Let me start with a disclaimer: this post is not meant to be an exhaustive guide to every record store in Latvia’s capital. Think of it instead as a personal travel diary — a snapshot of the shops I managed to visit during a brief two‑day trip to Riga.
As always, the hunt began the familiar way: heading to the information superhighway, Recordstores dot Love, to survey the vinyl landscape around our accommodation. Since we were staying in the Old Town, the plan was to hit a handful of promising stores with a couple of quick detours. Compared to my earlier post about Copenhagen’s abundant record‑shop scene, Riga is far more modest in sheer numbers. That same website lists 41 stores in Copenhagen and, for comparison, 21 in Helsinki — while Riga clocks in at only 11.
Thankfully, quality compensates for quantity, at least to some extent. I’ll walk through the stores in the order I visited them. By sheer luck, I ended up starting with the best one. We took an inexpensive taxi straight from the hotel — it would have been walkable, but flipping through records is a lot more enjoyable when you’re not doing it sweaty and out of breath after a long march.
The first destination carried the descriptive name “Vinyl Record Store & Audio HiFi Vintage” on Recordstores, but a closer look revealed its real name: Nostalgija Veikals, meaning nostalgia shop. Their Facebook page claims they have “the largest selection of vinyl records and vintage audio equipment in Latvia.” Stepping inside, I had zero trouble believing that. Two staff members were working, both speaking excellent English, and the communication was smooth. We exchanged a quick greeting, acknowledged that the place was huge, and they encouraged us to take our time — which we gladly did.
My initial reaction was disappointment: the prices were steep. Nothing here was cheaper than back home. But learning that buying multiple records unlocked a percentage discount — the bigger the stack, the bigger the cut — softened the blow. At first it looked like I wouldn’t find much worth buying… until I reached the space rock / kraut / electronic bins. Suddenly it was gem after gem. One of the sellers noticed my growing stack and started explaining which quantities translated into which discount tiers.
The pile began with a couple of missing Tangerine Dream titles, then a few Nektars and a Klaus Schulze. But the best find was still ahead. From deep in the kraut section, I pulled out Ashra’s Blackouts — a record I had never seen in the wild before. Even better, they had two different pressings: the original and one released a few years later. Since the price was roughly the same, I went with the cleaner, later pressing. I’m buying records to listen to, after all, and a cleaner disc usually plays better. (For context: Ashra is the project Manuel Göttsching formed after his Ash Ra Tempel days.)
In total, my seven‑record stack scored a 15% discount — and given how many relatively rare titles I had found, the visit ended up firmly in the win column.
The second shop of the day, after lunch, was called Vinylla. It made a fun first impression. To enter, you climbed an internal staircase lined with old display screens — and on one of them you could see yourself climbing up. Brilliant little gimmick. The selection was maybe half the size of the previous store, but still respectable. About half of it, though, was world music and classical, meaning genres like heavy, krautrock or other niche categories amounted to barely a handful of titles each.
In the end, I walked out with only two Hawkwind albums from the 80s. Special mentions go to:
• their excellent retro sound system spinning Daft Punk on vinyl during our visit, and
• the fact that record cleaning was included in the price while you waited.
Still, the prices were decidedly EU-conscious — no bargains here either.
The next day we took the train to Jūrmala, strolled the shopping street, the charming wooden house district and the beach, and enjoyed a great pasta lunch on a shaded terrace. No records acquired there — only calories.
On our final day, we headed out from the Old Town on foot to see a few nearby sights. The first record‑adjacent shop was very close: Randoms. As the name suggests, the store carried far more than records — band shirts, merch, socks, and assorted tourist paraphernalia. The records were all new and priced like tourist‑area items. And honestly, in the age of online stores, hauling overpriced new vinyl home from abroad makes little sense. I bought only one T‑shirt — even that was slightly overpriced, and the cashier bumped it up even further, claiming the shirts had been mismarked. Right. Thanks and goodbye.
Still, with the temperature climbing toward thirty degrees, the spare shirt ended up being useful.
After passing the local freedom monument and a golden‑domed Orthodox cathedral, we reached a store simply branded LP. A long corridor‑shaped shop, red walls, and Peter Hammill playing from a compilation CD. Another minor disappointment: this shop also stocked only new vinyl. Hunting for original used pressings would have to remain a dream here as well. Thankfully, I had already taken care of that earlier in the trip.
There was, however, a wide selection of CDs and one wall of DVDs. The vinyl section was small but sharply curated — very much aligned with my taste. Prices were the lowest of the shops we visited, and my finds came from the sale bin. I had several in hand, so I asked the friendly seller whether a percentage discount might apply — and sure enough, they offered an additional 10% off the already‑reduced prices.
I walked out with a good feeling despite the limited selection. Among other things, I grabbed a classic: The Alan Parsons Project – Eye in the Sky, the one with the golden Eye of Horus on the cover, for around 25 euros.
By the end of the trip, my carry‑on had doubled in weight. Luckily, it had started at only 4 kg — because by the time we left, with a water bottle included, it weighed 8.1 kg. A quick drink at the airport brought it back under the limit.
A few local record stores still went unchecked, so there’s reason enough to return someday. Of the ones we visited, Nostalgija is the place I’d most happily revisit — I’m convinced I’d walk out with another stack even if I went again tomorrow.
But there are still plenty of larger European cities with thriving record‑shop cultures.
So the only question is: where next?