Bass am Berg: Electric Winter Open Air in Lenggries – Bad Tölz-Wolfratshausen

The bass is booming, the floor is vibrating, the mountain is enthroned above the stage. Lonely skiers meander across the narrow white pistes at Brauneck, at the valley station there is a crowd of people dancing. “Are you still awake, Lenggries?” the DJ, blond hair, blue jacket, calls to them from the stage and plays his “new song”. It begins melodically – and ends at a rough speed that sets the crowd in motion: sometimes jumping, sometimes running in place.

The party people in front of the mountain backdrop seem out of place. From time to time people in ski gear mingle with the revelers: Après Ski with a difference. The techno event “Electric Winter Open Air” on Saturday is the first festival in Bavaria this year. Almost 2000 people came to “dance the good spirit into the floor”, as one of the headliners, the Berlin DJ and Loveparade inventor Dr. moth, previously announced. DJs like him bring the Berlin beat to the Bavarian countryside on this day.

“Everyone is welcome. Lenggries is a pioneer for everything that puts you in a good mood.” Jakob, a young man in a hat, is standing in the crowd with his friends, between them a red beer crate. His buddy Simon sees it differently: “Tölz is dead now. 20 years ago, people still came to Tölz from Munich to celebrate,” his parents told him. But there is definitely something going on today, some of the guests have traveled from far away to dance here.

Florian has come from Stuttgart, he’s standing a little apart from the crowd and needs to “warm up”. He actually came to ski, but became aware of the event on Facebook. He’s looking forward to Dr. Moth and Marika Rossa. Anna and Bonnie also came especially for the festival – from Karlsruhe. They think the big techno party is a good fit – and they’re having fun. They hop towards the dance floor.

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To the right of the stage, behind construction fences, are several food stands and bars. A group of young people is sitting at one of the beer tables and bawling. Lukas is standing at the beer stand. He is happy that he can finally celebrate again. “I’m 21,” says the young man from Lenggries, “celebrating is just part of it for me.” In the last two years, people have been “marshy” at home and have hardly had any social contacts. Now he can finally be among people again. He doesn’t feel uncomfortable in the crowds at the beer stand and on the dance floor – despite the record number of infections.

They stand close together in front of the stage, many with masks, some without. Masks are compulsory on the entire site, and there should actually be a ban on alcohol to protect against infection. That was only overturned two hours before the start of the festival. The crowd in front of the stage rocks to the beat, suddenly the music stops and the people stand still. “The music stops until everyone has put on their masks,” calls a man on stage into the microphone. The guests reluctantly put on their mouth and nose protection, some didn’t, they smoke and drink. The man on the stage yells into the microphone a few more times, they should be happy that they can dance again at all and please stick to the rules. Otherwise this is the end of it.

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Dora cannot understand the severity. The 30-year-old in the colorful jacket is standing with her friends next to the technical tent behind the crowd. “We’re all vaccinated,” she says, all guests had to provide proof of 2-G-Plus at the entrance. “Nevertheless, we have to wear masks” – especially in the fresh air. In her homeland of Hungary and countries like Spain, the rules are looser. Of course, people’s health is important to her, after all she works in a doctor’s office herself, but she finds the mask requirement excessive. Nevertheless, she traveled 50 kilometers from Rosenheim to visit the festival “in front of a cool backdrop”.

An indoor stage was also planned, where people should have danced under one roof: a little warmer than under the open, cloudy sky at just under eight degrees. But the indoor dance floor has also fallen victim to the pandemic. “If I had known that, I would have dressed warmer,” complains Conni, a young woman from Munich. She is wearing a thin purple jacket and is disappointed with the communication from the organizer.

Christian Junge is jointly responsible for the organization. The strong man with the short hair is standing next to a large refrigerated truck at the beer stand. He works for the organizer, Euphoria UG. “We were just as affected by the constantly changing rules”, hence the contradictory communication to the guests. The festival is still dominated by the pandemic: 300 to 500 guests canceled at short notice due to corona diseases. Nevertheless, Junge says: “The mood here is good, the people drink a lot. You can tell that they have had a long period of restraint.”

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The techno music swells, gets faster and faster, then a short break, the “drop”, and the sound from the speakers is even louder. In front of the stage, people throw up their hands, bawl and hoot. Above the Brauneck, the sky is slowly turning orange, and the twilight creates a special atmosphere. The fog from the fog machine, traversed by blue beams of light above the crowd, and the pulsating music mix into a backdrop that doesn’t quite fit here, in front of the mountain houses at the valley station, the ski slope and the summit cross on the Brauneck.

It has gotten dark. Appropriately, the music is now a bit more melodic, the fast, hard beat has given way to a slower, more emotional sound. DJane Anna Reusch rocks stoically to her music on stage. Later, Dr. Moth the turntables. In the evening, after he has played his last song, silence returns at Brauneck. The mountains are quiet again, the bass that could be heard all day long as far as Lenggries ends, the pounding stops.