As CBGB’s and Tonic gasp their last, another downtown music club has been resuscitated. After a two-year vanishing act, the venerable downstairs establishment Smalls reopened its narrow door in the West Village last week. With little fanfare, Mitchell Borden and Farius Decouto gave Smalls back to New York City.

In 2003, to the woe of critics, fans, and musicians alike, Smalls succumbed to mounting financial constraints, ending a decade-long stint as the go-to downtown venue for jazz lovers with small budgets. Known for live music seven nights a week with jam sessions often swinging into the wee hours of the morning, the club plans to continue its tradition of catering to up-and-coming artists. Only now there’s a full cash bar. (There are also clean bathrooms, emergency lighting, and sprinklers capped in the refinished ceiling – amenities once dangerously absent.)

“It’s all worth it for the music,” said Mr. Borden earlier this week at Fat Cat, a sister club where trombones and flutes lay strewn amid Smalls memorabilia. Three times he mortgaged a house in New Jersey before the club’s last incarnation folded. “I don’t do this for the money.”

Mr. Decouto, the partnership’s other half, a round-chinned man who has worked in restaurants all his life and owns Ipanema on 14th Street, spent the last 10 months renovating the club. The plain facade has a fresh coat of red paint, a new awning, and a red, neon sign hanging above the door. Musty couches and wobbly tables have been replaced with comfortable chairs and barstools. On a slightly risen stage, Mr. Borden has tucked the drums and bass to the left and concentrated the rhythm section behind the club’s most elegant addition: a black, Steinway baby grand piano.

“Twenty-nine years ago I lived here,” Mr. Decouto said behind the new bar as he served up his specialty drink, a Caipirinha. He pointed. “I slept in that room, like a wine cellar under the street. A year ago, I saw a “for Rent” sign on the door, and now I’m back.” Mr. Decouto is not the only one around who has called 183 W. 10th Street home; during the club’s previous life, Mr. Borden, too, lived at Smalls.

On Monday night, patrons filed down the trademark stairwell – they’ve rebuilt the once-death-defying steps and painted the corridor a faux gold – as Mr. Borden waited beside a new, steamy fireplace wearing a black cap sideways on his head. “$10 for the band, $10 for the bar,” he said. The crowd, so far more young than old, shuffled to the bar and dropped their two drink chips to Mr. Decouto. Many halted at the bottom of the stairs, astonished at the renovation.

Christopher Higgins started at 10 p.m., leading his quartet. Only the guitar and bass were amplified, and the band balanced the levels well. The room sounds brighter, catering to the horns. It’s also boomier, distorting low guitar notes and hits from the kick drum.

“I remember having 125 places to hear jazz,” said Phil Schaap, a radio host and New York City jazz historian. “Smalls is one of the few fertile attempts at going late with jazz. The musicians love the place.”

So what does it take for a jazz club to survive? “Luck,” he said.