The furniture? Less furniture, more landscape. Philippe Malouin‘s design offers soft modules of felt and exposed seams—tactile, sculptural, a bit alien. Nothing to distract. Everything to absorb. The curves catch bass. The texture holds silence. It’s built for bodies to linger, for heads to nod and collapse back. Sessions here stretch—long, slow, and loud.

Step outside and you’re hit with Marcello Maloberti’s “Triennale Voce”—a permanent light sculpture that pierces the terrace like a signal flare over Parco Sempione. It marks the threshold. Beyond it: 700 square meters of garden space where Voce expands into open air. Summer nights will hit differently—sweaty, lush, and wired—with future collaborations already lined up with Kappa FuturFestival and Terraforma Exo. Think modular raves. Think dusk-to-dawn listening rituals under trees.

And then there’s the programming—a tight, curated bleed of ambient intensity and sonic rupture. Boosta, The Raveonettes, La Niña, Christian Löffler, and the elusive, iconic Beth Gibbons making her solo debut. But it’s not just performances—it’s memory work. Voce becomes an archive, a vault of unreleased sounds created specifically for its walls. A space that listens back.

From May 13 to mid-June, Voce runs on daytime hours—open to wanderers, sound junkies, and the curious. Then it shifts. Post-June, the nights claim it. 18:00 to 02:00, Tuesday to Sunday. Live sets, private rituals, low-light experiments. Whether you come to lose your hearing or find your silence, Voce isn’t a venue—it’s an encounter.