Channel eleven is the only line about a person
A sound-check input list numbers sixteen lines of stage equipment, and one note beside channel eleven is about the singer instead of the gear.

Sixteen numbered channels down a ruled sheet, each naming a drum, a mic, an amp, a line in. Two of
the lines are crossed out and rewritten in a different hand. Beside channel eleven, in the margin:
SHE MOVES, USE THE OTHER ONE.
Every other line on that sheet is a piece of equipment. That one is a person.
What is a sound-check input list for?
Telling the desk what's plugged into what, in an order both ends agree on.
A stage has more cables running to it than anyone can track by memory — kick, snare, each tom, a pair of overheads, a DI for the bass, mics for the guitar amps, vocals, keys. The input list assigns each of those a channel number before a single fader gets touched, so the person on stage and the person at the desk are talking about the same thing without having to describe it.
Why does the numbering matter more than the words on it?
Because the number is what actually gets said out loud.
Nobody working a show calls out "the mic on the floor tom" mid-soundcheck. They call out a number, because a number is faster to say and harder to mishear over a stage full of noise. The instrument names on the sheet are there for whoever writes it and whoever reads it later; the numbers are the working language between two people who are, for that hour, standing thirty metres apart and talking through a headset.
What makes the note beside channel eleven different?
It isn't describing a piece of gear at all.
Every other correction on that sheet — the two crossed-out lines, rewritten — is still equipment
talking to equipment: a mic swapped, a channel reassigned. SHE MOVES, USE THE OTHER ONE is
someone at the desk who watched the singer during soundcheck, noticed she doesn't stay still at the
mic, and changed the plan around a fact about a body rather than a fact about a cable.
Why that's the whole document, really
It's the one line on the sheet a stranger reading it afterwards would actually remember. Everything else is competent, replaceable information; that line is somebody paying attention.
Does the coffee ring belong on the print?
It's part of what makes the sheet look used rather than designed.
A clean input list looks like a form nobody ever filled in. One with a ring stain across a corner, two crossings-out and a margin note in different pens has clearly been carried around, argued over and consulted mid-show. It's the same reasoning as choosing an exact number over a round one — an actual stain, like an actual channel count, reads as evidence rather than decoration.
Can it use a real band's name?
If a real band's actual sheet is the point, ask first — it was somebody's working paper, not public artwork.
An input list isn't designed to be seen the way a logo or a sleeve is, but it still names a real act and often a real venue, and both belong to somebody. For a crew's own shirt, printed for the people who were in the room, that's a very different conversation from selling a stranger's paperwork. Inventing the band name and the channel details sidesteps the question and loses nothing — the format is the interesting part, not whose sheet it technically was.
Does this belong to any stage role, or just sound?
Any trade that runs on its own document nobody outside it ever sees.
A lighting plot does the same job for the crew that hangs the rig — numbered symbols instead of numbered channels, a working paper instead of a poster. Every technical department on a show has one, and none of them look anything like the artwork the audience buys.
Does it print well?
Yes — it's ruled lines and small type, which survive fabric better than most people expect.
The rules and the channel numbers are flat and hard-edged and hold at almost any size. The handwritten note is the part worth enlarging past its original scale, since fine pencil or biro strokes fill in if reproduced too small. The coffee ring reproduces best as a single flat tone rather than a soft photographic gradient. Olive, charcoal and a faded black all suit a working sheet. One ink for the printed list, a second for the handwriting, is plenty.
How do I get one made?
Describe the sheet at JustOG — how many channels, what's on them, and what the handwritten note says. Pick a direction, drag the crop frame, see it composited on the real garment, and it's made to order and shipped.
Designs other people have published are in the shop.
Somebody folded that sheet into a back pocket before the doors opened, coffee ring and all.