On a sultry Thursday evening, the Butterfly Club smells of the sweat of performers past. It could not be a more fitting venue for the ensuing tale of an erotic underworld as Tommy Bradson, known in this place as split-personality hermaphrodite Charlie Martini and Alastair Estair, creates a sordid narrative that is punctuated with songs of sex, love and lust. So sordid in fact, that half the audience had left by the end of the 90 minute show; I had placed a bet with myself that this would occur when I entered and spotted the group of “older” women, who had obviously spent the best part of the evening downing champagne and gossiping. They left soon after the first “c” word was dropped, and I must admit the rest of us were glad to be rid of them.

This cabaret is not for the faint-hearted. It’s raw, gritty, littered with expletives and pulsates with a soundtrack intended to shock. But this is why I loved it. The dialogue is poetic, the score is melodic and Bradson’s performance is nothing short of astounding. His energy creates an almost threatening atmosphere, and it’s a wonderful thing to be so convinced by a character that you believe they may drag you off into a land of debauchery. He is not swearing or gesticulating just for the sake of it; both characters could be seen on a stage in a German burlesque, or in an underground, illegal boxing ring, and its authenticity is all-encompassing.

The sequences of song expertly exploit Bradson’s ability to swing from the deep-voiced, Dietrich-reminiscent nightclub concubine to the harsh tone of a bruised, masculine boxer. Both recount their world tour of famous red-light districts with prose so descriptive you can almost taste the vodka. There is no question why this boundary-pushing show won the award for the Best Cabaret at the 2009 Melbourne Fringe. Attend with an open mind, and leave with memories of a performance that will encourage musings for days to come.