I was a jazz skeptic. There, I admit it. The mention of jazz typically conjured for me images of abstract trumpet solos and indecipherable time signatures – a genre more likely to be experienced than enjoyed. Yet, after some borderline forceful office chat with my Vulture editor, paired with the coercive charm of insistent friends, I found myself at Clare Cellars for one of term’s perpetually most buzzed-about events: Clare Jazz Night. The evening promised an unmissable tribute to Clairo, of ‘sad girl music’ fame, interpreted by the whimsically titled ensemble night, Clare-O.

Or, perhaps more accurately, a collaboration. The night was, in fact, a collective effort featuring a medley of acts from Cambridge’s musical ecosystem – friends from Colonel Spanky’s, Hot Content, Quasar, DDS, Half Orange, and more joined forces to transform Clairo’s introspective bedroom-pop into a kaleidoscopic, genre-bending celebration. Together, they brought an sweeping, unpredictable energy to Cellars, heightening the sense of anticipation for what was to come.

Nestled beneath Clare’s chapel, Cellars feels like an intimate catacomb with black-leather sofas, oozing with the kind of dimly lit ambiance that jazz nights and low-stakes existential crises thrive on. It was also, apparently, the perfect habitat for a congregation of Cambridge’s Week 7 warriors, united by a shared love of melancholic indie pop and the unshakeable vibe of early-20s ennui. If nothing else, it was proof that vocally impressive angst can summon even the most hibernation-prone out of their academic hovels.

“Together, they brought an sweeping, unpredictable energy to Cellars”

The night began with promise – and minimalism was clearly not on the setlist. What had been billed as a “hopeful” hour and a half stretched into a first set lasting a solid 75 minutes. Brilliant news for the cluster of lesbian friends I had arrived with; less brilliant for my essay on migration governance, due the next morning. Clare-O wasted no time launching into Clairo’s signature hits, transforming songs like ‘Pretty Girl’ and ‘Sofia’ into lush, multi-layered compositions. The arrangements were respectful but inventive, with trumpets and saxophones weaving new textures into the familiar melodies. Admittedly, the mix wasn’t entirely flawless – Clairo’s poignant lyrics were at times submerged beneath the swell of instruments, but this was a detail thankfully noted by the band and refined in the second half, allowing the performance to flourish even more.

At the interval, I asked my friends how they were finding the experience so far. Of course, by this point, several of them were already loaded up on Stone Colds, whereas the only thing stone cold about me was my sobriety (migration governance is decidedly one of those topics you shouldn’t tackle while drunk). Opinions were mixed but consistently colourful. One friend / ardent Sad Crying Mix enthusiast praised the authenticity of the performance, saying, “It feels authentic to Clairo’s artistry and vision, and everyone’s been really impressive”. Another, a staunch supporter of Cambridge’s artistic community, added, “It’s so nice to see such talented artists come together to celebrate the music of an artist beloved by so many – the high attendance speaks for itself, it’s excellent vibes”.

Of course, there was some less articulate enthusiasm: “Music slaps. Like, severe eatery”, proclaimed one attendee, inspiring nods of agreement from the group. Another, reflecting perhaps more on the eclectic mix of performances, remarked, “I don’t know their names, I don’t know where they are from, but they have nice voices, and finally there was poetry”. And then there was the friend whose unsavoury comments about Varsity hacks, though best left unprinted, certainly provided entertainment for the table.

Between sets, the evening took a poetic detour – quite literally – with a spoken-word recital of Mary Oliver poetry (talk about knowing your audience). Complete with enthusiastic finger snaps from the crowd, it provided a reflective pause from the music, seamlessly reinforcing the event’s tender, soulful atmosphere and adding another layer of introspective charm to the night. Much praise to the speaker.

“It was a testament to how Clairo’s music could translate into something expansive and collaborative without losing its essence”

By the time Clare-O returned to the stage, the mic levels had been adjusted, and the performance truly hit its stride. With the lyrics now slightly more audible, the emotional core of Clairo’s music came through in full force, each track a bittersweet exploration of love, longing, and self-discovery. The band, having asked the crowd for their pick of an encore, seemed relatively unsurprised by the resounding choice to reprise ‘Bags’. It was a truly standout moment, with the keyboardist stepping out from behind their instrument to deliver a hauntingly beautiful vocal performance. The crowd, now swaying as one, seemed to collectively exhale – a rare, unspoken moment of connection.

Ultimately, Clare-O’s performance was more than just a tribute; it was a testament to how the quiet intimacy of Clairo’s music could translate into something expansive and collaborative without losing its essence. The jazz reinterpretations breathed new life into her work, making it feel both familiar and unexpected.

As I emerged from Clare Cellars, I realised that my earlier scepticism had melted away, replaced by something resembling … could it be? Actual enthusiasm? Jazz, it seemed, had won me over – not through frantic solos or avant-garde dissonance, but through its ability to adapt, reinvent, and surprise. And while my essay may still be overdue, I can confidently say it was worth it.

Would I come back for another Clare Sound jazz night? Without hesitation. As Clare-O proved, Charm Autumn has indeed arrived – and I, for one, am here for it.