The Last Call: Williamsburg’s Low-Key Ode to Vinyl Nights

August 22, 2025

By Rafi Mercer
New Listing

The Last Call is one of Williamsburg’s most unassuming vinyl listening bars — explore more in our New York Music Venues guide.

Venue Name: The Last Call
Address: 44 Berry Street, Williamsburg, Brooklyn, NY 11249
Website: N/A
Instagram: @lastcallnyc
Phone: (718) 782-0910
Spotify Profile: N/A

Williamsburg has a way of reinventing itself every decade. What was once a gritty warehouse district became an indie rock playground in the 2000s, then a hub for craft beer, rooftop views, and Instagram-ready cocktail dens. Yet even as the neighbourhood transformed, small bars with a sense of soul have managed to hold on. The Last Call is one of them — a Japanese-inspired dive bar that trades in intimacy, vinyl grooves, and a kind of worn-in charm that feels refreshingly out of sync with the glossy façades rising around it.

Push open the door on Berry Street and you’re greeted not by spectacle, but by understatement. Wood-panelled walls, dim lighting, and a disco ball hanging slightly askew above the bar set the mood. It feels less like a concept venue and more like a friend’s basement recast for public use. The air is warm with the scent of simple izakaya-style dishes — gyoza, curry rice, fried chicken served without fuss. This is not a space that shouts; it’s a space that invites.

Behind the bar, vinyl shelves act as both décor and declaration. A Technics turntable spins from early evening until close, with DJs pulling deep cuts across funk, disco, city pop, and classic hip-hop. The sound system isn’t extravagant — vintage JBLs paired with analogue amplification — but it’s tuned with care. The highs don’t pierce, the mids settle in comfortably, and the bass hums through the floorboards just enough to make you sway without shouting over your drink. According to the 5 Rules of Sonic Excellence, The Last Call scores most strongly on sonic intent and curation: here, music is always part of the night’s character, never wallpaper.

Programming leans playful. Mondays might bring a stack of mellow jazz records, while Fridays often drift into disco, rare groove, or Japanese soul. Some nights it’s a single bartender curating from their personal collection; other nights, guest DJs haul in crates to surprise the room. Nothing is advertised with heavy promotion — you discover it in the moment, by being there, by letting the night unfold. It’s that spontaneity that keeps locals coming back.

The vibe is as democratic as it gets in Williamsburg. Regulars perch on barstools and swap stories with newcomers. Neighbourhood creatives share a beer with service industry folks finishing shifts. Tourists sometimes wander in, curious about the name or lured by the muffled sound of vinyl through the door, and end up staying for hours. The Last Call isn’t a curated destination in the way that Spiritland or Public Records might be — it’s a hangout that happens to take its music seriously.

Drinks follow the same ethos. Japanese whiskies sit alongside Brooklyn lagers. Highballs, sake, and shochu are poured without pretension. Prices remain mercifully modest, another reason the bar feels grounded even as Williamsburg’s prices soar elsewhere. Food is equally straightforward, built to satisfy late-night hunger rather than impress on social feeds. There’s a comfort in its humility, a sense that this is a place built for living, not branding.

Consistency, the last of our sonic rules, comes not from polished perfection but from atmosphere. You know what you’ll get here: a dimly lit room, records spinning with love, drinks poured with care, and a room of people who aren’t in a rush to leave. That’s its own kind of reliability.

Step outside onto Berry Street at closing and Williamsburg hums with its contradictions — luxury condos lit up against the skyline, graffiti still clinging to shuttered storefronts, Ubers pulling up beside bicycles. Yet in your ears, what lingers is the warmth of vinyl, the laughter of strangers, the echo of a disco cut fading into night. The Last Call doesn’t aspire to be legendary. It aspires to be lived in. And in a city obsessed with novelty, that might be its greatest achievement.