In its 25th year, Øya festival looks forward more than it looks back

He talks about Orwell’s writing on Orson Welles’ radio drama, The War of the Worlds. The story goes that when it was first broadcast in 1938, many listeners thought they were hearing the news of a real Martian invasion. Though silly in retrospect, any panic was partly understandable given the drama used familiar bulletin formats with the names of real news organisations. Orwell was shocked that people were quick to believe what they heard. Many didn’t check for verification before adding to the panic, according to ironically questionablereporting at the time. “Scared people will believe anything, and I think that’s what’s happening now”, Cocker says, clutching the book.

It’s one of a few moments during Øya, the beautiful four-day music festival in Tøyen park, where I’m reminded of the far-right race riots happening at home. It’s hard not to think about. Friends send out group messages about joining a counter-protest in Sheffield while Pulp plays. Another friend texts about her despair at the planned riot near her flat in London while we watch Leeds band English Teacher play ‘Albert Road’, a song about banal prejudice within Britain. PJ Harvey’s Let England Shake material feels as prescient as it did in 2011. “England’s dancing days are done”, she sings, carrying her tales of a country built on war through to the current moment.

What I’m feeling is not dissimilar to Norwegian Guilt, Professor Elisabeth Oxfeldt’s notion that wealthy Norwegians are increasingly aware of their comfort and security as many in their own country and overseas do not have the same luxury. ‘How can we party at a time like this?’, you might find yourself thinking.

But guilt by itself does nothing. For the past 25 years, Øya festival has responded to that feeling by building a positive and ethical route forward for music festivals. It’s largely considered to be one of the most eco-friendly festivals in the world, adopting low-waste initiatives far before many other events.

Now, the festival expands its sustainability practice beyond the climate to include equality and diversity, as well as local belonging and social sustainability. Øya continues to champion Sámi artists after a strong showing last year; there’s as much excitement for Indigenous rights activist and performer Ella Marie and Språkløft award winner Emil Kárlsen as there are for Norwegian pop artists Astrid S, Gabrielle and Moyka. This year, Øya also aims to make their site more period friendly, entering a partnership with the Swedish company RedLocker, which has developed a smart dispenser for free pads and tampons. Their commitment to a gender equal bill is now more than eight years strong, too. The effort to enact layered positive changes should be commended.

Buzz around Øya has circulated for years, for its strong lineups, smooth organisation and its principles. Arriving at Tøyen, you wonder how a festival can continue to do right for so long. Somehow, Øya remains worth the trip, beyond the most obvious reasons. Yes, the lines for the loos are short and you don't feel like cattle like you can at UK festivals. But more than that, Øya’s best moments are fuelled by collective optimism and a sense that things don’t have to be as they are.

The festival opens with an anniversary concert of sorts. Trio Orions Belte act as a backing band for nine Norwegian vocalists, including Sivert Høyem, Beharie and Musty, to celebrate 25 years of homegrown music at Øya. Orions Belte are veteran session musicians, having played on CMAT’s Crazymad For Me last year, as well as making three records of their own. Their ability to match the style of each singer is impressive, and it’s easy for even non-Norwegian first-time attendees to get wrapped up in the story.

Next up is Swedish GRAMMY winner Sarah Klang, whose set of wide-screen Americana explores the messy and vulnerable details of feeling unworthy in new motherhood. She calls her hit “Belly Shots” a perfect pop song, and that stands up in the early afternoon on the main Amphiet stage. Shaded under a tree on the grassy hill or right up front, it’s a good start.

Klang’s polished productions have weight, but the early highlights at Øya are from acts doing brilliant things with a barebones set-up. Yuné Pinku’s sharp and dreamy dance songs draw chills out of her cool deadpan. She doesn’t need much more to make the crowd float off the island.

Junglist Nia Archives is on top form too. She begins with relentless flips of “Hollaback Girl”, “Heads Will Roll” and Charli’s “360”. It’s pure fun, but her true skill is in how smoothly she can glide between these classic party moments and her own material. Without needing to step out from behind the decks, she picks up a mic for “Forbidden Feelingz”, “Crowded Rooms”, and other songs from her debut. The tempo stays high, and her originals are as well-received as any of the crowd-pleasing edits.

The highlight of these DIY offerings is Nourished By Time’s midnight set at Revolver on Thursday, one of several gigs that spill out into the city as the main festival finishes. The Baltimore artist plays to a packed basement. It’s a scrappy and reactive set. He rocks up with cheap Yamaha midi keyword, a laptop and sampler - minimal on equipment and maximal in feeling. He belts his vocals and shadowboxes during instrumental breaks. He looks surprised by how well it's going, even when his keyboard topples to the ground when it gets too rowdy. Go see him when he plays the UK this Autumn.

Back to Tøyen. One of the best things about Øya is its careful curation, which caters to many fans within a tight programme. You can catch Slowdive, Joy Orbison or Jessie Ware depending on your energy level post-fjord dip. Or, if that clash is too brutal, the humbly-sized festival site allows you to drift between stages without feeling as if you’ve missed anything.

