Jeeni now live to the public on Crowdcube having raised £80K and on schedule to reach £100K target.

Jeeni Blog

Helping the next generation of talent to build a global fanbase

Jeeni now live to the public on Crowdcube having raised £80K and on schedule to reach £100K target.

Jeeni, the social music platform that brings artists closer to their fans – and shares revenue ethically – is poised to become the first Portsmouth-based start-up to go on Crowdcube for its third round. If you want to see our pitch click HERE.

With 350million streamed music subscribers and market growth up by 39% this year, Jeeni is likely to ride the wave and be a huge success, not only with unsigned musicians and performers but with their superfans.

“We’re standing by to raise £100,000 for 2.4% with a pre-market valuation£4M,” says Jeeni founder Shena Mitchell. “And while we are already negotiating with several major investors, the beauty of Crowdcube is that the artists themselves can actually own a stake in the company for as little as £10.”

Shena continues, “Jeeni’s mission is to support unsigned music and performers, by helping them build a fanbase. We aim to fast-track careers in the music business, and make sure they take the lion’s share of the revenue that’s raised.

Jeeni is needed more now than ever and we have proved that the demand is high. Currently we can only support 100,000 videos, so we must now move up a gear as we head for global roll-out. This Round Three investment will be used to scale up again and launch our next-generation platform. It will also be used to develop our IoS and Android apps."

When the financial backing has been secured and we go live, we’ll be creating new jobs in the area, which is great for the local economy. When you consider the wealth of music talent in Portsmouth – hosting over 2,000 music events a year with Victorious, The Guildhall, Band Stand, Wedgewood Rooms, and all the Portsmouth Festivities and pubs – we’re alive to the opportunities of our local music culture, creativity and talent. But with live venues locked down for now, the online opportunity of Jeeni is needed more than ever.

It’s so cool to think someone reading this might choose to invest in Jeeni now with just £10, and then use Jeeni to build their own fanbase for fame and success! We’re going to try hard to make sure that happens.”

JEENI is currently inviting investment on Crowdcube. To find out how to get involved please join our mailing list for updates or check out our fundraising pitch. If you want to see our pitch click HERE.

