In some places in New Orleans, there is a belief that music can attract spirits. That at night, when playing drums and dancing, humans connect with the other side of the veil. These ideas were written into the notes of early jazz and still echo in the modern genre, having now traveled far from the South. So, if a spirit were to be wandering on the edge of the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill’s campus on a Friday night, they just might hear those echoes calling them to Imbibe, a bar tucked away at the bottom of a hill off Franklin Street.
Known colloquially as “the bar under Zog’s,” students start heading down around 30 minutes before the event is set to start. They replace the older crowd, which has just listened to the more experienced band that plays before the UNC Jazz Social Club takes over for their jam. Leather jackets and Adidas Sambas fill the booths as crochet scarves and thick woolen trench coats leave drained glasses at the bar.
The room doesn’t offer much more light than the darkening sky outside. Stained glass lamps illuminate grits and sketchbooks. For those who haven’t brought their own entertainment, there are Crayola markers with mismatched caps by the napkins. Some attendees, though, just watch the band get ready.
The drums take the longest. There are stands to set up and pins to turn, so the other musicians chat idly in the meantime. Under a wall entirely lined with alternating Mardi Gras beaded necklaces, as well as shelves full of miscellaneous boxes of food and games, the players in their plain tees seem almost out of place. Until they play.
Four Quaker Oats mascots watch from the top shelf as the band chooses a tune, takes a collective breath — and then there’s sound.
Sofia Zuber, the club’s president, watches her event unfold from the back, her reflection in an ornate gold-edged mirror and crookedly-hung photo frames. Mandey Brown steps out of the kitchen with a plate of heavily powdered beignets. They’re smaller than usual, so she has added a couple extra. Zuber takes a bite, sugar puffing into a small cloud by her nose. “These are so good.”
Mark Moreira stops by, asking Zuber, “Can you hold Clairo?” Dearly beloved to Moreira, as is her namesake, Clairo is an alto saxophone — she has been released from her velvety case for the upcoming tunes. She rests in Zuber’s arms as Moreira weaves around people back to the front. This is the cool cat rotation: to the front to greet friends, the booths to collect instruments, the bar for a drink and the central table to goad the card players. Despite the small space, there’s little use trying to keep track of anyone.
The 242-member group chat where jam dates are posted is mostly quiet, save for the occasional message.
Imbibe wants to let you all know that they will be open this Tuesday to celebrate Mardi Gras.
Does anyone have a music stand they can bring tonight?
Bring all your friends and all your instruments!!
There is a mess of text declaring who has left and who has joined, comparable to the crowded yellow doorway of Imbibe. Friends loudly shout ‘get home safe!’ at those walking to campus, or jump delightedly when they see a familiar face enter, scooting farther into the cracked leather banquettes to make room.
The band doesn’t engage with people around them, focused solely on the music. “It’s really nice to see all these people come out and really appreciate a music that really isn’t as widely played as some other genres,” Moreira said. “It’s a whole community around the genre that like — we build off each other.”
The music fills through the room, seeming as if it weren’t coming from one source but rather wrapping the room in E Flat Major and double-time. The instruments themselves capture attention back to the makeshift stage, brass and woodwinds especially dazzling. Trumpets, saxophones and trombones catch the multicolored lights — if you squint, gold blurs with bright green, pink and orange.
“I think it has a different color to it at night,” said Luisa Paraguassu, the club’s community outreach director. During the day, she calls the bar “run-of-the-mill,” but on jazz nights, she said it feels like she’s going back in time for two hours, as if she was in a jazz club in the ‘20s.
“Honestly, whenever I’m there on jazz nights, I’m like, ‘This is the reason I came to college.’” Paraguassu laughs, calling the sentiment embarrassing, but commending Sofi on having built the club.
Live music is a staple at UNC-CH, whether it be at venues, frat parties or elaborate birthdays. The Jazz Social Club, in two years since its founding, has joined the ranks as a magnet for musicians — as Moreira said, “Why listen to it if I can play it?” — as well as spectators.
“I like how intimate it feels, because the people with live instruments are, like, right in front of you,” Iris Luo said. “You just let the whole thing kind of flood your senses, and then you can let your brain choose what it focuses on.”
By an inoperational cigarette-vending machine is a fleur-de-lis, in Cajun fashion, resting above students’ heads as they walk out. Maybe there are spirits floating through the doors of Imbibe. Or maybe, the music was only ever meant to attract us.
