I have the sneaking suspicion that at some point in the last 15+ years of doing this stupid blog, I've put this link up before, but, honestly, I can't be arsed to look for it, and it's still worth evangelizing, so here it is .... possibly for the second time.
I've gone on record here a number of times to suggest that the time for lionizing the legend of CBGB may have reached the end of its tether, and that by continuing to weepily bleat about it, those of us who cling to its memory are becoming just as cloyingly insufferable as those who continue to harp on and on about friggin' Woodstock. But, that's the cynic in me talking.
In reality, I am a fucking brazen nostalgist. It cannot be argued. For better or worse, I carry multiple torches for any number of landmarks and touchstones of lost eras. It's just the way my DNA is hard-wired. I gotta own it.
In recent weeks, I've been helping a friend fine-tune a very cool book project that has many topical tendrils wrapped around this particular stretch of the Bowery (note also my rumination on soon-to-be-razed Bowery Bar, yesterday). As such, I am more reminded of my affinities and associations for the sweatily cramped confines of CBGB than usual, not that it's ever that far from my mind. When that book project nears fruition, I'll report more.
As a result, when I re-spotted this "virtual tour" of the interior of CBGB, it took me right back there. Once again, is the place over-rhapsodized? Maybe, ... but what it was represented -- and continues to represent -- means a lot of a lot of people. And I'm one of them.
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