Newall: Every night an adventure at the city's Late Nite Cabaret

The post-punk cover band was tuning up. The ragtime piano player, his derby hat tilted just so, was hitting the bar. The evening's emcee, dazzling in a costume alighted with glow sticks, rehearsed a poem.

It was time for Late Nite Cabaret, the unofficial after-party of the Fringe.

First a few words from the man who makes it all happen.

"Welcome to Late Nite Cabaret," said Scott Johnston on Thursday, taking the stage at Fergie's Pub, wearing a suit jacket over a Hawaiian shirt and eyeliner. "We've been doing this for 20 years. Because we must."

When the Fringe - the citywide experimental arts festival that runs through Saturday - kicked off 20 years ago, the cabaret was born as its clubhouse. A gathering place for performers and in-the-know scenesters. A variety show of oddity, beauty, and burlesque. A bacchanal that stretched into the wee hours.

That first year it was held in the parking lot of an Old City bar. As it grew, it shuffled through cavernous warehouses in Old City and Northern Liberties, always with an open stage and always free. And always with Johnston, an artist, filmmaker, and member of the legendary Peek-a-Boo Revue burlesque troupe, running the show and keeping it all from falling to pieces.

It was the city's first pop-up - a wonderfully weird one. There was Sideshow Bennie, who hammered long nails up his nose and had a dartboard tattooed on his back. He encouraged audience members to test their aim. You could staple $20 bills to Bennie's forehead, but pity the partygoer who attempted to tear off a five in change.

There was the Whaler, who stood naked and dunked his head in a bucket of water and emerged screaming seafaring tales that always ended with "I am the Whaler." Beer was served from kegs iced in kiddie pools. The evenings were capped off by bands and burlesque.

But just as our city becomes more polished, so has the Fringe. And just as Philly has lost some of the grit amid its gleam, so has the Fringe.

In 2008, organizers orphaned the cabaret. Too niche, they said. They wanted to reach a wider audience, one that might enjoy a deejay and a nice cocktail rather than draft beer and stomach-churning performances from the Great Nippulini, who dangled bowling bowls and anvils from his piercings.

Johnston was aghast. The cabaret must go on, he swore. He would do it himself. And for all these years since, he has done just that - on a shoestring budget and with help from patrons like Fergie Carey, who lent Johnston the upstairs of his pub for Thursday.

Nightly performances stretch through next Sunday at rotating venues, including Silk City and the Trocadero Theater. And this year, for the first time in ages, the Fringe will host the cabaret at its urban chic digs at La Peg. A show Wednesday features an all-metal tribute to the Bee Gees.

Every night is an experiment. Every night is a struggle.

"We are a ragtag fleet," Johnston, 50, said Thursday. "An independent, mobile, functioning bonfire."

Growing up in Vineland, Johnston found his artistic roots not in highbrow experimental art, but rather Rocky Horror (he was beaten up as a teenager on his way to a performance at a West Philly theater in drag) and singing telegrams ("I couldn't sing, but I always knew how to make an entrance and exit").

As a sound technician in the first year of the Fringe, he witnessed shows that made him rethink art: "I saw the transformative power - the art that saves lives."

He can still whistle the music of Underlife, a dance show performed at his first cabaret in 1998.

"A pastiche of European cabaret aesthetic matched with a peerless group of Philadelphia dance artists in a hole-in-the-wall, chintzy, tiki-style performance space," he said, as if remembering the taste of a fine Burgundy.

Now, Johnston does all he can to sustain the spirit of the original cabaret.

At Fergies', Johnston piled up tables to make room for a dance floor as the band played "Fox on the Run."

Megan Bridge, codirector of the experimental performance company, fidget, said she came to Johnston's cabaret after dancing in the final performance of Gala, an acclaimed Fringe show. She felt like dancing some more. And she wanted to do it at Johnston's legendary cabaret.

mnewall@phillynews.com

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