OFF Festival has once again shown that the festival hierarchy says less and less about where something truly important is happening. The big names often paled into insignificance, whilst the best gigs were played by those who, rather than seeking applause, had something of their own to say.
Four concerts from this OFF Festival will stay with me most vividly: Vojdi, Los Thuthanaka, Einstürzende Neubauten and Tercet Imperial. All of them, in their own way, were about authenticity, being rooted in their origins, and the fact that music doesn’t need grand stage sets to captivate an audience. Three of them used minimal means to create a different world on stage.
Vojdi played just as Johnny Marr, formerly of The Smiths, took to the main stage. An unpretentious guitar band that sounded as though the music of John Zorn, Meshuggah and The Dillinger Escape Plan had been drenched in avant-rock psychedelia, mathematical structures, but also hippy-style freedom. It was one of those gigs you stumble upon by chance, because, after all, there’s someone else playing next door who’s drawing a much bigger crowd. There was authenticity; they made fun of themselves without a trace of self-consciousness. Their songs combined musical weight with a lightness of touch. “Boos us as loudly as you can, instead of clapping,” they laughed, and the whole of Trójka Stage went along with it. Let’s give credit to our neighbors.
The second highlight was Los Thuthanaka – a cosmic, off-the-wall band, playing straight after The Flaming Lips, dressed in bizarre outfits somewhat reminiscent of Björk’s costumes: with water lilies and fairy-tale creatures on their elbows, yet painfully authentic at the same time – Aymara rhythms intertwined with an evocative beat, a pulsating groove and psychedelic guitar. Everyone fell into a trance, and suddenly, halfway through the concert, we were treated to an ambient, shimmering moment of suspension – and ecstasy. A stark contrast to the over-the-top headliner on the same day: minimalist, captivating and danceable. You don’t need a big show to put on a great concert.
Einstürzende Neubauten played on the same stage the following day. A band which – much like Kraftwerk last year – is from a different era, space and time. They play on their own terms, using instruments crafted from gadgets, barrels, pipes, and springs, yet they do not lose themselves in this formal framework. Blixa Bargeld spoke poetically about the city (Berlin), relationships, time, what will remain of us, and his transgender child. The unusual instruments and objects were important, but they didn’t overshadow what matters most: the person, their charisma, and the songs.
Another concert in which a sense of roots was key was the Tercet Imperial. It was no easy task, as it was effectively the festival’s opening act, but it also proved that tradition can be reimagined in a way that captures the attention of people who don’t have much in common with it. Piotr Zabrodzki played the synthesizers, Jan Emil Młynarski the drum pads, and Joanna Sztucka sang. They were like gopniks; she was like a folk singer from the fields. The result: it was as if Nyege Nyege had originated near Radom, or as if the countryside there had just been ‘electrified’ in the same way as maloya was on Réunion. They take local flavor, rhythm and tradition and filter them through contemporary electronic music. And people danced to it, regardless of whether they realized these were obereks played on instruments other than the usual ones.
The Palestinian artist DAM was also captivating for his authenticity. When he spoke about important issues, he was unpretentious and open with the audience, whom he swept away with his rap.
I’m starting with these gigs because the most interesting things didn’t happen where the biggest names were billed – something we’ve known for a long time, and which this year’s Off Festival made abundantly clear. Because the headliners fell rather flat, it’s their names that draw the crowds, but it’s precisely these acts that are increasingly overhyped, with form taking precedence over substance. I had that feeling at The Flaming Lips, when Wayne Coyne was constantly whipping the crowd into a frenzy, as if everyone were taking part in a competition for the loudest applause. A rainbow, inflatable robots, confetti that lay beneath the stage for three days – as if the music weren’t enough. ‘What will they come up with?’ were the questions circulating before the gig. Form had become a mere carbon copy.
Oklou, with her intimate album, tried to translate post-bedroom and post-internet electronica into the language of the stage. She had a swing, camera operators, instrumentalists, and stage design. Yet the theatricality somehow lost everything here. Amyl and the Sniffers played monotonously, loudly, and boisterously. There was a sense of boredom to it, a flat sound, the same riffs over and over. Visually it was cool, but in terms of substance, I’d forgotten all about them after a quarter of an hour – Arthur Verocai – a charming reminder. The man himself was more conducting than singing; of course, he’s getting on in years, but this concert was a far cry from a reunion on the scale of Zbigniew Wodecki with Mitch & Mitch. It was charming, but that was all. From the outset, Black Country, New Road struck me as a reincarnation of the alt-pop band ABBA. I didn’t stick around for long.
Sunny Day Real Estate played the only concert on the main stage that really swept me away – a wave of guitar, no posturing, emotion – not just emo – and a sincere message. The Seattle school held its own after days of confetti, orchestras, and waiting on stage for who knows what. I wouldn’t have expected the lads in flannel shirts to be the ones who resonated with me the most. Much like the rescheduled Wednesday gig, which, due to the eruption of Mount Etna, took place on Sunday at 4.30 pm. Unpretentious songs, the band playing together as one. Sincerity, joy, no fuss. And at the same time, proof that crowds in the Valley of the Three Ponds can turn up very early indeed.
