Touring bands make more at the merch table than from streaming. They run that table from a spreadsheet, and venues can take 20 to 35% of it. Rockstock gives a band one place to register merch, track stock and sell at the show.
My first flow copied how retail stores manage stock. It failed in testing. The second version borrowed from tools musicians already use, cut a screen, and almost every task passed.
Completed task attempts went from 16 of 25 to 24 of 25 between the two test rounds (five testers, five tasks each).
An average artist makes 16 times more per show from merch than from a full year of streaming royalties.
Streaming barely pays independent artists. Merch does, but venues and concession companies take a cut of every shirt, and bands rarely know what they actually kept by the end of a run.
I used the double diamond: go wide to understand the problem, narrow to the one worth solving, go wide again on ideas, then narrow to what works with real people. Each half below is what that looked like on Rockstock.
I interviewed 5 independent musicians touring in Canada about how they sell merch, where the money goes and what they would want from a tool. I compared commission fees across venues, then grouped everything into pain points, behaviours and motivations on an affinity map.
Musicians want to spend their energy on the show. What gets in the way is stock they can't see, money they can't trace and promotions they don't have time to run.
Merch lives in a spreadsheet. Stock gets counted by hand between shows, and production, storage and shipping costs eat into every sale.
Registering products and stock has to be fast enough to do before the tour, with a summary that flags low stock on its own.
After venue cuts and fees, bands couldn't say where the merch money went or which items actually made them money.
Store cost and selling price for every item and size, so each sale shows what the band keeps and reports show the best sellers.
Bundles, giveaways and discounts sell more merch, but bands had no simple way to run them at the table.
Discount codes inside the sales screen. I parked the bigger fan features (pre-orders, fan clubs) to keep the first version focused.
I turned the 5 interviews into one persona, Chad, and mapped a tour through his eyes. Two stages stood out as the places an app could change the outcome: making merch before the tour, and selling it at the show.

I wrote user stories for inventory and for fan engagement, then cut to the one epic that answers the question directly: inventory management, plus a live store for selling at the merch table. Everything else went on the later list.
How might we give independent touring bands more control over merch sales, and more financial stability on tour?

My first sketches put inventory inside a full tour planner. Too much. I narrowed it to the way stores work: register a product, then add stock to it with a cost and a price. That made reports possible and seemed easy to build. I compared Merch Cat, which felt dated and thin, and atVenu, which felt built for experienced managers, not a band like Chad's.
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I ran two rounds of moderated tests, five testers each, two days apart. Each person set up inventory and made a sale in the live store, thinking out loud. Round one exposed the retail model: people didn't understand why a product and its stock were separate steps, the labels were unclear, and the sales screen looked too much like inventory.
I dropped the retail process and modelled product setup on Bandcamp, which bands already use to sell merch online. Version two fixed the flow. Version three answered what testers asked for once the flow stopped getting in their way.
The brand had to feel like it belonged at a show and still read like a business tool. I built it from a mood board: Bebas Neue for loud, condensed headings, orange and teal over near-black, and a custom wordmark. Then I built the UI as an atomic library, and checked every colour pair for contrast so dark mode stays readable under stage lights.

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The smallest pieces: an 8 pt grid, the primary button in every state, one icon set, stock badges and filter pills. Every colour and size is named, so nothing is decided twice.

Atoms combined into parts with one job each: the top bar, chip filters, the stock toggle, and product, list and tour cards.

Bigger blocks that carry a whole task: picking who is using the app (admin or sales associate) and checking out a sale.

Templates for home, sales report and inventory, then the finished pages, including dark mode, built only from the parts above.

The high-fidelity app covers the full loop: register merch before the tour, watch stock during it, sell at the table and see what made money. It's a concept that was never launched, so these are the outcomes it was designed for, not ones I measured.
Product, sizes, cost and price on one page.
Low-stock warnings on the home screen.
Live sales, top products and margins per item.
A sales-only login for whoever runs the table.
Tap through the app: inventory, product setup and a sale.
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The website's job is one download. It talks like the audience (“Hey Rockstar”), opens with the problem, shows the app solving it, then closes on proof and the store links. On desktop the page leans into mood and story. On mobile it gets to the app faster, because that's where people decide.
A short impact line and a download button above the fold.
Promo video and features: track sales, manage stock, keep more.
Gallery and testimonial slots, then the call to download.
Designed at 1440 for desktop and 390 for mobile.
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I assumed bands could handle a retail-style process because it made the reports easy. Testing proved me wrong in one round. While the main flow was confusing, that was all people could talk about. Once it was fixed, the feedback turned to the details that make an app good.
My testers were design students, not touring musicians. Next time I'd test with the bands I interviewed, time each task, and check whether they'd actually pay for it before building a website to sell it.