It’s been a decade since I last went on a night out in New York City. Which is to say, I’d never really clubbed here. But that changed on a spring Saturday when I set foot in Public Records, a venue I had long bookmarked from across the Atlantic. As someone based in Barcelona, where clubs like Les Enfants are second homes, I was curious to see if a New York venue could offer the same magic: great sound, a warm dancefloor, and an eye for music that makes people move.
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First Impressions: Butler Street’s Beacon
As we approached Butler Street, the night air already carried that gritty, industrial Brooklyn energy. It was calm, but loaded with promise. And then there it was—the glowing “R” logo, eye included—marking the entrance like a stamp of quality. We’d arrived.
Our first stop was The Atrium, a bar-restaurant hybrid that shifts shape with the time of day. At night, the room felt candlelit and architectural, its clean lines and indoor plants softening the warehouse feel. We grabbed a drink and I got a quick NYC nightlife briefing from the two locals who’d brought me here. Stories of past nights, great sets, and sound system geek-outs poured out. “You made the right choice,” they said. They were right.
The Sound Room: Wax, Warmth & Groove
We slid into the Sound Room, Public Records’ most iconic space. Designed with sonic precision, it felt like entering an audiophile’s dream. Ge-ology was on deck, spinning vinyl and radiating charisma. He floated between disco, soul, and groove-heavy edits, mixing loose and instinctive. The crowd mirrored the vibe: no phones, no posturing—just dancing. As the room hit its peak, the warmth of the system matched the warmth of the music. It was all smiles, all motion.
A Second Wind in The Atrium
Later, craving something more clubby, we returned to The Atrium, only to find it fully transformed. A dense fog hugged the floor, strobes blinked from somewhere near the ceiling, and the room pulsed with bodies. Liquid Earth and Mari.te were behind the booth, tucked into the corner like residents at a friend’s house party. Their selections veered into minimal house, trippy cuts, and even some blog house curveballs—tracks that felt like they belonged to you once, and still do. It was nostalgic, but elevated. The crowd caught every cue. This was a party.
And for a moment, I forgot I wasn’t in Europe. This dancefloor, weirdly shaped and slightly off-center, felt right. Like home.
No Upstairs, No Regrets
We missed the third room—Upstairs, ironically. Caught up in the moment, we’d never made the climb. But that’s okay. Between the Atrium and the Sound Room, we’d found what we were looking for: energy, warmth, and a club with personality.
As we walked out into the Brooklyn night, legs sore and hearts full, we looked at each other with that dazed, happy silence that only a good night out can produce. Public Records had delivered.
It wasn’t just a club—it was a complete experience, and one I carried with me across the ocean.
