At a moment when digital performance was still searching for a stage, #LIVINGROOMTODAY answered with a provocation: what if the stage were the browser, the orchestra a drift of latency, the theatre a quilt of apartments stitched together by light? The series assembled musicians, artists, and strangers into a temporary nation of rooms—soft chambers lit by desk lamps and laptop glare—where intimacy was broadcast and spectatorship felt reciprocal.

Devised by Smilebigforgod with a revolving cast of collaborators, each night unfolded like a pirate transmission: fragmented and tender, alive to the friction of distance. The shows embraced the awkwardness of bandwidth as a kind of instrument—the stutter of a stream, the bloom of a compressor—turning technical limits into dramaturgy. In an era of frictionless feeds, this was insistently human live-ness, a club that existed nowhere and everywhere at once.

If there was a thesis, it lived between camera and couch: that community is not a place but a practice, made and remade in the long scroll of attention. For a few hours at a time, the internet felt less like a mall and more like a commons. You could hear the room.