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03
Sep

Mel's World

Today, Jeeni has returned to Crowdcube to raise more funds for helping new talent. Jeeni founding director Mel Croucher says, “I admit we're ahead of our original schedule, but there's still so much more to do. We need to scale our online platform globally now and build our mass artist showcases. Then we can hit all our targets, and give our new artists the recognition they deserve.” If you want to see our pitch click HERE. Mel has been writing the best-loved column in top-selling tech magazines for over 30 years. Now he's agreed to share his work with all our members. He's a video games pioneer and musician, and to to find out more about Mel check out his Wikipedia page. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mel_Croucher. Here's one of Mel's latest! This place is neither a home nor a prison. It is some sort of institution. It drips a pallid 1980s atmosphere, and it makes me both afraid and excited. I am completely lost in a badly-lit labyrinth of corridors. It feels like I am being toyed with, and I want to leave. Of course I know the rules by now, and the most important rule of all is that I must keep my social distance of an arms-length and avoid physical contact with any other lost souls who wander these passages. They are creepy. They look more like ghosts than real people. Their eyes are disturbing. Sometimes they stare ahead vacantly, sometimes their staring gazes flick to the left and then to the right in a zombie rhythm. I cannot see their noses or their mouths, because they are covered by coloured masks. My own mouth is not covered at all. My own mouth gapes wide open. I think I feel hungry. I think I am searching for food. Perhaps I will find a piece of fruit, or maybe one of those pills I am encouraged to consume. As I turn a corner, I nearly collide with one of the ghostly figures. But I keep calm. I do not panic. I simply turn away and move as fast as I can. Which is not very fast at all. I can sense another presence around the next corner. The passages are only wide enough for one soul to pass at a time. I feel rather hopeless. I feel quite trapped. I think there is a distinct possibility that very soon I will lose my life. I think I need to build a wall before my time runs out. I know how to build a wall, I have had plenty of practice. The bottom rows of bricks slot into place without much trouble. But the more I seem to succeed, the more difficult my masonic task becomes. The stupid smaller bricks take on a will of their own, and the larger bricks feel clumsy in my hands. My wall is becoming a mess. There are big gaps in the structure where an enemy might get through. There are little gaps in the structure where a virus can penetrate. I think I'd better get out of here. I think I'd better find me a new space, one with some ladders to climb up and ledges to crawl along. Perhaps if I navigate these ladders and ledges, I can find my way out. And will you look up there! High above the ladders, almost out of sight, there is a young woman in a purple frock. She is in obvious distress. She calls out to me. Her flame-red hair cascades around her face, and then blows backwards. Which is bizarre, because there is no wind to speak of. Now she screams out, the same word over and over again. The word is help. Her cry is too theatrical. She has a big nose, like Princess Diana, or Pete Townshend. I am not very interested in her. I am much more interested in the beer. It believe that the beer is stored in big wooden barrels, stacked up in strategic places, and seemingly too heavy to be manhandled. But I am able to pick up any barrel I like, magically, without a problem, because I am unnaturally strong. And I am very, very hairy, from tip to toe. If I was once Pacman, now I am the mighty Kong. It has been many years since the viral invaders arrived from the Far East. The Space Invaders. At first the effects of their invasion were only faintly amusing, but then they grew rather attractive, and strangely exciting, and eventually they became quite addictive, even all-consuming. But as with all invasions, their glamour grew dull and they eventually lost their grip on power and faded into folk-memory. Recently, my domestic patterns have been disrupted, just like everyone else's. I have been procrastinating. I have been clearing out the cupboard under the stairs. Which is how I came across this old crate that has been gathering dust for longer than I can remember. Near the top of the crate there was a sleeping collection of very old videogame cassettes, many of which I had published myself. And beneath those old games there were some vintage machines in their original boxes. Once I'd worked out which of their black power supplies went into which of their grubby little holes, they sprang back into life to display crude blocky graphics on their silly little screens. It's been decades since I played Pacman, or Tetris, or Donkey Kong. And the last time I played Space Invaders, silly haircuts were compulsory and Margaret Thatcher was driving around in a tank. When this shitstorm is over, and when I am able to go free-range again, I wonder how long it will take me to forget about all the ghosts in all the corridors from all those bygone times. As for the flame-haired damsel in distress, I remember her name clearly. Her name was Pauline Daniella Verducci Lady Louise. She was less than an inch tall. She was a drip. The beer was virtual. It still is. Jeeni Creator, Mel Croucher - badly in need of a haircut Click HERE to visit or return to jeeni.com

06
Jun

For the Love of words - why writing it out makes the best therapy.

By Sammie Venn. Jeeni's Official Writer, Columnist and Blogger I have been an avid bookworm all my life. I used to read under the covers by torchlight when I was little and wake up bleary eyed but full of wonder. Delving into alternative worlds until the early hours, I would write stories and music imagining I was part of those mystical realms. Even though I was only 10 I understood the power of words. Their lyricism was captivating, and the songs I wrote became part of me, despite the fact that I could not hit a single note on key. My grandmother was an Opera singer, so my dulcet tones were put to shame, but it never stopped me belting out a melody in the shower as I grew older. Little did I know that verse would be my go-to therapy and expression of humanity in later life. Art in any form is therapeutic. Macklemore wrote that “Music moves people. It connects them in ways that no other medium can. It pulls heart strings. It acts as medicine” . Whether it is playing an instrument, reading, painting or writing, creative activity in any guise will have a positive impact on our mental health. Music is to the soul what words are to the mind, it’s all about turning a cacophony of phrases into poetic verse. I have always described it as a cathartic vent; enabling a confrontation between the most of powerful demons as well as deepest desires. Poetry is my chosen genre these days; it helps to make sense of chaotic thoughts in a non-sensical way. Iambic pentameter, rhythm and rhyme gives a structure to the subconscious and coherence to thought. David Richo author of “How to be an adult” said that “Our wounds are often the openings into the best and most beautiful part of us - Our tears are precious, necessary, and part of what make us such endearing creatures.” Just like a piece of music, giving your thoughts a physical shape helps them to form a new arrangement. Why not spend 10/15 minutes a day brain dumping. I always finish a liberating mind sweep with a gratitude list. It helps me to feel invigorated and more energised. Write from your heart, not your mind. Get those words down on a page, it doesn’t have to be rational, make sense to others or be the next prize winning tome. Writing therapy is about you as an individual clearing headspace for renewal and recovery. Don’t censor or perfect just let your feelings be part of a free flow process. Tune into those emotions, stay as present as you can with them and let the page hold onto them so you don’t have to. Fictionalise yourself. Create a third person version of you - I have employed this technique numerous times it is like writing for self-knowledge. The plethora of journals that sit on my bookshelves describe hope, abundance, love, passion, desire, fear and all manner of emotions in between. In understanding how I wanted to feel, I was able to get creative and fall in love with a whole new way of being. As the Beatles so appropriately said “take a sad song and make it better”. So I would like to share one of my poems with you its called “ Wild Child”.

