A Conversation with Gibrán Huerta

Owner of LONGPLAY Studio
+ LONGPLAY Hi-Fi

🖤 LP » Substack

LONGPLAY is a masterclass in quiet sophistication—a blend of Japanese listening bar minimalism with just enough Chicano soul to give it edge. The long bar, stretching from the entrance to the back wall, is both a boundary and an invitation. Behind it, G moves with the ease of someone who knows exactly how to curate an experience. Perhaps he’s mixing a Ginza, or perhaps he’s selecting the next record with near-ceremonial deliberation. Behind him, rows of records form a towering library of sound, interspersed with personifying details—Sentrock’s hustler pushing his con sueños ice cream cart, a mid-nineties Padres mini baseball bat, and Baby Yoda standing guard behind Nina Simone.

Gibrán Huerta, the founder of LONGPLAY Studio—and probably your friend if you’ve visited the shop a few times—moves through the space, orchestrating the flow of drinks, music, hospitality, and design with effortless precision. It’s a skillset that hints at a past life in high-end concierge work, but here, it’s refined into something more personal. His hands glide over a selection of records before making his choice—tuning into the room’s energy and prescribing the vibe people are here for.

Ever since I started Akitso last year, I’ve been paying even closer attention—to the details, to the rituals, to the way each food business is its own microcosm of intention and resilience. I have no journalism accolades to speak of, but curiosity carries me, especially when it comes to what it takes for a person to move an idea into action—and, more importantly, what it takes to sustain that action once the initial spark of inspiration starts to dissipate.

Generous with his time, despite a full plate—G, Akitso’s inaugural interviewee arrives. In one hand, he carries a bag of cigar cookie boxes; in the other, the keys to the shop. He unlocks the front door and leads me inside. Typically, when you walk into LONGPLAY, you’re immediately greeted by a wisp of incense curling through the air, mixing and mingling with the bloom of slow-brewing coffee. But this morning, the café is still waking up. It’s quiet. The tables are empty—except for the one we sit at, where the conversation is just beginning.

Would you say most of your friends run coffee shops and food businesses?

"Yeah. Pretty much my entire network is tied to this industry — I’ve been working in restaurants since I was 16. I started as a busboy at a golf course, then moved into hotels. I spent five years at [The W] hotel in San Diego, starting at the front desk before transitioning into concierge work."

But working in hotels was just the beginning. After years in frontline hospitality, G shifted into the world of corporate concierge, designing high-end travel, dining, and entertainment benefits for premium brands and financial institutions. G had always collected records—first as a hobby, then as a quiet obsession. That changed when Ten Lifestyle Group moved G from San Diego to San Francisco. After living one block away from Rooky Ricardo’s and Groove Merchant (legendary record stores of Lower Haight) that’s when G got really deep into collecting vinyl.

Groove Merchant

Rooky Ricardo's

When the company expanded into the Latin American market, they relocated him to Mexico City, where he oversaw operations and managed ultra high-profile accounts. Things got bougier.

Was this when you really fell in love with jet-setting and the finer things?

"Totally. Traveling for work, building partner networks, and establishing relationships with top restaurants introduced me to the world of luxury hospitality. I was involved in developing dining programs across Latin America for Amex cardholders, which meant establishing relationships with the best restaurants and curating really exclusive experiences. They called this, loyalty marketing."

In hospitality, you’ve got “front of house” and “back of house”. G coined a third term for his world: “back of screen”. That’s where he worked.

“There’s always someone behind the screen, sending emails, making things happen.”

For each market, G relied on a simple formula. To design these experiences, he’d start with the The World’s 50 Best Restaurants list, using it as a blueprint of the city’s culinary landscape. But a reservation alone wasn’t enough—dining had to be immersive. Instead of just securing a table, he would arrange for guests to tour the restaurant’s private garden or have the chef personally sign their menu.

“Just small things, but those small things go a long way.”

It was about turning a transaction into an experience—about making something as utilitarian as a credit card feel poetic.

By the tail end of 2013, G had made up his mind—the constant travel had lost its luster, and the corporate world felt stifling. Instagram was still young, but he could already see its potential while the banks clung to outdated models. In December, he resigned—or at least, he tried to. Instead of letting him go, his employer proposed a consulting role, marking the unexpected start of his entrepreneurial journey, one rooted in years of honed hospitality and a knack for turning opportunity into success.

During a tense phone negotiation for his consulting gig, G’s conversation caught the attention of a man nearby. The man had to ask G what G did for work. It turned out the curious stranger was the owner of a digitally elusive, architecturally stunning hotel in Valle de Guadalupe—the very one G had spotted in an in-flight ad on his return from Mexico City to San Diego. Sometimes, signs from the universe come through via in-flight magazines.

