Bacchanal attendees are enthralled (Photo by Arielle Domb)
Enter the Bacchanal: Ancient Greek-inspired debauchery comes to Bushwick
A new immersive art experience recreates an Ancient Greek ritual at the nightclub Three Dollar Bill
It’s 10 p.m. on a drizzly Thursday and a herd of animal-horned, face-painted adults are gathered at Bushwick nightclub Three Dollar Bill. Performance artist Tiresias is leading the evening’s debaucherous activities, and tonight, dressed in a furry, mesh skinsuit and a silver, coral-like crown, they’re cosplaying as Dionysus — the Greek god of madness, theater and ecstasy.
“On the count of three, we are going to make beautiful, horrifying music,” they boom to the guests assembled around the dancefloor. “We are going to scream — the primal scream from your guts, an animal scream.”
For 10 seconds, an opera of yelps and howls thunder across Bushwick and beyond.
This is Bacchanal, an immersive art experience — part theatrical performance, part rave — to raise money for Palestine Children’s Relief Fund and several wildlife conservation organizations. A self-professed Greek mythology fanatic, Tiresias takes inspiration from the uninhibited ritual festivals of Ancient Greece and Rome — the Bacchanalia — hoping to revive these bawdy celebrations in Bushwick.
“Connecting with our own sense of wildness is one way that we can connect with other forms of wildness, to connect with our inner animal selves, to remember that we are animals and come to care for other living things,” says Tiresias.
The nightclub is adorned with relics of the natural world — taxidermy butterflies provided by Gotham Taxidermy, futuristic video projections from Queer Ecology, glowing fish and bird puppets courtesy of Evolve Puppets. Guests are free to explore and experience the space as they please: They stop to play with fetish collective CVLTVS in the Bacchanalian Lounge, drink “foot wine” freshly stomped from a barrel of grapes, dance dance with anthropomorphic go-go dancers to sets by DJs Vile, Senario, Jessamess and Chata.
If you’re thinking this all sounds a bit … chaotic, you wouldn’t be wrong. Tiresias has been organzing theatrical events with Underworld since 2021, but the Bacchanal is their first official foray away from more traditional theater. “One of the challenges I have set for myself is to let this be out of my control,” they say. “I’m refusing my tendency towards a desire for aesthetic unity.” Around 400 people have turned up, having paid $10 to $20 for admission.
Metal, a drag performer attending the Bacchanal, appreciates the disorder. “It’s an unexpected combination, but it also makes a lot of sense,” they say.
A luminous bird puppet passes us by, bobbing to the beats. “It’s like techno-futuristic wildlife,” adds Metal. “Things that we don’t think should be combined actually may operate similarly.”
‘No wickedness left untried’
Bacchanalia parties are thought to have originated from the theatrical Dionysia festivals of Ancient Greece. Picked up by the Romans around 650 B.C, the events were initially held in secret and only attended by women, but later expanded to include men and people from all ranks of society.
What went down at these wild celebrations is debated by academics, but according to Roman historian Livy, “debaucheries of every kind began to be practiced;” “no wickedness, no shameful act was left untried.” Until, that is, the Bacchanalia were put to a halt in 186 B.C., when the Roman Senate voted to suppress the subversive celebrations.
But now, centuries later, across the pond, Tiresias is bringing these illicit rituals back. “As a theater maker, as a queer person, as someone who tends towards extremes and has a penchant for indulgence,” they say, “madness and chaos and revelry is very attractive to me.”
A visually impaired, queer artist, Tieresias takes their name from the blind, gender-bending prophet from Greek mythology. “There’s a strong queer utopian drive in my work that I think comes through that persona,” they say. “Part of claiming that role is trying to find this sense of vision beyond sight … a way of thinking through and envisioning and performing and enacting new futures.”
The rave is interrupted throughout the evening with a series of drag performances, many of which are animal inspired. S Laughter is covered in tin foil, fluttering about like a moth under the stagelight. Mizuho Kappa wears a leotard and a fluffy, pointy-eared mask, evoking an unhinged, opera-singing cat.
Other performances are less playful. Untitled Queen dedicates her act to Aaron Bushnell, the 25-year-old United States Air Force serviceman who self-immolated in protest of Israel’s killing of Palestinians. With a projected photo of Bushnell’s final moments behind her, she reads the Mary Oliver poem, “The Sun”: “Or have you too turned from this world–/or have you too gone crazy for power?”
“Drag is always a political act when you are under a colonial regime — especially the United States — that does everything in its power to desecrate, police, and destroy us,” says Untitled Queen, when we catch up after the event. “At a fundamental level it deconstructs Euro colonial binary thinking about sexuality, gender, and being.”
After the performances, the crowd resumes dancing in the rave room and mingling around the bisexual-coded blue-and-pink lit bar. Much like the equalizing ritual of the ancient Bacchanalia, The Bacchanal’s wilderness-themed dress-code has a liberating, disarming effect. Whoever you are outside the party — whatever rules govern your social world — it all dissipates when you’re dressed as a butterfly or a deranged cat.
“It’s the most perfect example of queer culture,” says Chase, a photographer who specializes in capturing Brooklyn drag, as they glance around at a sea of elf-ears, devil-tails and painted snouts. “It lets you be a little more free, a little more wild.”
The next Underworld event will be held on April 25 at House of Yes (tickets haven’t been released yet). The next Bacchanal date has yet to be announced.