Beneath the Crust: Suono’s Hidden Vinyl Refuge in Bed-Stuy

By Rafi Mercer

New Listing

Suono is one of New York City’s most respected listening bars — explore more in our NYC Music Venues guide.

Venue Name: Suono
Address: 333 Greene Avenue, Brooklyn, NY 11238, United States
Website: N/A
Phone: +1 718-789-1110
Spotify Profile: N/A

The funny thing about Suono is that you can walk right past it without ever knowing it’s there. In fact, you probably will — unless you’ve booked a table upstairs at Bar Camillo for their Roman-style pinsa and spritz, and someone in the know leans over to ask if you’ve “been down to the basement yet.”

Down a narrow set of stairs, the air changes. The warmth of baking dough and clinking glassware from upstairs gives way to something quieter, cooler. A small sign on the wall reads simply: Suono. The space itself is barely more than a handful of tables and a corner dedicated to two turntables, a small mixer, and shelves of records. But from the moment the needle drops, you realise this isn’t about scale. It’s about focus.

The sound system is modest in size but exacting in execution. Everything is tuned for low-volume fidelity — you hear the whole track, from bassline to brush stroke, without a hint of distortion. The speakers are positioned so no matter where you sit, the sound arrives as if it’s yours alone. You could almost imagine you were at a friend’s place, if that friend had impeccable taste and the means to build a perfect listening room.

Suono is vinyl-only, and the selectors treat their sets like a conversation. You won’t hear the same record twice in a night unless it’s intentional — a theme, a variation, a story unfolding. One Thursday in April, the theme was “Italian summer nights,” which started with Pino Daniele, drifted into obscure bossa nova imports, and somehow landed on a slow-tempo Italo disco track that had the whole room swaying.

The etiquette here is unspoken but absolute: you don’t talk over the music, and if you do, you keep it soft. Most guests sip wine or a cocktail from upstairs, occasionally flipping through the visible record sleeves between sets. The lighting is low enough to make time slip a little, and it’s easy to lose track of how long you’ve been there.

Because the room is small, you notice the selectors more closely — how they handle the vinyl, the care in cueing, the moments they stand back and let the track breathe. It’s almost meditative, and you find yourself listening harder, catching details in familiar songs you didn’t know were there.

Every now and then, someone from upstairs drifts in, curious. They linger at the doorway, take in the room, and either commit — finding a chair and settling into the mood — or retreat quietly, sensing that this is a space where arrival means participation.

Suono feels like a secret, but not one that’s jealously guarded. It’s the kind of place you tell the right people about, knowing they’ll understand what it’s for. It’s not background music for a night out; it’s a night in music’s company, just beneath the city’s surface.

When you climb back up the stairs to the bustle of Bar Camillo, the shift is striking. The chatter, the clatter of plates, the bright light — all the things you left behind return at once. But there’s something you carry with you, an aftertaste of sound that makes the upstairs energy feel almost too quick. That’s how you know Suono has done its work: it slows you down, so when you leave, you’re reminded of what pace really feels like.

Rafi Mercer writes about the spaces where music matters. For more stories from Tracks & Tales, subscribe, or click here to read more.

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