By Lindy Rybloom

It is a January evening in Copenhagen, Denmark and the windows of the La Fontaine jazz club are covered in fog from the heat of bodies packed inside the small showroom. I am shoulder-to-shoulder with friends, spinning our frames in every direction, surveying the space in hopes of a table to sit at. We soon realize that with the amount of people here tonight, our options may be limited, we will have to settle for standing in the back, bobbing our heads up and down, curling around people in front of us to get a brief glimpse of the artists on stage. From my point of view I can see a sweaty and smiley man bouncing up and down at a drum set. He sets the beat for the rest of his crew while wearing a baseball cap and an untucked button-up, a rather casual look compared to our front man who is dressed in a tuxedo. Four people make up the band on stage, all appearing as if dressed for different events, but when playing together they become one harmonious group. The man in the front plays the saxophone with tangible passion, the woman to the right whips out an impressive flute solo and the bassist in the back nods his head to the beat, smiling and in awe just as the audience is. Luckily, we don’t need to see every moment on stage, from our spot, the music sounds just right. 

“It’s a Sunday night! Why is it so packed?” Rachel shouts from behind me. 

Our ignorance comes back to bite us. Apparently everyone on the planet except for us knows that La Fontaine hosts jam sessions on Sunday evenings. Better yet, they host jam sessions without an entrance fee on Sunday nights, so prepare to get comfortable with your neighbor. To close out the weekend, the venue invites practicing artists up on stage for the crowd to see, introducing new faces to the beloved space. For a genre whose peak popularity was nearly a century ago, La Fontaine is bursting at the seams, making adequate space for jazz connoisseurs and first-time listeners. If walls could speak, they would scream in our faces, “JAZZ IS NOT DEAD!” 

Everyday people like my friends and I are not the only ones intrigued by life at La Fontaine. Who were the people keeping this space alive? I set out to answer that question. On a brisk April morning, I enter the empty venue for an interview with the club’s right-hand-man, Peter. He began his 27 year long relationship with La Fontaine back in 1998 when he would finish off tiring nights of work with a nightcap at the iconic club. In 2008, he began as an official employee and has been in different positions at the same place ever since. 

“I just can’t keep away. It’s love.” He says. 

I’m used to La Fontaine being crowded, pressed up against strangers in the name of jazz. This morning, I get a different view of the place. This time, there is no one shoving in front of me at the bar, trying to get a Tuborg before I do. The walls smell of cigarettes. The floor is worn down from all of the feet who have walked through the doors. Fans, connoisseurs, locals, travelers, artists, listeners. Peter fires off the exhaustive list of impressive people who have visited La Fontaine,  

“Ben Webster, Dexter Gordon, Kenny Drew…Lady Gaga, that’s just a few. Having them here put a stamp on La Fontaine as a real club.” 

For artists like Ben Webster and Dexter Gordon, Copenhagen was a safe haven in the 1960s and 1970s. During a time of racial inequality, booking gigs for Black artists in the United States was difficult, but in Scandinavia, opportunities were plentiful. Thus, the Danish city became an ideal destination for Black jazz musicians. Many artists moved to Copenhagen to start families and continue developing their craft, with some even playing the intimate La Fontaine stage. 

“We like the story of little Copenhagen becoming a magnet to huge American musicians,” Peter says. 

During Jazz’s golden age in Denmark, the European country was home to only about 4.6 million residents. For a place so small, its jazz roots are mighty; these artists helped put the place on the music map. 

Peter and I stand in the kitchen while he brews a pot of coffee for the owner who is taking a meeting in the main showroom. He makes multi-tasking look easy as he sets the coffee filter into the kettle and lights up a cigarette all at once. La Fontaine is quaint, and this is the only chance we have at a quiet space. It seems that with each week the jazz club brings in a crowd bigger than the last. With a capacity limit of about 90 people, La Fontaine is usually brimming with eager listeners, and yet, the venue remains the same, nestled in the inner city, with 60 seats for early birds, and limited standing space for late-comers. 

“When you go out, you want to experience it with others. If you hear something that you like, you want to share it,” Peter says. 

There is a certain feel at La Fontaine that you can’t get in many other places in Copenhagen. When you’re pushed up against each other, or forced to split a table with strangers, there is no other option than to share your evening, and the music with others. La Fontaine’s intimate setting is part of what makes it desirable for visitors. 

The image of a jazz club buzzing with excited guests hasn’t always been the norm, though. Picture this, the year is 1949, at this point in time, La Fontaine is a cabaret venue owned by Sine Agnete Petersen. The crowd waits with enthusiasm for the host, Tony Rodian to work his cabaret magic. Finally, showgirls in top hats, fishnet tights and exaggerated eye shadow appear on stage for an evening of entertainment while audience members sip whiskey on the rocks. This was one of La Fontaine’s many past lives, before it was sold in 1963. In 1986 the same venue is unrecognizable. Its interior is covered in mirrors and painted with bright colors, owned by a flamboyant man who dreams of selling eccentric clothing. Later, the place spends half a year as a gay club, hosting up-beat nights for vibrant partiers. Multiple eras and three bankruptcies later, it is finally bought by Ole Hierwagen in November of 1989 and turned into the cozy and respected home for jazz music it is today. Hierwagen was the owner when Peter first began his work at La Fontaine. 

“When Ole bought it, it was not popular and the music here was totally dead. But he had a dream. He started by kicking out all the Coltrane copies,” Peter says. 

Hierwagen believed in curating a unique jazz club for the city of Copenhagen to enjoy. His ideal club was one of high quality and broad appeal, but it took time to reach his goal.

“It was really hard times for the first 10 years, slowly it began to be more popular.” 

Peter relays the story of when Lady Gaga sang at La Fontaine 10 years ago. The venue was packed like no other, Ole had achieved his dream. 

“It’s very nice that Ole was able to experience that, going from having no money and then having the best club in town.” 

Hierwagen passed away in February of 2024, giving the club to his son, Andreas. His legacy continues to live on through La Fontaine, with his picture hanging above the doorway in the kitchen; Peter is sure to point it out. 

“We aren’t going to change it,” Peter says. 

Some version of La Fontaine has been open since 1927, although its beginnings are blurry, the place has served the community as a sonic getaway for nearly a century. As my conversation with Peter comes to an end, I sit in the still venue for the final moments. Two hand-rolled cigarettes and one pot of coffee later, I am hyper aware of the thunderous past that surrounds me.

“In the walls there is a history and it’s for real. It’s not like a museum, it’s a club and the jazz is living here.” 

The band finishes their set with a final whining saxophone solo and people begin to filter out. One by one, I watch as devoted audience members have final sips of their drinks, place their cups at the bar and head back into the freezing streets. My friends and I linger and watch the place retreat to a quieter version of itself. The musicians pack up speakers and return their trusty instruments to their cases. The bartender wipes the counter of sticky rings from drinks past and stacks newly cleaned glasses one on top of the other. The night of jazz music has run its course and we, too, exit into the icy streets and make our way back home. From outside I look into the window and can see the final stragglers standing in the showroom, talking and laughing among the smoky air, hoping this night will never end.