Clubgoers revel as pounding music plays late Friday inside Pure, the sprawling nightclub at Caesars Palace currently considered one of the nation's hippest spots. Photos by JANE KALINOWSKY/REVIEW-JOURNAL Tattoo-laden drummer Travis Barker of Blink-182 pounds along to DJ AM's set at Pure about 1 a.m. Saturday. Clubgoers relax in the Terrace, the rooftop section at Pure nightclub in Caesars Palace.

EDITOR'S NOTE: In the past several years, Las Vegas has become one of the top nightclub cities in the world. This is the first article in an occasional series exploring the clubs that can be found in many of the city's resort hotels.

Calling the nightclub Pure "popular" is a bit like declaring Hoover Dam "sizable" or judging Paris Hilton "unchaste."

While accurate, the adjective doesn't come close to describing Pure's currently unrivaled reign as the preferred Las Vegas destination for those seeking DJs, dance floors and debauchery.

Four nights a week, a crowd numbering in the thousands gathers inside Caesars Palace angling to get inside the mega-club.

About 3,000 will get inside immediately. The rest will be banished to a snaking line to spend two hours waiting for admission to the sprawling, 36,000-square-foot area that E! Entertainment named No. 1 on its "20 Hippest Hotspots" in America list.

So what's the lure of Pure?

A sleek-bodied army of party people love the club's combination of world-class DJs, clarion sound systems and lush decor.

The sensual buzz of the atmosphere is so overwhelming that you don't need chemical enhancement to enjoy it, said Aya Hutchings, a 27-year-old clubgoer from Palo Alto, Calif.

"This place is amazing, and I'm not even on drugs," Hutchings said as she danced with her fiance about 1 a.m. on Saturday.

Pure is essentially four clubs in one, with each of its four areas offering distinct themes and music. Operators have cultivated an overall environment that appeals both to well-heeled VIPs who stow away in semiprivate enclaves throughout the club, as well as twenty- and thirtysomething hipsters looking to hook up.

Emerging through the lengthy hallway entrance and past the coat check, the cavernous main room is straight ahead.

Silver, ivory and cream draperies line walls near the room's three bars and partially conceal oversize bed seating. An elevated VIP lounge next to the DJ platform overlooks the club's largest dance floor. Hip-hop is the predominant flavor here, but guest DJs mix it up a bit.

On a recent Friday, prominent turntablist DJ AM (paramour of ultraparty girl Nicole Ritchie) masterfully cut together Ray Charles, AC/DC and a melange of other artists as Blink-182 drummer Travis Barker pounded along on his kit.

Below, the dance floor brimmed with men in bad suits with too much bling. Female dancers preferred tight, low-rise pants revealing G-strings or the fact they were sans underwear for the evening. Many of their tops seemed to require skin-friendly glue or frequent cleavage adjustments to keep jiggling parts concealed.

At a nearby bar, two men complained that two shots of Jagermeister and two Miller Lites set them back $30.

"They're good beers," the bartender told them as he tossed empty cans behind him. "Trust me," he joked, "they taste a lot better than they do at home."

So consider yourself warned: Buying that newfound hottie in a halter top a couple of drinks is going to run you more than filling up your SUV.

In fact, it may be more than your monthly payment on it.

So how much cash should you bring along if you plan to imbibe? Enough to choke a mule. Or if you purchase with plastic, make sure your credit limit rivals a Saudi prince's.

Mixed drink? Ten bucks.

A standard bottle of vodka brought to your table? A cool $425.

And don't think you're getting out cheap by forgoing alcohol. A bottle of water sells for $7.

It won't make you feel any better that your hard-earned cash will be going to a handful of already well-heeled celebrities. Celine Dion, Shaquille O'Neal, Andre Agassi and Steffi Graf hold ownership stakes in Pure.

Once the liquor has dulled your price sensitivity, head over to the Red Room, where the decadent look could've been designed by "Scarface's" Tony Montana without his little "freend."

Low-light glass chandeliers contrast with blood-red drapery and upholstered walls. Waitresses deliver bottles to VIPs secluded in cocoonlike chambers. The Red Room is a bastion for either reggae or '80s pop, depending on who's DJing.

Venture back into the main hallway to experience the club's newest addition, The Pussycat Dolls Lounge, a mixed music area that's easily the least inviting spot in the club.

Centered around a circular dance floor raised 4 feet off the ground, the wood-floored room is brighter than the other downstairs areas, mainly because of the giant, lighted "Pussycat Dolls" marquee on the wall. Avoid the room unless it's Tuesday night, when the burlesque dance troupe the room is named for performs six shows between 10:30 p.m. and 1:30 a.m.

Back in the main hallway, a twisting staircase leads to a glass-enclosed mezzanine landing offering elevated views of the action in the Pussycat Dolls Lounge and the main room.

For a little fresh air, continue up the staircase to the roof, home of the Terrace, the largest outdoor, year-round night life venue in Las Vegas. (If dancing has depleted your energy, skip the stairs and ascend here in the glass elevator.)

House music pounds on the roof's oval-shaped dance floor. But Terrace visitors tend to spend more time milling around, talking and taking in the rooftop's sweeping views of Strip neon.

Nearby, all nine rooftop cabanas were booked for the evening. The canopied lounges are complimentary, a bouncer said, as long as you spring for a four-bottle minimum.

"That's going to run you around two grand," he said.

The polite bouncer said this as though I might truly be interested in a future reservation, even though I only had cash enough in my pocket for another $7 water.

As this illustrates, Pure boasts some of the most polished service this service-industry town has to offer.

With their Secret Service-esque suits and ear pieces, the beefed-up bouncers look more suited for a presidential visit rather than dance floor duty. Ubiquitous throughout the massive club, they lend an air of safety without intimidation, acting more like helpful hosts than steroid-stuffed maniacs looking to get their licks in on the drunkard who just spilled his $16 martini on their shoes.