I spent most of my time this year at the Trójka Stage and Orlen Leśna. I also tried to make it to the jazz stage, which was once again besieged by crowds; fortunately, the chairs designed to mimic a smooth jazz club – which meant fewer people could get inside, whilst others had to wait outside – were removed (surely even the back wall could be left open, as is the case in the other two tents?). On the first day, I caught Błoto there – a band whose reputation varies within the young Polish jazz scene. Still, it’s becoming increasingly safe to dismiss that label, as their set was more reminiscent of Shackleton’s hypnotic electronic journeys. When Olaf Węgier put down his saxophone, an even stronger club beat emerged. Błoto have strayed far from jazz; let them drift even further.
Ki Ki Ki played a sour-sounding set on three synthesizers. What Baliński, Tarwid and Zabrocki do is phenomenal: a psychedelic trip in which the keyboards are sometimes the rhythm section, sometimes the drums, and sometimes they weave melodies. The musicians are having a brilliant time and show just how much can be drawn from these instruments. But they also weave in snippets of hit song melodies in true Zappa-esque style. On the last day, I stumbled upon SZAJS – a post-guitar, math-rock band, a bit ironic, but very tight, drawing you in with their explosive energy, rhythm and tension. They fit perfectly into the canon of the Polish guitar school: with ease, precision, tension and a sense of detachment. It’s great that ‘jazz’ in the off-site tent is interpreted as broadly as possible. There’s room for groove and mind-blowing solos, avant-garde ideas and danceable forms.
I also took a look at the Polish songs. I was impressed by Mlecze, who opened the festival’s second day on the main stage. Their youthful energy swept me away. I’m always on the lookout for lyrical gems like: ‘When you’re close, it hurts, blisters on my hand / What if I let go, won’t you start chasing me?’
The shoegaze band Duszno were just as good, although I have a problem with the walls of sound on the Blik Stage. The contrast was stark, especially compared to Zuzanna Malisz the day before, whose performance was over-the-top in the style of the Opole and Sopot festivals.
Something completely different was Koty bez Oczu, Psy bez Nóg, who were playing at the same time as Nu Genea were performing on the Orlen Leśna Stage. Occasionally, a beat from the other stage would creep into the harmonies, but the double bass, keyboards, and, above all, Rozalia Grabowska’s captivating voice created an extraordinary atmosphere. On their albums, they often evoke Svitlana Nianio or Księżyc, but at live shows they develop their own character and sound more like something uniquely their own.
Atol Atol Atol, who opened the festival, also put on a brilliant performance. There was a huge crowd in front of the stage. Their pulsating, aggressive, rhythmic songs drew the audience into the festival atmosphere – a post-punk and krautrock track with energy and space – brilliant.
I often deliberately chose not to go to the main concerts, but to check out what was happening on the smaller stages. I missed a few of them – such as Chat Pile, Madra Salach, Współgłosy, Swada and Niczos – because I’d already seen them and the festival’s logistics didn’t allow for it. It certainly wasn’t the best edition of OFF – those were still a decade ago; I regret the lack of diversity in the experimental scene (who remembers Omar Souleyman? Someone like Mohammad Syfkhan could carry that tradition forward brilliantly) – but amongst the lesser-known acts, there were plenty of gems to be found. And perhaps some truth about music, and, incidentally, about us.
What didn’t try too hard for applause, likes, clicks and views came out on top. I’d swap the rankings of the most interesting T-shirts and caps for a queue at the Śmigło bar, which has firmly established itself as the festival’s SOCIAL MEDIA – an unofficial after-party venue, a place untouched by capitalism, gentrification and hipsterism. And long may it stay that way. On the last day, some aliens turned up there – in the surroundings, they looked like ants and played a set. I’m still dancing today, one might say. And the lady was serving chips to the wall of guitar sound from Sunny Day Real Estate.
On one of the fan pages, I read an account of how the biggest stars lived up to the highest expectations. One of my top acts was described as a ‘starter’ – it’s almost as if the world hasn’t changed: ‘Stars from around the world, side dishes from Poland’. Once upon a time, such a view was archaic; today, it’s antediluvian.
Saying that festivals are where we discover the unexpected is a truism, and repeating it non-stop in the run-up to OFF feels a bit stale. And yet the festival hierarchy still tells us where to look. I’m thinking of the Slovaks from Vojdi: how did they end up here? An excellent gig. I’d like OFF to open up more to bands from Central and Eastern Europe that aren’t so hyped. They’re little-known but well worth a listen. Perhaps then the description of the Slovaks on the website wouldn’t just feature references to British and American bands, but might also mention a band like Mat’kovia – a reissue of their only album is due out in August, and I caught glimpses of it on the Trójka Stage.
And it’s to Vojda that I return at the end. These lads don’t try too hard; they don’t put on airs. They make fun of themselves, chat with the audience, and play their strange, disjointed songs, whilst a little further away on the main stage stands a star. I found similar moments with Los Thuthanak, Einstürzende Neubauten and Tercet Imperial. The message, the melody, the beat – they immediately draw you into their musical world. Because, at the end of the day, it’s not the big show, the confetti and the spotlights that will come back to us – at this festival or the next. It’s the song that will return.
Blixa Bargeld sang about this at the end of Einstürzende Neubauten’s concert: “We didn’t die / We give you a different song”. He knows: you can only enchant a listener with the truth.
