You will know when a band is playing in the vaulted room downstairs at Le Cameleon because there will be a crowd waiting to squeeze in at the door. And squeeze in they will – to the point where you’ll be hardly able to breathe (although holding your breath is probably a good idea, since the space reeks of stale sweat and cigarette smoke). But this is a good thing: jazz clubs are meant to be cramped, dark, dingy and damp. Use your luminous cocktail cherry to light the way down deeper into the vault and you’ll never want to come out to see the light of day. It’s also got a slightly more sophisticated sister jazz club around the corner, Le Tennessee Bar (12 rue André Mazet), where you can expect a cool crowd listening to Frank on low, black chesterfield sofas.