The tap-to-sync room draws the recording's own vocal band
(lyrics_vocal_activity, the desktop's coarse envelope) as a strip under the
head, and one button lays every line across the stretches it says are sung —
the desktop's own generator, shared and unit-tested, which refuses rather
than guesses when there is too little voice to read. The result is labelled
an estimate everywhere it shows, the cursor goes back to the top so the taps
correct it, and one more tap drops the whole thing back to an empty set,
because a rough fill stamps every line at once and leaves Undo nothing to
take back. The artist page now fires the hero seed and the overview beside
the full page, the way the desktop stages them: a hero Kyle picked on this
phone comes back off the file with no network at all, the discography paints
from the overview's first page until the exhaustive pass lands with the
classified one, and both lanes are dropped with the page when a hero
changes. ANDROID.md's "Not done yet" is rewritten as the true map of the
port — what is absent by design and why, what is waiting on Rust rather than
on a file picker, and one bullet about the artwork viewer that had been done
for rounds.
Every control on the phone has a name now, in the app's own words, and the
desktop's word where it already has one; the nav is a tab set whose badge
count is part of the tab's name — "You, 3 transfers" rather than a stray 3
read out before it. The two sheets are dialogs with somewhere sensible for
the focus to land, and the half sheet's grab handle is finally a real
Close — the first dismissal a screen reader could reach, because the scrim
never was one. A sheet that is down is inert rather than sitting
off-screen in the accessibility tree with the hidden mini bar and the nav
under it, and one live region is mounted for the life of the app so that
an undo offer is actually announced; switches say on or off, chips say
pressed, and the waveform is a slider where it can seek. Nothing visible
changed. The walk counts the controls with no name, with a junk name, in a
hidden layer, or with unsaid state — all four held at zero on ten screens,
and the nameless count on a room and on both prompts besides, which is
where the six fields named here actually live.
The editor the desktop drives with a mouse is better under a thumb: the
song plays, the line to time sits large in the middle of the screen with
the one behind and the one ahead faint around it, and a tap anywhere
stamps it. One layer the back gesture peels, and a set left mid-tap is
offered back by the row that opened it; Save writes the track's own
document, lines never tapped left out of it and the button saying how
many are kept. The lyrics sheet also gains the per-track auto-sync switch
and the desktop's reduced-vocals copy — the same title, artist and
duration, so the words keep following it, and one row puts the original
back.
KeelrLeek