For me, Jessie Ware’s high-camp fully choreographed disco is worth the tired legs. She welcomes us to Club Pearl, an imaginary dive bar where she’s compère, diva and motivator. It’s a heartwarming performance centred on pleasure as a right for everyone. “If it feels so good, then baby don't you stop”, she sings on “Free Yourself” as her backing troop party around her. That sentiment is carried by headliner Janelle Monáe, who’s undercooked record The Age of Pleasure comes alive in person, when its free sexual energy becomes more tactile. As the screen behind her reads, “the world could end outside your window. Hurry up and live.”

Ware and Monáe could have a claim to the best set atmosphere if not for LSDXOXO, whose slick and scandalising party tracks create havoc at the Klubben stage. His brand of techno seems more suited for a 4am warehouse show full of dark corners, but he’s in command in the baking sun. The shift from in-demand producer to main attraction is impressive. As he prepares to release his debut record, DOGMA, next month, he shows how far attitude and good taste can get you.

The Friday night headline slot almost fell apart a few weeks ago, when Queens of the Stone Age had to abandon their European tour when Josh Homme required emergency surgery. Miraculously, the slot was rescued by Jack White, fresh from releasing his new record No Name. Øya should be commended for snagging a fitting replacement, but admittedly, shredding to twelve-bar blues gets old quick. While No Name is an exciting release, White’s live show lacks the punch you’d expect.

Thankfully, there’s plenty of risk being taken in the Sirkus tent, where electronic cult hero Arca plays a fully improvised show that sits somewhere between DJ set, performance art, and pop girl stadium tour. She begins with a blast of samples and noise, testing the audience’s commitment. Much of Arca’s material can seem intentionally off-putting, but it’s always hiding humour and beauty at the centre. She welcomes the disgust reaction you might have to her body horror visuals or disorienting production. Tonight, the crowd is with her. When she clocks the ravers, she skips out from behind her turntables to sing.

Halfway through, we’ve all loosened up and are transfixed. She fires a smoke cannon at us like a video game baddy, dances on a sex swing, and somehow ends up stuck on top of a barricade. For all its unhinged energy, the highlight is one of Arca’s aching ballads, as she drapes herself in the Venezuelan flag. She’s outspoken about the country’s corrupt governance, and the recent controversial election is still raw. She left Venezuela years ago, fleeing along with 6.6 million migrants in search of a stable life. With her music, which defies easy categorisation, she’s built something new and lasting.

Arca isn’t the only risk-taker of the week. André 3000’s performance of New Blue Sun is also fully improvised, based on his new age ambient flute record from last year. Live ambient performance rests so much on an attentive and generous crowd, not least because many will know André for his classic Outkast material. There are some chuckles in the lead-up. You know, “André is playing the flute. I wonder how that’ll go down.”

But Øya embraces it. Backed by Carlos Niño, Nate Mercereau, Surya Botofasina, Deantoni Parks, and about a dozen flutes (and a conch?), the set blooms over fifty minutes. The audience listens. The performance is one of scale, from the micro textures of the scratchy percussion and breathy woodwinds, to the macro builds, as players react to each other. André is a novice compared to his supporting band, but his gutsy sense of play makes it a joy. He’s right at home.

Big Thief take risks of their own, too. After parting ways with bassist Max Oleartchik, the band are reassessing their show with the help of session musicians Justin Felton and Jon Nellen (double drums!). On a good day, the group are unmissable, so aware of interplay and their surroundings. It’s possible to catch them on an off day, like at Primavera 2022, where awful sound bleed from the neighbouring Boiler Room led to a tetchy and awkward performance. Tonight, they’re testing unreleased material, adding to the risk. Still, “Shoulders” was at one point an unknown song, making crowds cry on impact.

They sound incredible, and deliver the strongest set I’ve seen from them. “Not”, “Masterpiece” and “Shoulders” hit like you want them to. The new material works too, especially the acoustic-led “Incomprehensible” about getting older, grey and saggy but being beautiful regardless. “Release it!” A fan screams near the front. “It is released”, Lenker responds.

From the current big thing in indie rock to the next one, Wednesday live up to the hype, even with the muddy sound that’s plagued the Hagen stage all week. The pedal steel is lost in the soup, but Karly Hartzman’s strained and twangy vocal could pierce through anything. As they end, she takes a moment to underline her support for Palestine, and to state plainly that American tax dollars are supporting the arming of Israel's bombing campaign in Gaza. “It’s especially interesting to be a Jewish American over there,” she says, “But it is not anti-Semitic to be pro-Palestine”. They play “Bull Believer”, and she encourages the crowd to scream with her as the song reaches its harrowing climax.

IDLES close the festival on the Sirkus stage. It's a moment they meet well. Talbot introduces “I'm Scum” as a song he wrote 14 years ago when the Tory government were regaining power. He describes the far-right thugs marching in England, and how they had been “outnumbered 100 to 1 by anti-fascists”, to a huge swell of support. “I'll sing at fascists till my head comes off”, he shouts, face red and dripping in sweat. The band have been oddly hesitant to label themselves a political band in recent months. Tonight, it’s ‘fuck the king’ and ‘viva Palestina’ chats until closing time.

So how do we carry on partying at a time like this? The artists at Øya argue for joy as a motivator, awareness as a necessity and pleasure as a right. Whether you're visiting club Pearl, down in the pit or getting blasted by a smoke cannon, you'll take that feeling out of Tøyen park.