Gaslit in high‑def: Riverside.fm’s UI lies while your podcast dies.

There’s a special circle of hell reserved for products that pretend to be professional while secretly stabbing their users in the back. That circle is getting crowded, but Riverside.fm just elbowed its way to the front of the queue and planted a neon sign that reads “Abandon All Trust, Ye Who Record Here.”

How to turn high-quality video footage into something that looks like it was filmed by the backside of a lactose-intolerant hamster in 1 easy step: Trust Riverside FM with your video recordings.

I run Autistic FM, a show that gives autistic voices the respect and clarity they deserve. Crisp video isn’t vanity; it’s accessibility, dignity, and a basic mark of professionalism. When Riverside’s glitzy interface claims “Recording in 1080p,” I expect — no, I require — a 1080p file. What I do not expect is a blocky 480p potato‑vision relic straight out of 2006. Yet here I am, twice burned, twice livid, still trying to convince a company that its lies aren’t my fault.

I’m not a random hobbyist fumbling with a cheap webcam. I’ve spent most of my career knee‑deep in A/V: former TV producer, longtime videographer, and — relevant here — a past CEO of a virtual‑events platform. I know frame rates, bit‑rate ladders, capture pipelines, and how a production tool ought to behave. When a piece of software lies about basic recording specs, I notice — and I’m done being polite about it.

Here’s a video illustrating what’s going on:

The first betrayal

Back in February, Riverside coughed up a blurry 640×480 clip after trumpeting a solid 720p in its sidebar. Support assured me their dev team had “identified the cause” and that the next version would solve everything. I foolishly took them at their word. They told me to keep the app up‑to‑date, read their Best Practices article, sacrifice a goat — anything except take responsibility.

Fine. That was painful, but ultimately, bugs happen… I grimaced, waited for the promised fix, and — like the optimist I apparently am — trusted them with another interview.

Pop quiz: If you were using recording software that said “1080p”, what would you expect the file to be recorded as? If you answered 1080p, then you are pretty similar to me. The correct answer, according to Riverside FM, is that instead giving you a 480 file is appropriate. (The 480p reference is to live streaming, which I wasn’t doing for this recording.)

Déjà screw‑you

Fast‑forward to April. Same hardware. Same rock‑solid gigabit fiber. Same careful pre‑show ritual: double‑check camera settings (Sony A7 through an ASUS capture card, 1080p, 30 fps), stare at Riverside’s interface, see the reassuring “1080p” badge glowing like a liar’s halo, hit record.

I finish the session, head to the dashboard, and — kaboom — 480p. Again. My blood pressure spiked so hard I practically levitated.

Except if that was true, I’d have my 1080p 60fps stream so I could edit my podcast. This statement on their website is a bare-faced lie. (Screenshot from the Riverside website)

Gaslight, gatekeep, potato‑cam

This time support decided I must be the culprit. Their theory of the day: my camera was mysteriously pumping out 60 fps. It wasn’t — every screenshot proves 30 fps — but let’s pretend it was for a second. If 60 fps is a problem, the correct behavior is obvious: warn me. Flash red. Lock the record button. Hell, slap me across the face with a pop‑up that reads “We don’t support 60 fps, genius.” Anything except silently downgrade my footage and lie about it in the interface.

Instead, they hit me with a lecture about “aligning frame rates” and suggested another round of test recordings — as though the first 97 tests, screenshots, and screen captures I provided were performance art. They even reprocessed the file (spoiler: you can’t up‑res a turd) and congratulated themselves for “trying.”

The most insulting part? Their tone. They know their UI misleads users — I told them moths ago — yet every email frames the disaster as my misunderstanding, my hardware, my network, my supposed ignorance. There’s no contrition, no technical roadmap, no honest admission that they shipped a defective product. Just a professional shrug and a smug “We suggest checking your settings.” It’s the SaaS equivalent of a train operator blaming passengers for a derailment — pointing fingers at the people who trusted the system instead of fixing the tracks.

… Unless you connect a $2,000 camera to a $1,000 lens and use a $400 capture card, use a $300 microphone and add $1,500 worth of lights. Then Riverside will tell you it is recording in 1080, then give you a nasty surprise afterwards.

A “pro tool” that lies is a weapon.