06
Jun

Huawei to Hell

Today, Jeeni returns to Crowdcube to raise more funds for helping new talent. Jeeni founding director Mel Croucher says, “We’re ahead of our original schedule, but there’s still so much more to do. We need to scale our online platform globally now and build our mass artist showcases to hit all our targets, and give our new artists the recognition they deserve.” If you want to see our pitch click HERE. Mel has been writing the best-loved column in top-selling tech magazines for over 30 years. Now he’s agreed to share his work with our members. He’s a video games pioneer and musician, and to to find out more about Mel check out his Wikipedia page. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mel_Croucher. Here’s Mel’s latest! Trade wars are dangerous. When tariffs are imposed, and when sanctions get slapped on, and when one nation ceases to trade with another nation, then a trade war has a funny habit of turning into a real war. And here we all are, slap bang in the middle of a lulu of a trade war between the world’s two most powerful states. This is a trade war that’s not based on essentials like oil, or wheat, or toilet paper, but a trade war based on the pixies and fairy-dust of software algorithms. One day a peace treaty is waved, next day missiles are launched. Here is what happened in the future. The proxy war between the Donald Trump and Boris Johnson axis against Xi Jinping didn’t affect me much, seeing as I had never owned a Huawei handset. I admit that I did find some comfort in the fact that cellphone zombies became totally bereft at the prospect of not being able to view TikTok on their little Chinese screens. All I could say to those morons was - suck it up guys, you had it coming! In the first few hours of the Huawei denial of service attacks, the bewilderment and confusion of being unable to access social media apps soon turned to anger. This was triggered by the fact that the masses were unable to access social media apps to tell one another that they could not access social media apps. They soon realised they couldn’t remember any contact details of any of their virtual friends, or why they were virtual friends in the first place. Neither could they remember where they were, or where anything else was, or how to find their way around the real world at all. And without the Uber app they found themselves physically marooned within the perimeters of their ignorance. Deliveroo failed to respond the following day, so to avoid starvation, people who had a strong sense of smell managed to find their way to MacDonalds. But the computers were down and riots began when the Cola ran out, as slow-motion customers blamed Covid19 for the fact that China and the USA were having a software spat. That night, the younger, more active elements of society went on the rampage and looted Tescos for pot noodles, which was a total waste of effort because the electric kettles no longer worked, thanks to smart-meter reliance on dodgy apps. Tuesday evening, after martial law and compulsory prayers, the county lines failed to supply recreational drugs to their app-driven client base, and hospitals were targeted to fill the gap in the market. Amusing video clips of the descent into chaos were not shared, not because of any sense of social responsibility but because Instagram was kaput. This added to the howling rage of the mob more than somewhat. Then, not long after the dogs began to disappear, the hunting of the weak began, and there was the smell of woodsmoke and bacon in the air. On a more positive note, a lot of overweight people slimmed down fast and learned new skills like shadow puppetry and crossbow production. And so it was that all those predictions how civilisation would end as the result of electro-magnetic-pulse attacks turned out to be wrong. There was no need to launch missiles, zap communications or fry every electronic circuit in the land. All it took was an old man with an orange face to start a pissing contest. The irony that the old man’s preferred means of communication was Twitter is not lost on me, but then I don’t need Google Maps to tell me that we’re all up shit creek without a paddle. And that, dear reader, is how come we all ended up on the Huawei to Hell.

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