Opened in 1973 on New York City's artistically-tragic Bowery, the club became synonymous with acts such as Television, Blondie, the Talking Heads, and Patti Smith. But more than any other act in its history, CBGB is known for launching the Ramones, a stroke of luck that made it the default birthplace of punk music.

Thirty-two years later, CBGB's early success seems as accidental as its longevity. By his own admission, owner and founder Hilly Kristal's hated the music that made the club worthy of the current efforts to save it. "I thought the band was terrible," Kristal says of Television in his personal history, available on the club's official website. Adding: "As for the Ramones, they were even worse...." Compiled in 2000, this official history of CBGB is very telling in that, though consisting of six volumes, it appears to end abruptly in 1977, four years after beginning. "To be continued...," we are told. It is widely agreed that the venue has been propped up by its reputation for the last 20 years, with most bands drawing poor crowds and even worse professional criticism (when they manage to get any at all).

But the passing of time has lent the CBGB name and myth a storybook quality, making it a calling card for hard-core cred. Rockers born well after its relevancy join guidebook-toting tourists in admiration of the club's significance. Everyone buys a t-shirt.

Most ongoing efforts to save CBGB hinge on the reasoning that the club is a musical landmark, the embodiment of punk music. The problem is that this argument is self-defeating; punk music is fundamentally anti-establishment and what's more establishment than preserving something for what amounts to tourism?

CBGB has made the classic brand ownership mistake; just because you claim the trademark does not mean you own the brand. A brand is not just what you, the owner, think your brand represents, but also what consumers (customers) think your brand represents. In short, a brand is an agreement of value between owner and consumer, with both having influence over its future. Demonstrating just how out of touch CBGB has become with its own over-extended identity is the brand's early efforts at charity fundraising in the form of chocolate: a plain CBGB chocolate bar in a 16-piece truffle selection named "CBGB Punk Rock Box."

Hilly Kristal hinted recently in the New York Times that he might pack up CBGB and move it to Las Vegas. He should. Throughout the years Kristal has so heavily diluted the brand across platforms ranging from baby clothing to pizzerias to shower curtains to chef's aprons that "CBGB" has lost all but the most feeble connection to anything it ever represented. (A “loss” that reportedly turned a profit of US$ 2 million last year). The current position seems to fit better with the Las Vegas aesthetic of plasticized history. Flanking Sinatra and Elvis impersonators, white tigers and hourly pirate invasions of clipper ships, CBGB would assume its rightful place alongside brands that have long since come to be co-opted by popular culture's own interpretations.

Another consideration for the brand is what will CBGB stand for if in fact all the last-minute celebrity support and concerts manage to save the brand? Wouldn't CBGB lose whatever rock credibility it had left? In order to save itself as a relevant rock-and-roll landmark, the brand must admit its current irrelevancy, that its time has passed and that it can no longer stand on its own.

Abram Sauer writes for brandchannel.com. He wants to be, and often is, sedated.