CBGB's swan song

Under blue and red lights, Kosmic Daydream singer Jeniffer De Los Santos twirls and shakes her maracas in synch with the stair-stepping bass and pounding drum beats.

She calls herself the Kosmic Goddess and fills the stage with a wacky mix of Janis Joplin vocals, oversized sunglasses and a fluffy feather boa. When asked about CBGB's relocation to Las Vegas, she sticks out her tongue and says, "Not cool. This place has years of blood, sweat and tears — and the smell of shit." She laughs. "They won't be able to get the smell to Vegas. Nothing else could replace this."

The group's drummer, Jose Cruz, echoes the sentiment. "Complete bullshit," he says, energized and sweaty after playing a set. With a beer in hand, he spouts, "Every CD I have, the artist played here. It fucking sucks they're leaving. Take it piece by piece, it won't be the same thing."

Now on its deathbed, CBGB bookmarks a chapter of New York's cultural heritage. The floors are dirtied with time passed, and the posters on the walls peel with memories.

It's the beginning of the end — the first weekend of CBGB's last month. Kathleen Doherty, 44, casually leans against the bar, sips a beer and talks to faces that have grown familiar over the years. She recalls with a smile that she spent her 16th birthday here. Chuckling, she recounts how she almost got in a fight with the barmaid that night.

"She had an attitude," Doherty jokes. "She was big, and hairy — and mean." She pauses, and adds with a full-bellied laugh, "Thinking back, I don't remember who had the bigger attitude — her or me."

Doherty's a native New Yorker, now a lawyer, and visits every couple of weeks. She calls CBGB her "family" and says that she returns for the music, talent and because this is where she's "come of age."

In this hallowed Bowery stomping grounds of exposed pipes and dim lighting, world-renowned rock club CBGB has changed little since its opening in 1973, and continues in its last few weeks the long-standing tradition of rock and grime. It is a cave of graffiti-painted walls marked dually by stickers of bands past and present, neon-lit alcohol ads and the stench of stale beer and urine.

Bartender Ger Burgman wears a black and white CBGB T-shirt and wire-rim glasses. Burgman — the son-in-law of CBGB's owner — laughs over how he got the job some 20 years ago, saying, "My wife got pregnant, so I took over her shift."

He was pouring whiskey shots behind the bar when two twenty-something Manhattanites naively asked, "Where's your bathroom?" He answered coyly with a smirk, "Follow your nose. You'll smell 'em." And by smell, he means an overwhelming reek only extreme partying could produce — no bleach at CBGB; it's a rock 'n' roll ideal.

But while the bathrooms may be the most infamously filthy in all of New York City, it's the history and the talent that draws tourists and rockers both. This cluttered den of empty bottles and piles of trash is home to young and old who come out for the love of original music and the promise of a good time. Birthplace of music trendsetters and genre innovators like The Ramones, Television, Blondie and The Talking Heads, CBGB is iconic of fresh, unique New York City talent that flourished in the East Village.

CBGB also draws a steady stream of tourists from around the world who are eager to see it in its final phase. One couple traveled from Japan to visit the historic site. Akihiko Koba, 29, brushes back his shoulder-length, razor-cut hair and explains in broken English that his girlfriend loves punk rock. Koba gushes over the atmosphere and the people, and grins when he says his friends will be jealous that he got to be there in person. Glancing at his girlfriend, he nods and says, "We're so lucky."

Luck undoubtedly factored into this dive bar's rise to celebrity status.

"This place is a shithole," said Jimmi Dylan, Kosmic's guitarist, "and that's why I love it."