If you blinked long and hard – long and hard enough for a year to go by – you’d hardly even notice that the Lost Well was closed.
At least, that’s what co-owner Marcello Murphy hopes. When the punk and metal bar shuttered its original location at 2421 Webberville in August 2024, Murphy wasn’t sure its doors would ever open again. Just over a year later, and right in time for the rock club’s 12th anniversary, the many skulls, signs, and signature decorations of the Lost Well are settling into their, hopefully, “forever home” at 1141 Airport.
“The whole goal is to feel like you had a bizarre dream in the last one,” Murphy says with a mischievous grin. He gestures around the new space, pointing out the hard-earned similarities in what was once the old Tropicana location, still a work-in-progress when the Chronicle toured it a week ahead of the August 15 official opening.
“We might be rushing a little bit to get it open by August 15, but if we make it for our anniversary, it’s like we never even closed,” Murphy explains.
The most important elements are assembled: the legendary ice-filled trough in the men’s bathroom, the cherished spinning eyeball sign, the bar-height coffin table saved from Downtown dive Lovejoys.
Despite their initial uncertainty around reopening, Murphy and his co-owner Miguel Jimenez have had their eye on the bar-turned-game-room for many years. With its faded teal roof and squat, sprawling stature, they’ve long noted the Eastside spot as one of the few remaining places in Austin grungy enough for the Lost Well’s hardcore attitude.
“We wanted to get this place six years ago,” Murphy says. “Once we got the notice that we had to leave, Miguel left no stone unturned, and finally found a neighborhood guy who’s friends with the family [who owns the building] and vouched for us.”
The arrangement was made official after an interview with Murphy, Jimenez, and the entire Figueroa family in the neighboring Pizza Hut parking lot. It was just the kind of green flag Murphy was looking for – nothing like the overpolished real estate brokers hawking newly constructed white shoeboxes decorated with fake ferns.
“Our landlords are amazing. We were rewarded for 11 years of misery,” Murphy says. “They’re so supportive and helpful.”
The storied building began as a small burger shack in the Sixties and expanded over the years as patriarch Pascual Figueroa constructed adjacent patio after patio, roofing them one at a time and folding them into the establishment. The puzzle-pieced result fits the Lost Well like a long lost glove.
“There’s so much diversity with this space. There’s so many ways to do stuff,” Murphy says.
“The whole goal is to feel like you had a bizarre dream in the last one.” – Marcello Murphy on the new Lost Well
The list of nearly too-perfect upgrades and opportunities for customization goes on and on: The beer keg refrigeration and carbonization system is smoother than their last, saving them thousands of dollars; load-in for beverage distributors is easier; the parking lot is larger and more navigable; the spacious bar accommodates more walking space for bartenders and storage in the back; a door near the brand-new stage allows musicians an easier load-in (no more cutting through the bar and bathroom line with guitar cases); an open corner grants the venue a designated band staging area; and an employees-only bathroom has the whole staff excited.
Some pieces will come together a little later than others. Murphy is still assembling the giant patio of his dreams out front and putting the final touches on a reiteration of the “green porch,” the club’s outdoor take on a green room. Nevertheless, as he and electrician-turned-contractor John Petri present the grand tour, their completed vision of a longstanding, worn-in bar shimmers like a mirage of old Austin.
As Petri shows me videos of the ceiling demolition on his phone and tells the story of sourcing the perfect iron supports, Murphy makes a point of illustrating the community’s involvement in bringing back their beloved venue.
“90% of this thing has been volunteered,” he says. “With people with, like, true, real skills.”
True to that character, nearly every new part of the bar has lived a past life in another one – from the teal patio fences to the pentagram mural in Murphy’s back-of-house office – donated by friends or fans or fellow bar owners simply wanting to help keep an Austin institution alive.
It’s not often, anymore, that a bar upgrades to even-better digs – in Austin or any major city. For a grunge-loving, low-lit bar and stage like the Lost Well, those odds are even slimmer. It’s no wonder this reopening puts a gleam in Murphy and Petri’s eyes.
“Moved on up to the Eastside,” Murphy muses musically, referencing The Jeffersons’ sitcom upward mobility, as we stand on the soon-to-be patio. “Oh!” he exclaims then, lightly thwapping my arm in excitement. “Look at this.”
I follow him to a corner spot currently tucked behind an electrical box and a dumpster that will someday be a small stage. Perfectly framed between trees and low-rise apartments is the shimmering Downtown Austin skyline. There’s a lot of laughter, then an excited rush of imagining the possibilities to come, and, underneath it all, a sincere breath of relief that the Lost Well isn’t so lost anymore.
The Lost Well returns with a “rough opening” weekend on August 15.
This article appears in August 15 • 2025.