Octoberfest plagued by growing elitism.

AP--Bouncers wielding walkie-talkies with lists of VIPs, deciding who's in and who's out, certainly aren't unusual at hip venues.

Only these bouncers aren't guarding the velvet-rope frontier of a New York nightclub. They're wearing Lederhosen and patrolling the festive tents of Oktoberfest, where the right to drink beer, dance on the table and roar out an ode to the frothy stuff has been a sacred rite for nearly two centuries.

They complain that events staged by record companies to promote musicians, or shows featuring ladies doffing their Dirndl dresses, are threatening the core of a tradition dating to 1810. "We don't want to have the Oktoberfest become a show-biz event. We are not Las Vegas, we are not Woodstock, we are not a megadisco," says Gabriele Weishaeupl, Oktoberfest's general manager, herself the picture of tradition in a smocked green Dirndl. "We want a traditional Bavarian Volksfest."

But increasingly, it's become invitation-only--to the chagrin of Munich city leaders and Oktoberfest organizers wno are vowing steps to prevent the world-famous Volksfest from turning into a VIPfest.

In a way, Oktoberfest has become a victim of its own popularity. By the time the 167th Oktoberfest ends on Tuesday, more than 6.5 million people will nave passed through the blue-and-white gates marking the entrance to "Wiesn," the Bavarian word for field. And they'll have chugged down 5 million liter-sized beer mugs.

But don't expect to just walk into the popular Hippodrom or Kaefer tents. Tables are booked months in advance, many by companies in large blocks. And the non-reserved sections in the tents are already filled by afternoon. Beer hall owners then simply shut the doors to new arrivals.

While only a handful of the Wiesn's 14 tents are violating the Oktoberfest spirit, Weishaeupl says she will sit down with all tent owners after the 18-day festival ends. City lawmakers have already called for the tents to set aside more unreserved tables.

The clash with tradition reached a head last year after a performer at the Hippodrom dropped her Dirndl, flashing her breasts for the crowd. Mayor Christian Ude derided the spectacle as a striptease--and took issue when the Hippodrom started issuing VIP bracelets to allow unlimited access for a select few, a sort of season's pass.

Hippodrom owner Sepp Kratz abandoned the bracelets under pressure and says he regrets the flashing incident last year. But he and other owners defend their attempts to regulate admission as a step against overcrowding. "I am sorry that it happened--such things don't belong to Wiesn," Kratz said, "but we are caring for Bavarian tradition."

Standing in the Hippodrom tent, Johann Niedermeyer of Munich can't remember ever missing an Oktoberfest in all his 63 years. "It used to be cozier, not such a huge event," Niedermeyer says, wearing a well-worn pair of Lederhosen.

On stage, a performer with the stage name Antonia from Tirolia performs a song in a short-short dress, then jumps up and down, threatening to free her bosom from its fabric confinement.

"There weren't such things in the past," Niedermeyer says as he claps along. "But I like these things too."

Later in the evening, Susanne Tusche from the town of Memmingen stood outside the Hippodrom tent, already off-limits to non-ticket holders, viewing the revelers through a window. "This has no Volksfest atmosphere when you stand here before closed doors," she said. But her mood changed when a friend came out with reservation bracelets, and suddenly she was on her way in. "It's all who you know," she said.