Drag queens are coming out of their closets as Glasgow�s cross-dressing cabaret scene takes off for the first time in a decade. Paul Dalgarno discovers that when it comes to big dance routines and lung-busting diva anthems, you can�t keep a good woman down

AVON Starr arrives late, sweeps past the nightclub door staff with a wink. Her outfit, as she will later describe it, is a "funsy wunsy". To the uninitiated, it's a one-piece figure-hugging trouser suit, sleeveless and black, with a strong suggestion of cleavage.

Her hair looks like Jackie Onassis's might have after a controlled explosion. Along with the six-inch platform heels, it pushes her height to an easy six foot two. Standing next to her is Musty Gusset, blonde, in a blue crushed-velvet dress, glittering eyelashes and red lips. Also six-foot-plus, she greets admirers with a feminine west coast lilt. They could be professional sidekicks, and intend to be if tonight's audition at the newly opened Priscillas drag club in Glasgow goes well.

The walk downstairs from the hungry eyes of the clientele to their spartan dressing room is fraught with the danger of twisted ankles and bumped heads. "Be honest. Does my ass look big in this?" asks Starr in a conspiratorial tone. "Just about right," I say, passing under her arm and into the room. Her Tennessee accent comes across strongly, although it's been a while since she left the States. A few years in Norway were followed by a couple more in Inverness, where she first met Musty Gusset. Both she and Gusset see tonight as a chance to promote their drag act, which they've been honing for some time, albeit in fits and starts.

The pair were winner and runner-up of the inaugural Priscilla Queen of Glasgow competition in May, and were hired as "teasers" during the Miss Scotland pageant last month. They've done well, although not without attracting some jealousy. "One queen at the Miss Scotland pageant threw a shoe at me," says Starr. "But she was a truck driver from Preston and should have maybe shaved her arms." Today has been nervy, and all about getting things right.

"You never know how you're going to turn out," says Starr. "It's not like being a girl, where you can just put on a bit of lip-gloss and head out - it's a matter of layers upon layers upon layers. We've been going since about one o'clock this afternoon."

"The make-up takes at least an hour and a half," adds Gusset. "And the wigs have to be prepared the day before. Dressing takes forever because you've got several pairs of dance tights to get into. And we both pad-up, which is something most British drag queens don't bother with." The desired result, she says, is "every porn film and glamour film you've ever seen, rolled into one body." The philosophy behind sourcing wigs and accessories is simple: "What God didn't give you, eBay will."

Both are adept at acting, and reiterate several times that this is purely a performance. Were it not, then Starr would be Greig Moore, a make-up artist for a cosmetics company; Gusset would be James, from northwest Scotland, who claims to have been working in a bank "since I was 10". Post-midnight, neither are ready to turn back into pumpkins just yet, and get down to some finishing touches: a skoosh of hairspray here, a dash of lipstick there. It's worth all the bother, says Gusset, for the look on people's faces.

"We've been waiting so long for a drag venue to open in Glasgow," says Starr. "Until now, we've had to go down to Manchester or Blackpool, where they haul some old crusty up from Brighton every now and then to perform. For a gay scene as big as Glasgow's, it's amazing there's not something like this already."

Cabaret and drag are at the centre of the Priscillas ethos. The club is targeted at the mainstream, at hen parties and beyond, in homage to the ever-popular Funny Girls showbar in Blackpool. For a fee, customers can be "dragged up", male to female or vice versa, by the mostly transgender staff. The club's owners see it as a chance to dip a delicately painted toe into choppy Scottish waters. Tonight, as a snapshot, augers well: people come in slowly, look around at the decor, then head happily to the bar. All going to script, Aberdeen will have its own spin-off venue before long.

The opening comes at an interesting time for Scottish drag. While still not a patch on the drag scene in London or Manchester, there has been a renaissance of sorts of late. Nights such as Ab-Drag in Edinburgh cater to a transgender clientele and are growing in popularity. Alternative club nights such as Glasgow's Utter Gutter, or the burlesque-infused Club Noir, attract their fair share of weekend cross-dressers. That they should be able to do this in a safe and welcoming environment is not without significance.

