Parisians love many things with a sensual passion; good food, great wine and wonderful art. But one of the more elusive, mysterious passions is Paris’s love affair with jazz. The influence of French jazz musicians on the genre cannot be overstated. Gypsy Jazz, created by the great guitarist, Django Reinhardt during the early ’30s, combined elements of American Swing and the Musette style of waltz into a hip, fast-fingered sound that swept thru France and eventually was imported into the States.
The crucible for this development was the classic subterranean Parisian jazz café. Dark, smoky, seemingly full of intrigue, this is the type of club my wife, Christine, and I were seeking one cold January night in Paris. I want someplace far from the tourist trails, someplace that smelled dank, where true jazz lovers would sip Absinthe and be there for the music, not the glitz. I found such a place in Caveau du la Huchette. Located in the Latin Quarter, Caveau du la Huchette maintains it’s quiet 1946 dignity in the midst of a neon illuminated tourist street. Surrounded by the cheaper bistros and the omnipresent creperies, the atmosphere is permeated with the faint scent of burnt sugar. I was a little put off as we approached the club’s entrance. I was afraid that it was going to be another French tradition that had been dumbed down for the tourist.
But my fears were unjustified. The entrance to the club was true to its heritage. Simple 8×10 glossies advertise the musicians playing or soon to be playing. After paying the 10 Euro cover (about $15.00) each, my wife and I entered another era.
Although it was almost 11:00pm, the main bar on the first floor was completely deserted. Not a surprise because the night life in Paris really doesn’t seem to start until late, but I expected to see at least someone at the bar.
The mystery was soon solved as the sounds of “After You’ve Gone” began to drift up for a glowing stone stairway that led downstairs. We followed the tune down an ancient spiral stone staircase as the warmth of jazz and humanity embraced us.
The room downstairs was not larger than an average basement. Divided into a small pit area, surrounded by a second level of benches, all the focus was on the far end of the room where five musicians were playing Dixieland jazz with a distinctive French accent. The room was packed, but we found seats on one of the back benches.
The club decor was barren, by American standards. There is no table service. Well, there are no tables. You must ascend the stone steps to the bar if you want to get a drink. And forget about anything to eat. There are not here to serve food. All and everything is aimed at enjoying the music.
The most obvious difference between this club and American clubs is that patrons don’t come here to socialize. They come for one reason only: to listen to the music, which can range from the blue sounds of Chet Baker to the sweaty rhythms of Dixieland. It was a totally satisfying musical experience. They didn’t sip absinthe and there was not a beret to be seen. But the music was everything I had ever imagined it would be in a Paris jazz basement. Places like Caveau du la Huchette prove that you don’t have to know the language to have a good time in Paris.