Join us Sunday, August 8th @ 7pm EDT

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Hello my fellow Riffers! This is your reminder that our Album of the Month meeting is this Sunday, August 8th, @ 7pm EDT. I hope to see you and all your music-loving friends there, ready to discuss this month’s selection — The Sign by Ace of Base.

I’ll provide some background knowledge of the band and album, and talk briefly about the music Ace of Base shoved aside on their way to the top of the charts.

After that, I’ll tell a few dad jokes, then open the floor for discussion. I’m…

Meeting on Sunday, August 8th @ 7pm EDT

Photo by Alex Knight on Unsplash

You guys, last Sunday (7/11/21) was Riff’s July Album of the Month Club meeting, and as you probably expected, it was awful. Hosted by Terry Barr (more on him later), the meeting derailed with Jessica Lee McMillan’s real-time intelligence and thoughtfulness (ew), stayed off course when If Ever You’re Listening added his limited yet refreshing insights (gross), and David Acaster shared unfluffy, matter-of-fact knowledge (what the hell?). Where were all the snobby know-it-alls with their edgy exclusivity?!?

They never showed. The most exclusive thing about the evening was whatever product Rob Janicke


On growing older and getting hotter

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My great-grandmother, my beautiful Naomi, would say heat created the southern drawl. That the defenseless and unprotected vocal cords got overheated and began to melt, like butter, causing crisp sounds to become stretched and loose. Words languished up the throat, then tumbled out the mouth. The drawl, similar to dimples then, was an endearing aspect that stemmed from a heat-induced deformity. I never believed it.


End of May 1988. In a month, I would be one of the last of my friends to turn seven. School was out for summer, but we…

On yearning, devastation, and one perfect Leonard Cohen cover.

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I was at my local bookstore, The Nook, working on an article about George Michael. My table was positioned beside the checkout counter and hidden from the entrance by a floating shelf of Bestsellers. The clerk, a friendly chap named Taylor, was working that morning. We chit-chatted a little before I settled in.

My journals, notepads, and loose-leaf sheets covered every inch of the table. I was growing tired of the research, tired of falling more deeply in love with a star that was deceased. My grief was becoming a thing.

Then, all of a sudden like lightning, I realized…

Nicole Brown

Writer. Mother. Pie and cookie lover.

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