The next morning, G was riding with him toward his next career-defining move. Now representing the pockets of creatives instead of banks, he helped land Juan’s boutique hotel as Project of the Year in Architectural Digest Latin America.

By 2014, he had built an agency with a team of ten, working with 18 clients across hospitality. The money was great. The work was even better. Somewhere in the middle of it all, the idea for LONGPLAY HiFi starts to take shape.

G’s first visit to Japan in 2015 led him to JBS Jazz Bar in Shibuya, Tokyo. When he returned in 2016, he went deeper—discovering an entire world of listening bars. The inspiration stuck. Back home, he brought the idea to his team. The seed was planted. They would continue client work, but now with a new goal in sight: building something of their own.

"Because we had all this experience. We had an in-house team that could develop branding, social, content—all of it. So I was like, this is what I want our first proprietary brand to be. Could we open up a Hi-Fi bar in San Diego?"

By this point, the agency was already curating music programming and playlists for hospitality clients. Then, in 2017, an opportunity gave them their first test run. Will Remsbottom, one of their point of contacts for a client project, left to open his own coffee shop—Scrimshaw Coffee.

“I was like, hey, for your grand opening, I'll bring my turntables and DJ at the coffee shop. All vinyl.”

That was their first pop-up. The first real test to see if the concept could work in San Diego. It was a success. The second time, G brought his mom’s TJ-style burritos. Also a hit. The pop-ups kept coming. No set schedule, no structure—just whenever G felt like it or when friends would say, “Hey G, you wanna do your thing?” That lasted for years until the end of 2019.

"I was like, you know what? I got to give this thing that I've been doing a name. We're about to hit the roaring twenties, 2020 new decade. I think it's time for us to give it a name, a structure, more formality…"

So October rolls around—his favorite month, the one where inspiration always hit the hardest. Back in Japan, the name finally came to him: LONGPLAY. He locked in the Instagram handles. The team made room, letting go of a few clients to focus. They negotiated a deal with a downtown coworking space to run Longplay as a pop-up for a few months. The plan was a pop-up once a month for 18 months, refining every detail along the way.

“So obviously March [2020] happened. It just fucking all went downhill.”

Every single one of G’s clients—hotels, restaurants, hospitality—shut down overnight. They let him go. He let go of his team. Years of building, gone in weeks. By the end of March, every account had vanished—except one.

With the lockdown in full swing, G turned to his mom’s burritos to keep the momentum of LONGPLAY alive.

“My mom—she’s my ride or die. We made a hundred burritos every morning. I’d drive around town, delivering them for three hours a day. Two-fifty per burrito, no delivery fee. Five bucks got you a pretty nice breakfast. Then, later, I’d go home and livestream a DJ set on Twitch.”

For months, he put down crazy miles on his car lease. Until lightbulb thought: maybe it’s time people come to me?

Surprisingly, getting landlords to rent out empty spaces during pandemic times wasn’t easy. Most landlords couldn’t get behind the concept until one day, one did. Also Latino, the landlord gave G the month-to-month terms he needed to feel things out.

By August 2020, G moved his turntables and mom’s burritos into 2547 Imperial Ave. Sometimes, magic happens in ways that are purely logistical.

So what’s your advice for people that are thinking about running with their idea?

"It's a process. Everything takes so much time to build. This didn’t just happen overnight. It's been brewing for years, you know what I'm saying? Even after we decided to make the jump, it's also been about not throwing in the towel."

What’s your current relationship to work, rest, and play?

“That’s hard when the business isn’t at a place where I can just coast. I really have to be on top of my shit in order to create real free time for myself.”

So G settles for indulgence days—not full-on days off, but a compromise. Errands, with a little pleasure folded in. Like today: after this interview, he’ll pick up shop supplies. But first, a beer. Maybe thirty minutes with his Kindle. Then back to the list. It’s not a perfect system, but it works. Staying busy is the balance—for now.

Another balancing act: volume vs. experience.

“We don’t impose time limits, and we don’t do to-go orders. Recently, I thought about it, but my regulars—the ones who’ve been here since day one—were like, ‘G, don’t do it. It’ll kill the vibe.”

Then I learned about the name…

The long-playing (LP) record, or vinyl record, was introduced by Columbia Records in 1948. It completely changed the way people listened. Before, records were short—just a song or two per side. But with the long-playing format, artists had the entire album—space to stretch out, to let ideas build and evolve. Jazz musicians, in particular, thrived in this format. The music wasn’t just about hits anymore—it became about the journey, the atmosphere, the full-body experience. You had to sit with it, let it unfold.

So are you on side A or side B of your life?

“Side B. It’s the more interesting part.”

Side A was the groundwork, the hustle, the long drives delivering burritos just to keep moving. Side B is where the sound deepens, where the rhythm settles in. Likely here, is where the work, rest, and play, can find its groove.

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