Nighttown didn’t survive. I heard the news from a friend Wednesday night, but I was unsurprised.

I figured it wouldn’t.

First silenced by the pandemic, Nighttown reopened its doors in November and promised to rekindle the music that had earned the once-popular nightspot in Cleveland Heights its reputation. It was supposed to combine great food with great music — jazz.

People of a certain age appreciated this musical genre. I did too.

So I went there shortly after it sprung back to life. I held hope for it, and hope is the best of things. Yet far too often hope like mine runs into disappointment. It did again.

With one of my cousins, I showed up there in January looking for a juicy ribeye and music. I got half of what I sought — the ribeye. The waiter told me Nighttown hadn’t brought jazz back on weekdays. Management had made no decision about it.

Come back on the weekend, the waiter said.

Disappointment in hand, I headed home. I made up my mind I would return shortly to see if the Nighttown that I remembered had been revived.

A couple of weeks later, I found out.

I brought a friend to town, a New York Times journalist here to discuss his bestseller on hip-hop. His sister flew in from California, and I promised to make their visit memorable.

I could do worse on a night about the city than to offer them a wonderful meal and a jazz club, right?

Indeed, my companions liked the food, hardly surprising. But they heard no jazz. I hardly knew what to say. We’d have been wise to uber downtown and go to The House of Blues.

I had to apologize. I told them I had been under the belief that Nighttown, 2.0, would be a jazz club — a place like what people remember from “GoodFellas” or other period films.

Bring a bottle of your best bubbly sounded all right to me. I’ll have a whiskey neat.

I suspect this version of Nighttown was doomed from the get-go. Did music lovers on the East Side want to listen to Boney James? I guess not.

Some people these days believe jazz is dead. They’re wrong. It remains the flavor of the day in many countries outside the United States, and the genre holds an allure for people too sophisticated for the lurid lyrics and rhythms of hip-hop.

And soul, of course, has no soul left.

Where have you gone, Berry Gordy?

I thought a swanky nightspot that opened about the time Nighttown reopened might fill the jazz space the original once held or else recreate it. Sadly, I know that will never happen.

Doubtless, its diners looked at jazz as too stodgy. They preferred to dance, dance, dance the night away rather than sit and contemplate the grace of this musical tour de force or the meaning of life.

I saw what Nighttown 2.0 was twice; I wasn’t keen to see it thrice.

I’m not certain what the space Nighttown occupies on Cedar Road will become next when the nightclub closes Sunday. For the East Side still needs a place like it — someplace where jazz flourishes.

I’ll count on whoever buys the space to keep me from swinging wildly at another attempt to revive jazz for the unwashed masses.