Low tempered lights pouring down and engulfing passion red chairs. Bar tenders who with nothing more than a slight head nod knew your favorite drink the moment you took your seat. Musical geniuses from as far as Tennessee blowing the saxophone strong enough to sweep away any bad day. On a cold night last year, they all said goodnight forever. No curtain call, no grand finale, no white flag signifying the end. Just lights out for the Red Cat that stood on Congress and Main Street.
2010 marked the end of a grand monument in the city of Houston that stood strongly for years. The Red Cat Jazz Café was a cultural legend that stood amongst city giants. Its influx of jazz music, fine wine, and renaissance art gave it a powerful image of something surreal, almost too good for the city street it stood on. On any given night you could walk in and get lost in the atmosphere, losing sense of the stress and frustration that stood outside its doors. I first stumbled across the beautiful neon red cat as I stepped off of the train with a few friends on Main on a Wednesday evening. On our way to a familiar Thai restaurant nearby, I felt intrigued and drawn to the cat that seemed to be staring back at me, almost like a siren drawing in her victim. I said, “Hey let’s try that place.” After a small debate, the rest was history. We stepped into a world of artistic glory, smoke and perfume filling our nostrils as we stepped through the doors. The bar tender looking at us completely nonchalant, not smiling, not frowning, but altogether engaging. I took a look at the stage which stood about 10 feet from the entrance, and saw Reggie’s New Jazz Movement commanding the audience, which included men and women dressed like they were going to Cinderella’s Ball after they left. Little did I know, the show was right there in front of me. Not wanting to feel out of place, I sat right near the front. My classmates hesitated, but soon followed suit. I ordered a glass of Absolute Vodka and married the moment. We all did. This was our new spot. We would come in every Wednesday and sit in the same spot and order the same drinks. I felt like Humphrey Bogart in Casablanca. The Red Cat had even influenced my style of dress. I began wearing sports coats around the city, a reflection of the culture that was now a part of me.
Today you won’t find any remnants of the historical café. The building has been completely stripped, and the Red Cat removed. A vanishing history from the heart of the city. But for those who were blessed enough to be there during its golden era, The Red Cat Jazz Café will forever remain the legend of Congress Street.
-Sophia Tone
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