If Glastonbury and a Scandinavian wellness retreat had a lovechild, it would be Øya. Set in Oslo’s Tøyenparken, Øya routinely serves up four days of excellent music, compostable cutlery, and the kind of polite crowd behaviour that would leave any Brit feeling uneasy.
2025 was no different. If, like me, you’re used to the mud-soaked chaos of Reading or the spontaneous madness of Boomtown, Øya might feel a little...subdued. The mosh pits? Respectful. The queues? Quiet. The toilets? Spotless and stocked with more loo roll than you’d ever need. But don’t mistake calm for dull – this was still one of the best-curated lineups in Europe this summer.
The festival’s location is one of the main reasons for this feeling of Nordic zen. Tøyenparken, a rolling green space just east of Oslo’s city centre, is the sort of setting other festivals dream of – leafy, compact, and mercifully easy to navigate. No three-mile treks between stages here. Instead, the entire site is walkable in under ten minutes, with five main stages cleverly staggered to avoid sound bleed. Shady trees and grassy banks offer natural seating for those wanting to perch when chowing down on some hearty vegan fare.
As for the line up, one reveller described it as an opportunity to see “Glastonbury-level artists with ten times fewer people”. They’re not wrong: Chappell Roan headlined opening night with the flamboyance of a pop star who knows exactly how to command a stage. Her camp, theatrical energy was met with polite cheers from those over the age of 20, and ear-deafening screeches from the gaggle of dragged up tweens next to me. Wet Leg brought their tight indie riffs and dry British humour to a rain-drenched crowd who cheerily laughed along, even though the sarcasm was probably lost on them. And the big names don’t stop there. Other iconic international acts included pop princess Charli xcx, pioneering rock band Queens of the Stone Age, and controversial Irish rap group Kneecap.
As for the Norweigan homegrown talent, Brenn. did their best to inject chaos with a spot of crowd-surfing. Meanwhile, jazz-hip hop collective GiddyGang and female pop trio No. 4 provided a more relaxed, soulful soundtrack to bop along to in the afternoon sun.
And no discussion of the festival would be complete without talking about the food. Øya doesn’t do greasy burgers and pints of Carlsberg warm from a plastic cup. Think more vegan bao buns, oat lattes, and biodynamic wine. The carrot dumplings from local Oslo restaurant Dumpling AS were particularly notable and, according to a Norwegian friend I made at a coffee shop nearby, were widely regarded as one of the highlights of the whole festival.
Of course, it wasn’t all smug vibes. Protests over the festival’s ownership brought a dose of reality to the park. Posters, placards, and uncomfortable truths reminded us that even in a sea of eco-straws and synthpop, politics looms.
Øya may not be wild, but it’s wise, weirdly wholesome, and impossible not to love. Bring a raincoat but leave your chaos at home.
Øya Festival will return in 2026; find out more at oyafestivalen.no