One of the reasons put forward for the dearth of Scottish drag events in recent years is an infamous incident outside Glasgow's Club X in 1994, where a transsexual was supposedly beaten to death by two transvestites. It was the sharp end of a scene that was already spiralling towards heavy drug-abuse and aggression.

The attack was witnessed by River City actor Russell Barr, who was working as a drag queen at the now-defunct Madame Gillespie's. The experience formed the heart of his 2004 play Sisters, Such Devoted Sisters at the Edinburgh Fringe, although Strathclyde police say the murder was never reported. With or without a body, the story was pervasive in the hangover and drag wilderness that followed.

"Ever since that time, there's been a general fear and loathing of drag culture because it was seen as very violent," says Steven Thomson, producer of the annual Glasgay arts festival. "Things are getting better, but there's still a great deal of hostility towards drag, and that makes people scared to take risks. Gay people still face a lot of intolerance, and Glasgow's reputation as a rough and tumble city is still fairly prevalent."

The problem could come down to a few basic misunderstandings. That drag equals gay, for example; or that dressing outrageously equals transvestism; or that these assumptions, false or otherwise, should draw flak from anyone in the first place. As a general rule, drags model their aesthetic on other drag queens and performers, not women, and few conflate a fake chest with either sex or sexuality. Instead, it's about a fashion-sense and edginess, which at the grassroots is edgier still.

Billed as Glasgow's "only dedicated drag and tranny night", Valley Of The Dolls is an anything-but-mainstream club night that has been running since April. "The kind of thing we're into is quite claws-out," says the organiser Lady Munter. "But I think that's down to the fact you get so much hassle on the street. You've got to be quick with your tongue and your handbag."

When not being dropped off at the club by his parents, Munter travels into the city centre by train, with a beauty case and plenty of attitude. "If you look really outrageous, people usually leave you alone. You only become a target when you clam up or shy away."

Munter also goes by the name Guillotina, and - during office hours - David Matthews. The first time we arrange to meet, in a Glasgow café, I'm not sure which to look out for. When David Matthews finally arrives, he's not the person I was expecting. With spiked hair, glasses, and conservative clothes, he describes his daytime look as "Clark Bent." The next time we meet, at his Valley Of The Dolls night, he is unmistakably Lady Munter: the colour scheme is pink, with more pink, like an inverted blancmange on silver heels. Where there was skin, there is make-up; where there was a watch, there is a dinky bracelet. "I've had people mistake me for a woman when I'm dressed like this," he says, "although I don't know how. Maybe they think they're going after someone a bit tarty, or maybe it's to do with my petite stature."

Tonight he is both hostess and performer, and clearly in his element. Many of those arriving take their fashion direction from the late Australian performance artist Leigh Bowery - the fiercer the clothes the better; the same goes for make-up and hair. Animal horns protrude from the shoulders of the DJ's leopard-skin coat; braces and Trilby hats bounce around beside Vivienne Westwood skirts. One man in a diminutive purple dress, with army boots and a hairy chest, orders his pint at the bar, content. It is, one imagines, the kind of place Ray Davies might have visited before writing Lola.

Munter rattles through his preparatory make-up routine like Gordon Ramsay would an exotic recipe. Cleanse. Tone. Moisturise. Foundation. Powder. Lipstick. Heels. Lady Munter heading out for the night? Done. "I don't shave my eyebrows because I don't want to look like an alien during the day," he says. "Another thing I don't usually bother with is fake nails. Gloves are an easier way to hide things." Despite the lavish war paint - and the fact he has opted for razor-sharp silver nails tonight - Munter has no interest in looking like a woman. "People automatically assume that you put make-up on because you want to be female," he says. "I might wear the wigs and heels but I still wear the trousers."

He shuffles off, hands round a gin and lemonade, before steadying himself to perform. The women cheer as loudly as the men. In reality, the stage is a tiny red box at the side of the dance floor, but for Munter it might as well be Vegas. One woman sports a Fifties' suburban look that would be at home on the set of Happy Days. But despite the bonhomie, it seems that all is not well in the Valley. One of the drag acts has pulled out at the last minute and Munter has drafted in a replacement.

