Record Room: Queens’ Hidden Groove Chamber

August 22, 2025

By Rafi Mercer
New Listing

Record Room is one of Long Island City’s most discreet listening bars — explore more in our New York Music Venues guide.

Venue Name: Record Room
Address: 47-16 Austell Place, Long Island City, Queens, NY 11101
Website: Record Room NYC
Instagram: @recordroomnyc
Phone: Not publicly listed
Spotify Profile: N/A

Queens has always been New York’s most eclectic borough, a mosaic of cultures that overlap without losing their individuality. Amid the high-rises and warehouses of Long Island City, where luxury apartments stand shoulder to shoulder with remnants of the old industrial waterfront, lies Record Room — a listening bar that thrives on secrecy and intimacy. Hidden behind a coffee shop, accessed by a door that feels more like a backstage entrance than a public welcome, it has quickly become a destination for those who know that the best sound experiences often live just out of sight.

Inside, the first impression is one of retro futurism. There’s a sleekness to the lines — polished wood, glinting chrome, and a low, moody glow from pendant lights. Yet beneath that sheen lies a vintage spirit, like stepping into a lost lounge from the 1970s that’s been carefully restored and reimagined for today. The name “Record Room” isn’t metaphorical. Shelves line the walls with vinyl, sleeves spanning continents and decades, signalling immediately that music here isn’t a garnish — it’s the foundation.

The sound system delivers on that promise. The owners invested in a vinyl-first setup, with a pair of vintage JBL speakers tuned for warmth and presence. The amplification chain is analogue, a deliberate choice to keep the grain and warmth of vinyl intact. The acoustics of the room, softened by fabric and wood, give the system room to breathe. When a salsa record spins, the percussion slaps against the air with sharp clarity; when a smoky soul vocal cuts in, it feels embodied, present, physical. On the 5 Rules of Sonic Excellence, the venue scores well on system quality and acoustic environment, excelling especially in creating a room that flatters vinyl rather than flattening it.

Programming is eclectic but precise. DJs here spin vinyl only — an intentional discipline that forces selectors to curate with care. Salsa nights have become a signature, drawing dancers and listeners alike into a shared groove. R&B sessions slow the room into sultry focus, while weekend evenings might unearth disco, house, or reggae deep cuts. What unifies these different nights is a consistent respect for sonic intent: the records are not background, they are centre stage, each one chosen to tell a story, evoke a memory, or pull the room somewhere new.

What makes Record Room different from the more polished listening bars across the river in Manhattan or Brooklyn is its vibe. It is relaxed, unpretentious, and almost conspiratorial. Because the entrance is tucked away and seating limited, it feels like a private club without the exclusion. Regulars nod in recognition when they see each other; strangers strike up conversations with the ease that only shared music can encourage. The bar staff contribute to this atmosphere, bridging professionalism with friendliness, guiding newcomers through the cocktail list with as much care as selectors give to their crates.

The drinks programme deserves mention. Cocktails lean classic with modern tweaks: a daiquiri with local honey, a mezcal old fashioned, a seasonal spritz. Nothing overcomplicated, but each well-balanced, designed to sit comfortably alongside the music rather than compete with it. Beer and natural wine flow freely too, reinforcing the accessible atmosphere. Food is limited — small bites rather than full meals — but thoughtful enough to keep the evening moving without distraction.

Consistency, the final measure of sonic excellence, is still a work in progress here. Record Room is young, and while the standard is high, its calendar sometimes wavers between intimate brilliance and nights that lean more towards social than sonic. But that’s part of the charm: it is evolving, growing into itself, and in that sense reflects the borough it calls home. Queens is not about perfection polished to a shine; it’s about energy, culture, and authenticity. Record Room captures that ethos.

To sit here on a Friday night, a glass in hand, while the selector drops a forgotten boogaloo cut from a 45 is to feel part of something bigger than a bar. It’s a link in a lineage stretching back to block parties, to basement sessions, to neighbourhood record stores where culture was exchanged hand to hand. In a city that often moves too quickly, Record Room slows things down, insists on focus, and rewards it.

Step outside after closing and Long Island City greets you with its strange, shifting identity: cranes looming over warehouses, the Manhattan skyline glittering just across the river. Yet in your ears, what lingers is the warmth of vinyl, the crackle between tracks, the memory of a groove that felt alive in the moment. Record Room is not perfect, not polished, but it is necessary. It is one more reminder that in New York, the act of listening still matters.