opinion
Waterloo Records Relocation: A Deep State Plot to Control Your Music Taste?
Austin's iconic Waterloo Records is moving—but is it just a harmless relocation, or a sinister plot to brainwash vinyl lovers? Our investigative team (i.e., me, alone in my basement) digs into the *real* story.

By Alex Jaxon
Published July 28, 2025 at 4:49pm

Oh, sure, Waterloo Records is "just moving five blocks"—that’s what they want you to think. But folks, let’s not be fooled by this so-called "grand opening" charade. This isn’t just a relocation—it’s a full-blown Deep State Vinyl Takeover. Wake up, sheeple!
First off, the new owners? Caren Kelleher and Trey Watson? Ever heard of them? Exactly. They just happen to swoop in right when Austin’s music scene is being gentrified into oblivion. Coincidence? I think not. And don’t even get me started on this "Dolby Atmos spatial audio mixing studio" nonsense. That’s just a fancy way of saying they’re installing mind-control frequencies to make you buy more overpriced vinyl.
And what’s this about a "lounge with coffee and beer"? Oh, how convenient—another place for Big Music to get you drunk and caffeinated so you’ll impulsively purchase that limited-edition 24-karat gold record you don’t need. Classic psychological warfare, folks.
But the real kicker? The "historic flooring" from Austin City Limits Studio 6A. You really think that’s just a sentimental touch? No, no, no. That’s haunted wood, people. Infused with the ghosts of musicians past, programmed to subliminally whisper "buy more records" into your subconscious.
And let’s talk about John Kunz "stepping back" into an "emeritus position." Translation: He’s been silenced. Probably locked in a basement somewhere, forced to listen to Taylor Swift’s entire discography on loop until he signs over the rights to his soul.
So mark your calendars, Austin—August 30th, the day the music truly dies. Or, if you’re a normie who still believes in "local businesses" and "community," I guess you can go enjoy some live music and free swag. But don’t say I didn’t warn you when you wake up with a sudden urge to buy a $50 vinyl of whale sounds.
Stay vigilant. Stay paranoid. And for the love of all that’s holy, stop trusting record stores.