"I've never done this before," says Johnny Pryce, who, for tonight only, is Paris S. Burning. He will perform Madonna's Vogue within the hour and seems a little uncertain of his moves. The blonde wig looks fine, he thinks, but he hasn't quite mastered the hips. "I'm getting into it more as the night goes on, but I think I'd need to do this a few times before being really comfortable. I'm sure I'll get hassle from the customers tonight - they'll all be wanting a piece of me."

In the corridor between the dance floor and bathrooms, garters get hauled up manly thighs, cleavage is adjusted in earnest or otherwise; gender is as fluid as the puddles of alcohol on the floor. Telling the sexes apart is easier in some cases than others. One person, wearing black suspenders, black knickers, a black leather corset and make-up, strolls out of the ladies, which is no guarantee of anything. I tell her I'm curious about what sex she is.

"What do you think?"

I think she's a woman.

She pulls her underwear a little tighter to reveal an unsettling bulge.

Er, I think she's a man.

Before I can continue, she whips out a prosthetic phallus and sticks it in the palm of my hand. "Emma Fork," she says, shaking my free hand. Her look, she explains, is "faux queen", an aesthetic inspired by Glasgow-based artist Dianne Torr, who pioneered drag king workshops for women. Her persona was inspired by the character Frank N Furter, of the Rocky Horror Picture Show, which Fork has just been to see in the theatre. Tonight, she says, she is "a woman dressed as a man who is dressed as a woman, although he's not really trying to be a woman". The make-up and glamour are important in creating the right effect.

"People are getting bored of paying money to go and just dance somewhere," she says. "People want to see a good show and actually become part of the entertainment. Whether they are getting up on stage and performing, or simply wandering around in costume, it's all part of the same thing. It's a good time for cross-dressing in Glasgow right now and I thing we'll see more of this in the future." Back at Priscillas, resident drag Cheri Treiffel is in full character and ready to speak. Her dressing room is hers alone, and is lined with the costumes she has collected over her eight-year career. The boas, shoes and mirrors are nothing on the dresses hanging wall to wall.

"I make them all myself," she says. "The fabric for the Dolly Parton dress came from India, the boots are from LA, the wig came from Las Vegas. Her favourite outfit is always "the one that makes me look thinnest"; her biggest heels these days are four-and-a-half inches, because she's "getting old. But I love working here because I'm Glasgow-based and I don't have to travel for shows".

She thinks both her act and the venue will catch on "when the girls all hear about it" and insists it's all about having a laugh. She sings one number every 10 minutes, with a full costume-change between each. The first, Celine Dion's theme song from Titanic, culminates in a hilarious yodel, courtesy of some rapidly inhaled helium from a balloon.

"You get better with experience," she says, after milking the applause of the audience. "The first two years I was totally shite." She is in a buoyant mood, a diva at the top of her game. "Cheri intrinsically knows she's better than anybody else," she says. "As Simon Cowell would say, you have to believe in the song you're performing, in the character you're playing at any given time." Before long, she is getting ready for her next song, squeezing into another sequinned outfit.

Inexplicably, for their audition, both Starr and Gusset appear in completely different outfits to the ones they'd been wearing just five minutes earlier. Gusset, now in a black bird's nest wig and leopard-print jacket, lip-synchs her way through Rehab by Amy Winehouse, complete with a bottle of wine. People sing along; some take photos on their mobile phones.

Starr, in a feather-tailed black corset, comes next. She sways back and forth with a cane, ending her rendition of Grace Slick's Dreams by falling dramatically to the floor. Neither know afterwards if they've swung the job, but judging by the cheers they should be fine.

"I really hope they book us," says Starr. "We need to bring drag culture back so that the kids have a place to perform. What guy wouldn't want to look this hot for just one night?"

Priscillas, Glasgow: 0141 248 4114; Valley Of The Dolls: www.myspace.com/lady_munter; Ab-Drag, Edinburgh: www.abdrag.info London drag act The Globe Girls will be performing live at the Tantrum & Tiaras charity event in aid of the Prince and Princess of Wales Hospice at the Hilton, Glasgow, August 31, £48. Call 0141 429 5599 for tickets