Party's over at Pan9, at least for now

When fire broke out at an artists complex on Rugg Road in Allston in the early-morning hours of Dec. 29 , the impact was immediate for those who lived and worked there: about 30 people displaced, with several units damaged by fire, smoke, water, and the ax blows of firefighters.

Roughly half are now back in their homes and work spaces, with the remainder waiting to hear when, or even if, they will be allowed back in. The future is even more uncertain for an artistic event and community known as Pan9, centered on the top-floor, five-bedroom space where the fire started.

The seeds for what would become Pan9 were planted in the early '90 s at then-nameless "rent parties" at the space, which featured free-flowing beer and loud-playing bands. The events attracted both local party-crawlers and the police, and were then drastically scaled back to little more than living-room recitals.

"I called it 'two hippies and a clip lamp.' It was a poet and an acoustic guitar player, no PA system, and 10 people in the room," said musician Troy Kidwell , who lived at Pan9 for five years before moving to an adjacent unit two years ago, which is also temporarily unlivable because of water damage. "We came in and we made it something; we built the stage, we put in lights, we started making an effort to make it a bigger show."

Bigger, yes, but not too big. In an effort to stay under the radar, the monthly events, now free and called Pan9 (a reference to the Greek god of mischief), were not open to the public. To find out about an upcoming Pan9 -- or even that it existed at all -- one had to be invited personally, or know someone who knew about it. According to Pan9 resident and multimedia artist E. Stephen Frederick , one of the residents burned out, the goal was "to have it not just be a party, because that tends to attract a certain crowd, and a certain mindset."

Along with the absence of served alcohol, Pan9's artistic offerings, said Frederick, tended to keep away much of that less-desirable crowd. While musicians have always made up a portion of the 10 or so acts that would play at each event, Pan9 also included short films, puppetry, comedians, political speakers, and jugglers -- artists who tended to put off those just looking for a keg and a rock band.

"The acts that played here automatically screened out people that were jerks," said Frederick. "They'd be like, 'Oh, this is weird,' and leave."

Over the years, hundreds of acts have played at Pan9. Some, like the Dresden Dolls, played their first public show there but still returned regularly after going on to local and national acclaim. Others, whether they found a larger following or not, would go out of their way to play in front of a receptive audience of fellow artists.

"This isn't just a social event, this is a responsibility," said Frederick. "We're providing something that no place else in Boston really is doing right now."

When and how that legacy might continue is in doubt. A week ago yesterday, residents picked through smoke- and water-damaged belongings in the high-ceilinged common room that was once their performance space. After the fire, the building was given a close look by the Inspectional Services Department, which says that the prospects are bleak for residents of Pan9 and several other apartments. Inspectional Services spokes woman Lisa Timberlake said several of the units were not legal apartments; several others are questionable and might be declared illegal.

Some 15 code violations were found after the fire, including lack of smoke detectors, fire-alarm systems, and emergency exits, as well as deficient lighting systems -- issues Timberlake said will take months to resolve.

Residents of Pan9 still hope to return, but most are resigned that the show will have to find a new home.

"We want to see this place exist in some capacity, somewhere," said Chris Colt , 26, a filmmaker and photographer. "If it's not going to be at this place, then it's going to be somewhere else. That's going to take some time."