It always starts with irony. A few friends, a few beers and an awkward-ish vibe on the way to a festival you don't quite know if you love or love to laugh at. “Vi Elsker! ” sounds more like an ironic declaration of love written in comic sans than a serious festival name. But that's what's the genius. Because after a day in Rødovre with a tightly packed lineup only featuring music I know (but won't admit I like), big-smiling police, a football team on stage and a man who faked playing the violin on a gearbox, then one is actually... sold. Not ironic. That's right.
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Disclaimer: Apropos Magazine received access or a review copy. As always, we share our own impressions — unfiltered.
Six stars
The Logistics of Love
Let's just start with the boring -- which somehow became the impressive thing: there were almost no toilet queues. I've been to Roskilde, to NorthSide, to Distortion and the mythical scary South Of The Sun. I've seen things. But never have I seen a festival with such supple infrastructure. The food stalls were versatile, there was enough room to dance (or escape), and the attendants smiled and took pictures with the guests, as if they too were a little starstruck by the whole '90s fever. It was as if everyone had been told to remember why they're doing this. And it was felt.
Behind it all is Riffi.
A man who seems like he's fallen out of an alternate version of “The Lion's Den,” in which the idea of “a feast for the people” was pitched with arm gestures larger than both budget and realities. And yet -- or perhaps therefore -- it works. Riffi is onstage, backstage, at the microphone and at the heart of the whole concept. He's a bit Dyne-Larsen, a bit Branson, a bit Brixtofte (in that excited, pre-tax debt way). It takes balls to stand in the middle of your own festival and say, 'Shall we make this into a cruise next time? ' -- and make the audience applaud. But he does. And we clap.
Concert Pearls and Intermission Piece
Mel C delivered the strongest set of the evening. The Spice Girls hits landed exactly as they were supposed to, but it was her duet without Bryan Adams (“When You're Gone”) that stole my heart. The vocal was finally placed where it was supposed to be -- unlike the original recording, where, for unexplained reasons, she sings as if someone has turned her down on the remote control. Cut'n'Move created an outright party, and Zindy Laursen still has enough stage appeal to make a parking space in Rødovre look like Madison Square Garden. Rednex... yeah, they're still Rednex. Absurd, silly and gloriously unironic in their mayhem. Seeing a man in a brown vest being pushed around on a gearbox while pretending to play the violin, after which the lead singer played dead on the same box -- it's not something you think you'll see. But when you do it, it feels like art.
Unfortunately, the energy dwindled with Paul Oakenfold. Not just because he was old-school -- but because he simply seemed like he wanted to go home. I've never before heard anyone play “Levels” by Avicii in its full length in the middle of a DJ set. It felt like a sin. Especially when he started packing the bag halfway inside his own set. It became a bit like watching an uncle at the family party who insists on playing music from his own teenage years -- on a CD.
Let's just put it like this...
I don't know what I was counting on. But this wasn't it. And that's meant as a huge compliment. “Vi Elsker!!” isn't made for music snobs, hipster-doubters, or Pitchfork readers. It's made for you, your mom, your coworker from HR, and your teenage friend who still thinks Rednex is from Texas. And it works. Not just because it's fun, cheap and well-functioning. But because it knows what it is. A nostalgia fest without ironic distance -- or maybe with, but only at the beginning. It's melting away. One surrenders. And suddenly stands with his arms up and shouts “Spice up your life!” with people you've never met before.
The festival doesn't get any stars from me. Not because it doesn't deserve it -- but because this is off scale. It's a vibe, a sense of community, a celebration of self-knowledge and absurdity in perfect balance. And I actually think Scatman John looked down from the clouds and nodded approvingly.
The festival season is officially underway. And I love it. Unironic.
