Country Blue Grass Blues, more often recognized as CBGB’s, is the infamous Bowery bar that gave birth to American punk rock, touting debut performances by The Ramones, Television, Talking Heads, and Blondie.

When I moved to Manhattan in the early 90s, I remember heading to shows at CB’s and was warned to be careful since the club was in a “dangerous neighbourhood”. The Bowery has always been a notorious area. In the early 19th century, the population had increased by more than 60 percent; New York City’s growing slums overwhelmed the policing system. Between the flophouses and the mission, gangsters and prostitutes, the Bowery was a hotbed for the underbelly of society.

Of all the derelicts’ destinations on the Bowery, the largest was The Palace Hotel with adjoining bar, The Palace Bar. This 165+ feet long and 25 feet wide venue became CBGB’s. Hilly Kristal, owner and founder of CB’s never could have anticipated what would happen when the club opened in December 1973. The recession, social issues such as Roe v. Wade, the end of the Vietnam War and Nixon’s impeachment helped shape youth culture in its angry, frustrated glory. With nowhere for rock bands to perform in New York without a recording contract, punk rock took the club by storm and flourished there.

Yes, it’s a dump, but that’s part of its charm. As you step through the doors, it is blatantly obvious that CBGB’s is the land that time has forgotten. The club itself is a roach-infested hovel plastered over with a zillion band flyers and stickers. As you walk through, the bar runs along the right side, and chairs and tables are to the left, separated by a skinny aisle that opens up towards the stage. The pit area in front of the stage is incredibly uneven, and to make your way to the bathroom, you have to pass behind the stage. It can be a little tricky during those all-ages punk matinees! Wearing platforms or big, steel-capped boots is a must down there, as you wade through the murk and follow up your experience with several hand-washings and a healthy helping of Purell anti-bacterial.

CBGB’s is steeped in nostalgia and I have to smirk at the thought of my own teenage angst. When recently at a punk matinee, I couldn’t help but be transported back to my youth and the thrill of going to a show with friends, decked out in my own Doc Martens, safety pins and perfectly dishelved coif. These bands were the real deal, unlike the commercially successful, sanitized punk pop of the mainstream. It makes me wonder if the suburban kiddies in their mall-bought t-shirts have ever been to the club and/or appreciated the music or history.

Thanks to urban redevelopment in Manhattan, the luxury condo buildings are sprouting up like weeds. The construction on the block is happening at an incredible speed; a new street is being built behind the club that is said to stretch all the way to Houston Street and will be ready to accomodate more shops. CBGB’s rent is being doubled, and whether or not this landmark of music will be saved or not is still up in the air. Will the only leave-behind of this era be the street sign, “Joey Ramone Place”?