End of the Century

Last night, a New York City institution went out with one last scream to the heavens and one last fist raised in defiance.

CBGB, the legendary club which for 33 years has been a literal and figurative Petri dish, nurturing the bands that gave birth to the punk scene -- The Ramones, Blondie, The Talking Heads -- as well as thousands more since, rolled down its battered steel gate for the last time after a final performance from Patti Smith.

The tiny, dark and grimy space -- covered wall-to-wall, floor-to-ceiling with the stickers, posters and graffiti of the bands who played there -- is now the musical equivalent of Tutankhamen's tomb.

CBGB will live on in the hearts and minds of the hundreds of thousands who crowded through its doors to worship at the temple of rock and roll. But it will never be about so many incredible nights as it will be about one night; that one night in which you saw a band, had a conversation or met a person you'll never forget.

For me, that person I met at CBGB was my wife, Jayne.

So much history.

So many memories.

So long old friend.