In broadcast, if a piece of kit claims 1080p and secretly records 480p, that kit is hauled off the set, disassembled, set on fire, spat upon, and replaced with hardware that tells the truth. You cannot build workflows on deceit. You certainly can’t ask talent — especially neurodivergent guests who may struggle to re‑record — to give you their time twice because your platform can’t be bothered to surface an error.

Picture a surgeon whose monitor reads “Oxygen 98%” while the patient is actually suffocating. Imagine a pilot’s altimeter saying “Cruising at 30,000 ft” while the plane grazes rooftops. A podcast recorder isn’t quite life‑or‑death, but the principle is the same: instrumentation must be accurate or it is worse than useless. Riverside’s UI isn’t just buggy; it’s a weapon aimed at your credibility.

The Blame Game Hall of Fame

Over three months and two incidents, Riverside’s support blamed, in no particular order:

1. My virtual camera software (ManyCam, which has worked great with every other piece of software I’ve ever used. Trust me: There are dozens)
2. My physical camera (“Upon checking, we can see here that you recorded your video using an iOS device.” Which is bullshit: I don’t even have any iOS devices connected to my computer)
3. The capture card (Which, again, works great with every other software)
4. The frame rate (Which Riverside reported as 30fps. As does Riverside. But they say the stream they received was 60fps. And that they then decided to save as 480, rather than… literally just saving the video footage they received, as they say they will on their website.)
5. My studio resolution setting (Again…)
6. My Internet (symmetrical gig‑fiber, thanks. Definitely not the problem. And besides: Isn’t local recording the whole point of Riverside?)
7. A mysterious upcoming app version that would fix everything (spoilers: it didn’t)

What they never blamed was the glaringly obvious culprit: their own code. Apparently, admitting “our UI lies” would shatter the fragile illusion that Riverside is “pro‑grade.”

I don’t think “taking one for the team” means what you think it does, Riverside. (Screenshot from the Riverside website)

The human cost of technical arrogance

I don’t get unlimited access to my guests. Most are autistic, busy and often sometimes anxious about being on camera. Asking them to re‑record isn’t a trivial calendar shuffle; it’s an energy‑draining, trust‑corroding ordeal. Riverside’s cavalier approach wastes their time, disrespects their contribution, and dumps extra labor onto a show that runs on passion, not venture capital.

Worse, I now have an episode whose video is unusable. I can salvage the audio, but the promise of a full‑quality video podcast is shattered, and Riverside’s silence on the damage they’ve caused is deafening.

Fix It — or Get Out of the Way

So here’s my prescription for the Riverside product team:

1. Stop lying. If the platform can’t sustain the advertised resolution, the UI must scream that fact before recording starts.
2. Own the bug. Publish a post‑mortem. Admit the fault. Compensate users for lost work.
3. Add hard failsafes. If frame‑rate mismatches tank quality, lock recording behind a warning modal. Make it impossible to proceed without acknowledging the risk.
4. Refund affected customers. My subscription dollars paid for reliability. Deliver or cough up the cash.
5. Apologize, publicly. Not the weasel‑word “We’re sorry you feel disappointed” nonsense — an actual apology that includes, “We misrepresented our recording quality.”
6. Fire “It’s Your Fault” from the support script. When users show screenshots proving your lie, the correct response is “Thank you, we’ll escalate,” not a condescending lecture on FPS.

Until Riverside embraces these steps, I’m done giving them second chances. And I urge every podcaster who values their guests, their reputation, and their sanity to do the same. Alternatives exist — ones that don’t gaslight you while torching your footage. If you have a favorite that actually, y’know, works, send me a note.

Screenshot from the Riverside website

Final Warning

Riverside loves to market itself as “studio‑quality for everyone.” Here’s the reality: right now, it’s a roulette wheel where every other spin lands on You just lost your interview, sucker. The company had one job — capture what the camera sends — and it failed twice, then blamed the customer. That breaches the most basic pact between creator and tool.

If Riverside wants to stay in business, they need an emergency rethink that starts with humility and ends with software that never lies about what it’s doing. If that’s too tall an order, they should rename the platform “Mirage.fm” and be done with the charade.

Because until they fix this train‑wreck of dishonesty, Riverside isn’t a podcasting solution — it’s a professionally branded disaster, sold by people who’d rather gaslight than get their code right.

Save your show. Record elsewhere.