You did the work.
The credits say nothing.
Twelve hours of comping, tuning, editing and recall — and the metadata says one name that isn't yours.
Founding access · Logic Pro is the first release · nothing leaves your machine
Engineering is the least documented job in music. The producer is credited, the artist is credited, and the person who actually captured it appears in a liner note nobody reads, if at all.
There's no mechanism. It isn't malice — there's simply never been a record of who was at the desk.
means no rate.
Every negotiation starts from scratch because you can't show the work. "I did that album" is a claim. The album doesn't say so anywhere a stranger can check.
Points, when they happen at all, go to whoever the paperwork remembered.
its own log now.
Who was at the machine, for how long, which takes were captured, which comps were built, what got punched and when. Automation written by hand looks completely different from automation drawn — and the record knows the difference.
It's the first time the craft has left a trace that isn't a memory.
sealed sessions.
Not a list of albums you say you worked on. A set of records, signed and timestamped, showing exactly what you did on each one.
That's a different conversation with a manager, a label, or an artist who's deciding who to book.
It asks. Once.
The session knows a vocal was captured at 16:32 for 27 seconds. It doesn't know whose voice it was — so when the take is kept, it asks the room.
they're invited, and the credit is waiting for them.
One tap, and that take is attributed for good. If the person isn't on the platform, the producer types an email address and they receive an invitation with their contribution already logged and waiting.
Nobody has to remember to claim anything. The credit finds them.
You already built the workflow. Now it can earn.
Every producer and every engineer has a set of moves they run on every record. Nobody has ever been paid for one.
Your mix-prep routine. The way you gain-stage a session before you touch a fader. The drum bus you rebuild from memory every single time. The comping pass you do on every vocal. Your stem-delivery naming convention that actually works.
That knowledge is the difference between you and someone who bought the same plugins. It's also completely trapped — you can teach it to an assistant over six months, or you can watch someone rediscover it badly.
Publish it once. It runs for everyone.
Revo Co-Pilot performs real operations inside the DAW. A workflow is you telling it the order you do things in, and what "right" looks like. Then any producer can invoke it by name, or just ask for it in plain language.
And you get paid every time it runs
Not a one-off sale. Usage-based, monthly, for as long as people keep using it.
You don't have to write code. You build the workflow the way you'd build anything else — by doing it once with Revo watching, naming it, and cleaning it up. If you can run the session, you can publish the workflow.
The first honest way this industry has found to pay for craft that isn't a performance.
An engineer's comping method is worth something to four thousand people. A producer's mix-prep routine saves twenty minutes a session, forever. Until now the only way to monetise either was to be in the room yourself.