It is Saturday, shortly before half past seven, and has been standing for a good quarter of an hour Monobo Son on stage. The fourth act on Kuahgartn Open Air in Edling. With brass music and fast rhythms, the five men have already heated up the audience so much that hardly anyone is sitting anymore – legs and arms wiggle and fidget, from left to right, from top to bottom. Peter Höfner, one of the six organizers of the festival, approaches the dance enthusiasts in the front row. He taps his black mask with his index finger. Oopsi. Some have forgotten to put on masks when getting up from their seats – probably because of the sheer enthusiasm for Monobo Son. Höfner’s gesture is enough for everyone to have a mask over their nose and mouth just seconds later. The organizer nods, gives everyone a corona fist and disappears back into the crowd.
It is the eleventh edition of the Kuahgartn, the eighth in the Edlinger Freilufttheater am Stoa. Last year the festival had to be canceled for the first time since 2012. Corona was to blame. This year, however, the six men behind the event wanted to give it a try: A day full of live music, during which all hygiene regulations and pandemic measures are observed – and which still guarantees the unique conglomerate of fun and cosiness of the past Kuahgartn years. Did it work out? Oh yes, definitely!
There was a great atmosphere especially with “Monobo Son”. Even the last one couldn’t take it anymore in his seat.
(Photo: Christian Endt)
On the festival site it looks a little different than usual. Instead of a small stage directly in front of the stoa and a large one on the meadow next to the seating, there is only the large stage this year, and accordingly fewer acts. There were 15 in the summer of 2019, when the festival took place for two days, even with the possibility of camping. This time there are six. “With two stages, people are constantly wandering back and forth – and we wanted to avoid that,” explains Peter Höfner. Rows of chairs are set up directly in front of the stage, including spaces. On the hill behind it there are beer benches, some even with overturned beer tables at the back, which on this day do their job as seat backs. Behind it, a few visitors settle down on the meadow on blankets they have brought with them. Apart from the seats in front of and next to the stage, there is also no lack of seating on the rest of the site: the beer garden is right after the entrance, and further back by the food stand there are further tables and benches.
Sure: sitting down you can have a better overview of the 600 visitors, the risk of larger gatherings is reduced – the organizers have thought along. Thinking goes so far that ashtray cans on long sticks are stuck in the ground every few meters on the hill. There’s no rubbish lying around here.
Although it gives the impression that the event team has thought of every little thing, the six men are still tense. Are people having fun in the conditions? Do you stick to all the rules even after your third beer? Does the festival actually comply with all statutory pandemic rules? “Mei, I’m actually a production manager in a print shop and not a health expert,” says Michael Kirmaier from the team. Of course, they spoke to the municipality and the district administration in advance and did a lot of research on the internet. “But the rules are always changing.” A residual uncertainty simply remains.
With Matthias Titsch, Robert Pichler, Edwin Kirmaier and Klaus Seidl at the entrance, the fun is not too short.
(Photo: Christian Endt)
When the Rosenheim district exceeded the incidence threshold of 50 on Wednesday and the numbers did not fall below the value again on Thursday and Friday, they were already nervous. What does that mean for Kuahgartn? Does the 3-G rule now apply, i.e. access only for vaccinated, convalescent and tested people? Do you need more people to organize the extra work involved in the controls? “Somehow we would have made it,” says Kirmaier. But they were happy anyway when it was said: 3-G is only valid from Sunday, so giving the contact details is sufficient for access.
A few hundred meters further at the entrance hall, where tickets are checked and festival ribbons are distributed, you meet Kirmaier’s brother Martin, he is also part of the Kuahgartn core team. The father of the two brothers, Edwin, is also here, he is one of a good twelve other helpers during the day – behind the stage, on the premises and at the entrance. “We’d even work our way up for this,” says Robert Pichler. Right from the start he is at the entrance to every Kuahgartn. Voluntary, like everyone else. “Friends support friends and if the right people join them, then even more so.” It seems that all 600 visitors to the festival belong to these “real people”. “Not one of them came here without a mask or had a discussion,” says Klaus Seidl of the men at the entrance.
Instead of 1000 there were only 600 visitors to this “Kuahgartn”.
(Photo: Christian Endt)
It is the familiar that Kuahgartn is known for. A small, tight-knit community that has been gathering for good live music in the middle of the forest on a large stone for years. You know each other, you trust each other. “I knew it would be cool even under Corona circumstances,” says Michaela Angerer. “We trust the organizers really blindly.” The 31-year-old and her boyfriend Christian Welser are here for the third time. They bought tickets before a single band was known – all 500 tickets that were initially on sale were gone after just six days. Nobody seems to have regretted this blind purchase. Dancing and swaying people here, singing and hooting fans there, and couples and groups chatting in between – everyone can see the joy. Even with a mask.