The Moers Festival: digital this time, but also very analog

Drum set-like disinfectant dispensers, singers behind plexiglass and a mascot from a parallel universe: The Moers Festival is dealing with its first audience-free edition imaginatively.

The program, with the motto "New ways to fly," was all set. Then, in March, the coronavirus pandemic inundated Europe. Events with more than 1,000 visitors were verboten, soon only 10 were permitted, and hours later the shutdown came.

But the organizers of the Moers Festival never considered calling off its 49th season. "We said, OK, we'll assess the situation, and react to it," artistic director Tim Isfort told DW. "This is what Moers is good at: experimenting, reacting, improvising."

So, as an anomaly in Europe's cultural landscape, the annual music festival in Moers is going ahead as scheduled on the weekend from May 29 - June 1, in the absence of live visitors but otherwise very much live, the complete festival streamed by public broadcaster ARTE Concert.

Read more: How the Moers Festival became a celebration of avant-garde change

Joy in improvisation is deeply writ in the DNA of the Moers Festival, which had its humble beginnings in 1969 in a jazz tavern of the city on the western edge of Germany's smokestack Ruhr District and was established as a festival in 1972.

It didn't emerge due to a lack of jazz festivals in Germany. Others had long since been importing the American genre. Moers was a reaction, an anti-establishment revolt.

"It wasn't just about the music," says Isfort, "but about the feeling of the protest generation, a collective: 'We don't want the world as it is any more.'"

Borderline encounters

Can that feeling be carried on for half a century? This year's lineup, with "rude French noise, electronic clamor, improvisation of the finest, Dutch humor and Latin percussion thunderstorms" ⁠— to quote the brochure ⁠— seems to suggest that the answer is yes.

Anything goes but the same-old, same-old, and those genre descriptions cover only a part of the palette of sounds. Long going by the name "Moers New Jazz Festival," it dropped the addition in the new millennium: "New Jazz" had grown so diversified by then that the genre designation no longer worked. If anything, the Moers style can be described as occupying the most creative fringe zones of every kind of music, rejecting nothing but the pigeonhole.

For four days from early afternoon to the legendary improvised "moers sessions!" after midnight, sets trade off in rapid rotation, each lasting only 30-40 minutes. With stage set, lighting effects and announcements, the show is complete. The only missing ingredient is the audience, but there will be applause played in from tapes of the cult event's previous 48 seasons.

That should spur on artists who need interaction with their audiences. The latter will be present in the form of social media posts, likes, emoticons, selfie clips, photos and messages sent in by the virtual audience, those expressions finding their way into the live stream but most importantly displayed on the big screen in the hall, as live feedback for the artists.

Oracle from a parallel universe

Rather than the customary six venues in Moers, there is only one this time, enabling organizers and authorities to keep an eye the event and enforce social distancing guidelines; a limited number of journalists are allowed in.

The rigorous schedule might grow tedious were it not for "Miss Unimoers." Embodied by a male actor, this sole palpable audience member is, in Tim Isfort's description: "a collective memory, oracle, ambassador from a parallel universe, time traveler and star witness of 50 years of history: from former Chancellor Willy Brandt to Greta Thunberg. She performs on the blue screen in the hall, infiltrating the show with her skits and making it easier for people at home to hang on."

The organizers have apparently recognized that after weeks of serious solitude, artists and audiences are ready for a dose of humor — and a break. That doesn't mean, however, that they've thrown caution to the winds. "Social distancing lines are marked in the floor," explains Isfort. "Singers perform behind plexiglass. But all these things can be done. We even have cute disinfectant solution dispensers — foot-operated, like a drum set."

The bottom line for the 'aerosolos'

But a festival without ticket proceeds? "We're really in a privileged position," Tim Isfort explains, "with full support from the minister of state for culture and media, the government and arts foundation of the state of North Rhine-Westphalia and our media partners, including ARTE Concert and the West German Broadcasting Corporation. Back in mid-March, when we said, 'We're definitely going to do something,' they were really enthused. Yes, the loss of revenue from ticket sales is serious, but we'll squeak by."

The festival's artistic director sees a new era for mass-attendance events dawning. "I think this crisis might mark the preliminary step to a new kind of hybrid concert format. We were even self-critically examining the whole industry last year in light of the discussion about climate change, wondering whether flying in musicians from all over the world is still the right thing to do. A festival sets an example and should set a standard. That's what we're doing this year too. Just as the Love Parade disaster 10 years ago had an enduring effect on big-scale events, we'll be feeling the effects of this crisis for years to come. I think it's a good opportunity to try new things out."

The playbill includes celebrities like Chilly Gonzales and Heiner Goebbels but also many who are off the broader public's radar. It's a lineup certain to expand the musical horizon of every virtual audience member.

From panel discussions to the brilliantly named "aerosolos" and ensemble formations of every kind to the late-night "moers sessions!" there are 45 gigs, beginning May 29 at 3:50 central European summer time and available here.