Support truly
independent journalism
Imagine a festival utopia: a place without long queues, pushy crowds or grubby loos. This is genuinely the reality at Norway’s Øyafestivalen in Oslo, where everything is extremely wholesome and clean. Here, nobody pushes past you, nor dares obstruct your view of the main stage. And the toilets? They’re… actually pleasant. The UK could never.
This year, the festival’s lineup is particularly impressive – and Øya remains committed to a 50/50 gender split across a programme that ranges from alternative rock singer PJ Harvey to Leeds junglist Nia Archives. Øya’s bookers are also intent on showcasing local talent, like the superb electro-pop singer Moyka, from Hallingdal, and musician/activist Ella Marie, who sings in Sámi, the indigenous language from parts of Norway, Sweden and Finland. It’s promising to see a festival really invested in its local music scene.
As for the international representation, Thursday night’s headliner Janelle Monáe dons a pink tulle vulva costume for a playful rendition of her tongue-in-cheek song “Pynk”, a female empowerment anthem from her third studio album Dirty Computer. Once Monáe swaps the vulva garb for a dapper Janet Jackson-inspired suit, she takes a moment to speak out against fascism, Islamophobia and homophobia as she dedicates her set to the “people of Sudan, Gaza, Haiti and Congo”. The rapturous applause suggests her Norwegian fans approve.
In fact, many musicians are keen to comment on the bleak state of global affairs right now. Rapper Loyle Carner tells the crowd about the racist riots happening back at home during his heartening set. “Two days ago, where I live in east London, there have been a lot of planned riots from the far right,” he says. “But the whole community these past few days came to stand together to support our Muslim brothers and sisters, it’s a beautiful thing. Seeing you all here today reminds me that there are good-hearted people coming together.”
South London singer Raye still manages to dazzle as she tells the audience frankly about her harrowing experience of sexual assault, which she sings about in her track “Ice Cream Man” from her record-breaking jazz-inflected album My 21st Century Blues. Later, she launches into more upbeat numbers, showcasing her Broadway-style belts and jazzy scats on bittersweet love song “Worth It” and viral hit “Escapism”. She’s endearing as she prances around the stage barefoot.
Sampha stands behind his foil-covered keyboard as his warm and understated voice swirls over jittery synth lines for his ethereal song “Suspended” (from his 2023 album Lahai). Later, he and his band congregate around a singular drum kit and jam together for a rendition of 2017’s “Without”, a track about fearing loneliness. It’s electric.
At times, I do wonder whether the festival is too wholesome, and perhaps alienating its younger ticketholders. The crowds sometimes feel withdrawn and very still. Things are a bit looser over at Klubben, a small outdoor stage dedicated to hosting the majority of the DJ acts, which is tucked away in the far-corner of the festival. On Thursday, Norwegian Gen Z pop act – think PinkPantheress meets Shygirl and German DJ horsegiirL – wins the crowd over with her glitchy, jersey-club style hit “Bad B****” from her viral 2023 EP Eurostar, while wearing a mini-skirt printed with the EU flag. On Friday, Columbian percussionist Diva Cruz joins Swedish producer Olof Dreijer for a jumpy set that traverses between South American soundscapes and stripped-back footwork beats.
Put these DJ performances aside, though, and the festival’s offering of dance music is lacking in comparison to other genres. The festival sells itself as one showcasing a diverse range of international sounds, but the Klubben stage is doing the heavy lifting when it comes to higher BPMs. And it’s not like there’s a lack of appetite for it: Klubben is rammed full each time I visit.
It feels as though the Gen Z ticketholders are yearning for a chance to really let go. This might explain why the Pepsi silent disco pop-up is constantly overflowing with young twenty-somethings opting to listen to 2010s club hits through headphones rather than visiting the mainstages to watch iconic acts like Pulp, Jack White and PJ Harvey. Until Øya recognises the appeal and importance of dance music in its line-ups, a festival this preened could lose the interest of a younger generation who are instinctively drawn to Øya for its 25-year legacy. No silent disco – no matter how good the song selection – can make up for a hole in the programming.
