For six years, I have found myself randomly wondering, “Is this the year Phoebe Bridgers finally puts out a new album?” The answer has always been a resounding “no.”

That changed on May 8, when mysterious flyers appeared in Roswell, New Mexico, announcing a show that same day at the Liberty, a venue that holds a few hundred people. Equally small pop-ups announced by flyer have followed in places ranging from Lubbock, Texas, to Macon, Georgia. On Thursday, another pop-up—also announced via flyer—is happening at a decidedly bigger venue: Madison Square Garden, where Tidal is a sponsor and tickets are $1.

Yet despite her run of nearly 20 shows, I haven’t heard a single note of new music. No recording is allowed, with concertgoers required to put their phones in Yondr pouches. The dearth of information has turned fans into investigators trying to determine where the next show will be and if—or when—a new album is coming.

When there’s a “firehose of music and content, scarcity becomes a powerful tool,” says Jesse Sachs, a culture marketing strategist. That can, in turn, help artists make their work stand out in an era of ubiquity.

“So much of the rollout has resisted the normal internet cycle,” says twilightxgalaxy, a moderator of the Phoebe Bridgers subreddit who asked to remain unnamed to preserve their privacy. “Information has been limited, fragmented, and sometimes only available to the people physically present, which has made every new detail feel more significant.”

They say the daily drip of information and engagement online turned “a surprise announcement into a full-scale community detective project.”

That detective work involved a daily thread of show speculation that included educated guesses based on a theory that Bridgers was playing places with a history of UFO sightings, as well as a fair share of wishcasting. Group chats sprung up as people scoured their towns in real life for show flyers. People are digitally compiling photos of cards handed out at the shows that appear to be part of a bigger picture—possibly an album cover—and speculating on musical themes.

As a fan, I wasn’t above a little light detective work myself. Did I ask Claude to come up with a list of potential California tour stops based on the fan theory that she was playing places with UFO sightings? Was I prepared to drive eight hours to Area 51 for a shot to see her live with a few hundred people? Yes I did, and yes I was.

My investigation didn’t yield results, unfortunately, but LeAnna Chase Williams, a Cincinnati-based content creator, managed to crack the code. She pegged a venue called the Burl in Lexington, Kentucky—the town where she grew up—as the likely next tour stop after a Chattanooga, Tennessee, show.

Chase Williams had been following the tour as it wended across the Southeast and through Appalachia. Lexington is a little less than five hours from Chattanooga and is a college town, a common theme for many of Bridgers’ shows. The Burl is “one of the only cooler indie music venues in Lex,” says Chase Williams, “and when I looked up their events schedule and saw that the next day they randomly had no event booked, I knew something was up.”

She drove down on May 22 and waited in the rain for hours with dozens of other fans who had made the same bet, and was rewarded when Bridgers’ crew showed up with posters announcing the show.

She describes sitting cross-legged watching Bridgers performing on a couch in front of an audience of around 200 as the “best.” The no-phones policy “made the entire experience,” Chase Williams, 26, says. “I truly wish every concert was like that, having now experienced it.”