Black Cat Jazz Supper Club

The bass hits your chest before you even clear the velvet curtain at the door on Eddy Street. It's loud, smoky in spirit if not in fact, and the Tenderloin edge is right outside waiting for you. You walk into this Oakland spot's vibe and realize it's dark as hell, lit mostly by amber table lamps and the glow off the piano keys.

Drink prices aren't cheap, but the bartenders pour heavy and don't mess around when the room fills up. You'll find yourself shoulder-to-shoulder with strangers who actually came for the horn solos, not just background noise while they text. The room is tight, tables pushed so close you're basically sharing napkins with the couple next to you.

Sound travels clean off the brick walls even when the drummer gets aggressive on the ride cymbals. Security keeps things smooth without being annoying about it. You won't find any pretentious dress codes here, just people nodding their heads and ordering another round before the third set kicks off.