The Case For The Audio-Technica Sound Burger
I mean, it's a little ridiculous, but it's perfect for us
College was my vinyl-hunting peak. Every other weekend, I’d find myself elbow-deep in a crate somewhere in Toronto — dust, crackle, and the faint smell of regret in the air. Billy Joel. The Weeknd. Fleetwood Mac. Bowie. The Beatles. My collection started like most do — earnest and wildly inconsistent — and eventually grew into a borderline obsession. I lugged those records from dorm rooms to new apartments to flights back home, but one thing I never had back then? Space. Or a turntable that didn’t feel like a commitment.
Which is why the Audio-Technica Sound Burger, had it existed then, would’ve absolutely ruined my life — in the best way.
Let’s get this out of the way: the Sound Burger looks ridiculous. Like a clamshell lunchbox from the future or a gadget from a Kubrick film. When Audio-Technica first launched it back in the 1980s, vinyl was already dying, CD was the new messiah, and nobody wanted a “portable” record player you couldn’t actually move while it played. But that’s the fun of it. The Sound Burger was always a rebellion disguised as a toy. Now, 40 years later, they’ve brought it back — sleeker, Bluetooth-equipped, USB-C powered — and it might just be the most fun piece of audio tech you’ll end up buying.
It's absurd, but who cares?
Owning a Sound Burger feels like buying into a joke only audiophiles get. It’s small — like, fits-in-your-tote small — with a platter barely big enough to cradle your record. You clamp it shut, hit play, and the needle drops into the groove. Sure, it’s not meant for the road; any movement makes the vinyl skip like an anxious heart. But that’s the point. It’s analog fragility wrapped in Gen-Z practicality — wireless, rechargeable, yet still delightfully mechanical.
I’ve been using it everywhere — next to my work desk, by the window when it rains, on the balcony with a whiskey when the night feels right. It doesn’t sound like my LP120X — the heavyweight beast that sits in my living room, waiting for “serious listening.” But the Sound Burger doesn’t pretend to be that. It’s not about soundstage or tonal warmth or micro-detail. It’s about vibe. It’s about the joy of hearing Scenes from an Italian Restaurant spin through a Bluetooth speaker while you fold laundry.
And the thing is, it actually sounds good. Surprisingly good. There’s that soft vinyl fuzz, the warmth of the midrange — nothing too sharp, nothing too sterile. Connect it via aux and it gets punchier, but even wireless, it holds its own. The Bluetooth pairing is smooth (thank god), the battery lasts 12 hours, and the controls are idiot-proof: one button for power, one for speed. No counterweights, no fiddling with tracking force, no ritual setup. Just plug, play, and vibe.
The nostalgia machine
Audio-Technica could’ve easily turned this into a gimmicky nostalgia piece — and to some extent, it is. But it’s also an act of cultural timing. Vinyl has clawed its way back from the dead, and suddenly we’re all chasing tactility again. Music that you can touch. The Sound Burger taps into that hunger while laughing at it a little. It’s for the guy who wants to play his Arctic Monkeys record next to his laptop, for the girl who just discovered Etta James and has 400 square feet of apartment to herself.
There’s a line between novelty and utility, and the Sound Burger dances right on it. The small platter means your record is half-suspended in midair, spinning like a planet out of orbit. The name — “Sound Burger” — shouldn’t work, but it does.
Who it’s really for
If you’re an audiophile purist, you’ll scoff. The lack of counterweight, the minor skips if your table’s not flat, the mid-heavy sound. But that’s missing the point. This isn’t a steak dinner.
It’s for people like me — people who love vinyl not just for the fidelity, but for the ceremony. For the click, the spin, the hiss before the first note. For the absurdity of needing to charge your turntable. It’s also, ironically, one of the few turntables that reminds you why you fell in love with records in the first place.
It’s not exactly cheap, but it’s also not pretending to be. What you’re paying for is freedom — the ability to take your records to a friend’s house, to your studio, or even out on the balcony without the wires and setup of a traditional deck. It’s also a great gateway for newcomers — an accessible on-ramp to the vinyl world that doesn’t require an engineering degree or a speaker system that costs more than rent.
But you know, music — the real, physical kind — doesn’t always need to be serious to sound good. Sometimes, it just needs to be fun.
And this one? It’s fun as hell.