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It’s 10 p.m. on a Tuesday at Chilkoot Charlie’s, the Spenard nightclub, and as you walk deeper into the maze of rooms, the sound of heavy bass gets stronger.
Inside the Ice Bar, the dance floor is packed with people in black clothing adorned with chains and spikes, swaying to the hypnotic beats of darkwave music. On stage, two dancers flank the DJ and rev up the crowd with a vampy performance.
At 11 p.m., there’s an announcement, and the crowd scatters to form a perimeter. They watch as Alex Edwards prepares to hang from the ceiling—using specialized piercing hooks placed under the skin of each of their knees.
As a metal cover of Britney Spears’ “Toxic” plays over the speakers, ropes are attached to the hooks and Edwards is hoisted up by a pulley system until they’re dangling upside down.
The crowd goes wild.
Welcome to Terrorwave—a once-every-two-weeks, queer-friendly goth party at Koot’s that’s become wildly popular since launching five months ago.
Edwards, a professional piercer at an Anchorage shop, is no stranger to the art of suspension.
Last summer, with a group of friends, they even pulled a car across C Street with hooks attached to their back. But the crowd at the mid-August Terrorwave took things to a new level.
“That was the most nervous I’ve been since my first time,” Edwards said afterward. “I got my Spider-Man kiss with my partner, and that’s really what helped me stay up there.”
Edwards was just one of the attractions at Terrorwave: The recurring parties feature dancers, music, live performances, tarot readings, costume contests and more.
‘Naked, creepy and scary’
The events began in May, when 21-year-old Scarlet Redd approached Koot’s management and pitched the idea.
Redd, who grew up in Anchorage, began experimenting with her personal style as a teenager. She credits her experience as a dancer with helping her embrace the goth aesthetic.
“That’s when I realized I could be naked, creepy and scary,” she said.
Redd’s idea of a goth night event stemmed from a fetish-themed fundraiser she attended last spring at Mad Myrna’s, the longtime gay club downtown—where she found a community interested in gothic music and culture that wanted more chances to meet up.
A series at Koot’s seemed like a natural progression.
Since the 1970s, the club has been a staple in Anchorage nightlife and a hub for subculture, with events ranging from electronic dance parties to burlesque shows and everything in between.
As the idea of Terrorwave spread, Redd pulled together a group of friends, including Akira, a DJ who had recently moved to Anchorage, and they got to work.
“By June we had really exploded,” said Redd. “It’s really crazy. I never expected it to blow up the way it did, but I think it just was meant to work out.”
Akira, who became Redd’s Terrorwave partner in crime, first arrived in Alaska through the military, where they struggled to balance the required conformity with their personal style and individuality.
“It was a damn near impossible task,” they said. “You have to look like everyone else. You have to act like everyone else. You have to talk like everyone else. You have to stand, shit, sit, and eat like everyone else.”
They added: “It was only on the weekends where I could finally take off that mask and put on who I really am.”
Both Akira and Redd wanted a space where everyone feels safe being their authentic selves, including queer people.
“I’m straight as hell but I was raised by women and drag queens,” Akira said. “I grew up watching drag movies and going to drag shows. I’m very much into that culture.”
Redd added: “If there’s a problem, that person’s escorted out immediately. We don’t tolerate any kind of harassment or bullying.”
‘I didn’t feel accepted anywhere’
Jacob Bretey can attest to that.
The 30-year-old bartender has worked at Koot’s for four years and, at each shift, proudly sports colorful makeup, elaborate eyeliner and striking outfits that could be straight out of a graphic novel.
For Bretey, who’s worked at each Terrorwave event, the parties connected him to a new, hidden community in Anchorage.
Since the parties started, Bretey has noticed more and more new faces around the bar, even on nights when Terrorwave isn’t happening—which he takes as a sign that people are finding a sense of community at Koot’s.
“I didn’t know any of these people existed at all,” he said. “There’s so many of them, and it’s like, every week, more of them show up—and it’s really cool.”
For Bretey and many other Terrorwave participants he’s talked to, the parties are creating connections people didn’t know they were missing. He encourages people to see what the parties are about—even if they sound different, or if the name “Terrorwave” may not exactly project a warm or inviting vibe.
“I didn’t feel accepted anywhere,” Bretey said. “But it’s nice to be embraced for what you are.”
He added: “This is one of the few places that I found that I’ll actually achieve that goal.”
TERRORWAVE
Every other Tuesday at the Koot’s Ice Bar and Russian Room from 9 p.m.-closing.