenings did.
Built by one person who goes to shows
Gigvault is made solo, by someone who is in the crowd most weekends, not by a team that researched a market. That has consequences you can see in the product:
- Support acts count as their own show. Most trackers log the headliner and drop the two bands you actually discovered that night. Ours don't.
- Every festival set is its own entry. Eight sets across a weekend is eight records, not one line with the festival's name.
- The setlist stays with the night. Not a lookup you repeat in three years — part of the entry, with the date and the venue.
- Your recap updates after every show, not once in December.
None of that is a feature list decision. It's what you build when you have stood in the room.
What Gigvault doesn't do
The business model of most live music apps is selling you the next ticket, or selling your attention. That shapes what they build. Gigvault looks backwards on purpose, and that means:
- No ads. Not on the site, not in the app, not the “tasteful” kind either. Your concert history isn't inventory.
- No selling your data. Who you saw and where you were stays yours. We don't sell it, and we don't hand it to advertisers.
- No public feed, no algorithm. Connections are mutual only — the people you actually go with. Your profile and your photos are private until you switch them on.
- No paywall on your own history. Logging shows is free with no limit — not a trial, not a cap you hit at show forty. Export everything as CSV or JSON any time.
- The one exception: ticket links. On upcoming shows we link to Ticketmaster and Eventim, and those links earn us a small commission at no extra cost to you. That, and Pro, is how the free plan stays free.
Pro exists for people who want deeper stats and unlimited uploads, and it funds the thing. That's the entire model.
Why your history should outlive the app you keep it in
A concert history is a strange kind of data: it takes years to build and it cannot be reconstructed once it's gone. Ticket confirmations get deleted, photo libraries get migrated, venues close and take their listings with them.
So the rule here is simple: what you put in, you can get out. Your data is exportable, your profile is yours, and the parts that matter — dates, venues, artists, setlists — are kept in a form that survives.
Who it's for
For the person with two hundred shows behind them who has never written a single one down. For the one who goes alone because their friends don't listen to this. For anyone who has ever argued about whether that show was 2016 or 2017 and had no way to settle it.
If you recognise yourself in any of that, the first entry takes about twenty seconds.