Studio shows and broadcast
Daily formats, late nights, magazines. A transmission clock, a running order the gallery can scan, and a day that starts at rig rather than at the top of the hour.
Three kinds of production.
Sport and outside broadcast
Pre-game, in-game, half-time, sponsor reads — with time anchors that hold against the clock, and the compound around them: OBVAN, DSNG, generators, accreditation and the crew who never see the gallery.
Music, entertainment and ceremonies
Bands and playback, hosts on stage, video packages, presenters, and the reorder that lands with seconds to air. Runners cueing talent backstage from the same running order as the gallery.
Four kinds of operation.
A workspace is the licence, and what it can do follows from the shape of the operation holding it. Show directors, team leaders and crew work inside a customer’s productions without a licence of their own.
Solo
One person, own productions. You are the schedule — the day, the departments, the crew and their links, the chat and the compound. One seat, and it is yours.
Producer
A production house with a team. Seats for the other producers and admins who build alongside you, and your own mark on what leaves the building.
Enterprise
A broadcaster or a large production company. Departments inside the one workspace, each with its own admin, its own contact pool and its own view of the record.
Show director
A workspace of your own, held by a person rather than a company — an instrument for writing rundowns and running them. Inside a client’s production you hold the full rights of your role, whatever your own plan is.
Working across companies
Your workspace is yours.
Theirs is theirs.
Plenty of people in live production work for more than one company. A show director calls three broadcasters in a month; a producer has a client list. That fact costs you nothing here, and holding a workspace of your own is not something you have to explain to an employer.
Two spaces, never merged
You keep a workspace of your own. Invitations from clients arrive in a separate list beside it. Your productions do not appear in their panel, and theirs do not appear in yours.
Your contact book is private
The crew you have built up over years belongs to your account, not to whoever hired you last. It comes with you into every production you are called into, and no client administrator can read it. That is a rule in the database, not a preference in a settings screen.
Your templates travel
The rundown skeleton you refined over thirty shows is held on your account, not in a client’s library. You bring it to the next production; you do not leave a copy behind.
No client can see the others
An administrator’s reach stops at the productions their own workspace owns. There is no screen, no report and no export that crosses that line.
Your plan never limits you at theirs
Inside a client’s production you hold the full rights of your role there, whatever your own subscription is. Their licence covers their workspace; yours covers yours. Neither reaches into the other.
This is why a producer on staff can hold a workspace of their own — and why a show director can work for four broadcasters in a season without any of them learning about the other three.
Where this comes from
Built in the gallery,
not from a feature list.
This comes out of more than twenty years of live television — international entertainment formats, music shows, sport production and state occasions, where the transmission window does not move just because the plan did.
That is where the rules in this product come from: console positions that never shift under the operator’s hand, a clock nobody downstream can get ahead of, a running order the whole crew can read from the floor, and an honest record of what happened once it is over.