Spins and Sips: Next Door Records’ All-Day Groove in Shepherd’s Bush

By Rafi Mercer

New Listing

Venue Name: Next Door Records
Address: 304 Uxbridge Road, Shepherd’s Bush, London W12 7LJ, United Kingdom
Website: nextdoorrecords.co.uk
Phone: +44 20 8743 7343

Some listening spaces are best discovered at night, their qualities revealed only in candlelight. Next Door Records works differently—it’s built for the long day. Morning light through the glass, coffee steam curling in the air, someone flipping a jazz record on the counter—that’s as true to its spirit as an evening DJ session. This is a place that invites you to arrive early, leave late, and let the hours spool out like a double LP.

The frontage is part shop, part café, part promise. On one side, records in the window—spines turned outward, sleeves as art. On the other, a scattering of tables with half-finished cappuccinos and newspapers, the low murmur of conversation punctuated by the stylus landing on the groove. Step inside, and the dual identity resolves: racks of vinyl along one wall, a bar that runs coffee in the morning, natural wine in the evening, and a sound system anchoring the back.

The records are no token collection. There’s breadth here—classic Blue Note and Impulse! titles next to deep-dive Afrobeat, leftfield electronic next to indie staples, all filed in a way that makes browsing a real pleasure. There’s a lived-in quality to the shop; sleeves are handled but cared for, the staff talk about music like it’s the only language worth speaking.

The sound system is tuned with the space in mind. During the day, volume sits low enough for work or conversation without losing detail; by evening, it steps forward—bassline warm but controlled, highs crisp but never biting. Placement is strategic: the counter doubles as the DJ point, so the selector is part of the social space rather than an isolated figure in a booth.

Daytime is café rhythm—people stopping in for a flat white and a quick browse, someone settling with a laptop in the corner, the turntable spinning a steady stream of soulful instrumentals or dusty folk records. It’s casual, but it’s not background—there’s intention in the selections, even at 10am.

By late afternoon, the mood shifts. Natural wine bottles replace the morning coffee orders, the light changes, and the playlist gets a little bolder. It’s a smooth transformation from record shop to listening bar. The tables don’t get cleared for a dance floor—it’s not that kind of place—but chairs turn towards the music, and the chatter drops a notch.

Evenings often feature a guest DJ—sometimes a local producer, sometimes a touring selector looking for an off-club night. The crowd is mixed: record collectors who’ve been here since morning, locals on their second glass of pét-nat, curious passers-by who’ve followed the sound in from the street. The atmosphere is inclusive without being chaotic—there’s enough room to hear the record as it’s meant to be heard, even with the buzz of conversation.

Events aren’t limited to DJs. Next Door Records has hosted in-store performances—just a guitar, a mic, and the intimate acoustics of a room built for music. There’s something rare about seeing an artist perform at arm’s length, the crowd no more than a few dozen, every note hanging in the air before being swallowed by the room.

The drinks list is thoughtful, not sprawling. Natural wines, craft beers, a handful of cocktails—the focus is on quality and complementing the music. Pairings happen informally: a bright, zippy orange wine with a lively highlife record; a deep, tannic red when the selector leans into dub or cosmic jazz.

The name—Next Door Records—feels apt. It’s got the easy familiarity of a place you might stumble into on a lazy Saturday and the depth of somewhere you’d plan an evening around. It’s the kind of spot you tell friends about casually, knowing they’ll understand once they’ve been.

What stands out here is how unforced it all feels. Some hybrid spaces struggle to balance the pull between being a shop, a bar, and a venue. Next Door Records manages it by not forcing a distinction—each element supports the others. The shop’s deep catalogue feeds the evening’s sets; the café’s daytime welcome draws in the crowd that will stay for the music.

It’s not a temple to listening in the Japanese sense—there’s no enforced hush, no single sweet spot everyone’s angled towards. But there is respect for the record as the night’s centrepiece. Whether you’re here for an hour or all day, you’ll hear something you didn’t expect, and it will stay with you.

Walking out into the Shepherd’s Bush night, records under your arm, you catch the sound trailing behind you—a last few notes, a last sip, a last look at the room through the glass. And you think: yes, I could live next door to that.

Rafi Mercer writes about the spaces where music matters. For more stories from the Tracks & Tales, subscribe, or click here to read more.