Rewrite
In search of the finer things in festival life, Features Editor Ben Tibbits saunters over to Oslo for a trip to the renowned Øyafestivalen, a Scandinavian sleeping giant with a mouth-watering music line-up and the politest punters.
It can take a while to understand Scandinavian people. Like – why are you being genuinely, sincerely nice to me? How dare you be so accepting of seemingly any situation?
A trip to Oslo, the Norwegian capital, is full of enlightenment. It’s dizzingly expensive (I guess that’s what happens when you run a country well and everyone has money), but it breathes with culture; a gentle kind, rooted in tradition, community and nature. It’s got good food, great beer, and lively but modest nightlife. Øyafestivalen, Oslo’s premier music showcase, is emblematic of the city’s appeal – an egalitarian, eclectic and effervescent experience.
Oslo is better at most things, but even their trains get busy. I’m sitting on my suitcase in the middle of a carriage after a relatively painless flight from Gatwick. It’s been a hazy summer full of party-laden antics and cross-Atlantic adventures. I’ll perhaps leave out the gory details, but after a crescendo of mischief, a graceful diminuendo towards the season’s symphony seems apt. Norway feels as suitable a place as any to take stock of my mistakes and partake in some milder hedonism.
Øya Festival is over 25 years old, and, remarkably, stronger than ever. Its forward-thinking in its business structure, progressive in its moral uptake, untainted by a changing market. It leads the way as the world’s greenest festival, and is a long-standing champion of 50/50 gender splits for artists.
This year’s line up is at the cutting edge of the zeitgeist. Joining local heroine girl in red and US rock legends Queens of the Stone Age as fellow headliners are two of pop’s names of the now. Both fresh off busy summer festivals after monumental breakthrough albums, Charli xcx and Chappell Roan will both be blessing the mainstage. That’s without mentioning the plethora of local rising talent – such as indie group Pachinko and post-punk outfit Pom Poko – and pantheon of international heroes – like Irish band of the moment Fontaines D.C. and Pittsburgh polymath Montell Fish.
So, as I stroll up the hill towards Tøyen Park on a sunny Wednesday afternoon, expectations are high. The festival grounds are within walking distance of Oslo’s centre and my hotel, which makes for a pleasant and stress-free expedition, merely enjoying some light conversation and spotting one particularly gigantic man.
What’s your first pit stop at a festival? There’s only one right answer here – mine’s a lager. Beer in hand, I waste no time in revelling in some local sonic goodness, catching some of the psychedelic excellence of Flammer Dance Band. The seven-piece brings the afternoon energy up with idiosyncratic funk orchestral compositions and infectious performance.
Time to make myself at home. Finding my way around the site is effortless, given its close-knit but still somehow spacious structure. The toilets? Nicer than most pubs in London. The festival goers, mostly seemingly from Norway or the bordering Scandi nations, are mild-mannered, never causing a fuss, and family-focused.
Everyone around me seems to either have a baby with them or be talking about having a baby. I feel rather existential about the state of my own life. But then I have another beer, roll a cigarette and forget about it.
I check out Norwegian hip-hop hybrid collective GiddyGang & Vuyo, a sumptuous and soulful trip with smooth vocals and tricky instrumentation, before heading for more silky sounds with Texan trio Khruangbin in the late afternoon sun. The group’s gentle grooves and homely mise-en-scène make for an enriching delight.
At the festival’s dance stage – unambiguously named The Club – Toronto-based producer Bambii brings an interesting if slightly vanilla amalgamation of pop culture and baseline. Whilst I might not love it personally, the crowd certainly does; the confined space is brimming with questionable dance moves and buzzy energy.
Before long, it’s time for the first day headliner, a set where many festival goers have stood waiting for hours in advance to ensure the best spot. The growing fandom around Chappell Roan has been swift, fluid and unbreakable, and the hype has clearly made its way across the North Sea. There’s pink cowboy hats wherever you look.
The setting backdrop and the costumes of Chappell and her band are straight out of a fairytale. There is pure pandemonium from the moment the pop star enters the stage, and the craze only increases as she works her way through fan favourite cuts from The Rise and Fall of a Midwest Princess. A height of the impressively confident set comes with her newest track, “The Subway”, which she sings for the first time since its public release. “I don’t know this song,” she jokes, vaguely forgetting the verses.
Although not my personal cup of tea, the show is no doubt a spectacle, and a surefire sign of the nuance of the festival bookers. This must have been in the diary for quite a while, perhaps before she reached the fame she has now – a winning forecast of the artist’s trajectory. Hat’s off – and eyes closed, I’m calling it a night.
The next day begins earlier than a full night’s sleep requires, with a day activity to sink my teeth into – the festival guests are off on a boat trip/bonding sesh. We head out on a gentle ride to a nearby island – one of 40 in the city’s limits – treated to a floating showcase from local artist RABO, whose subtle acoustic backdrops complement her stunning vocals. On the island, we’re treated to some beers and a delicious paella. Some take a dip in the sea – I’m tempted but chicken out, sticking with the Peronis.
Later on, I arrive back at Tøyen Park just in time for Wonderland favourite Lola Young. Another massive breakout star over the past 18 months, the South London singer-songwriter brings a big afternoon crowd, and is raw, imperfect and utterly captivating. Closing on “Messy” is, of course, undeniable.
After such emotional pinnacles, Afropop artist Tolou offers a change of pace. The Norwegian-Nigerian is an excellent performer and brings the mood high, ready for the infamously cheery MJ Lenderman and the Wind. I’m kidding, of course, MJ is no party starter. But he is a sensational songwriter, playing probably one of the smaller stages he’s done this summer, but still bringing scores of spectators to take in his Dylanisms and deft guitar work.
Up next, Wet Leg. A band that I know well, it’s not my first set of theirs this summer (nor my last), but they are as compelling and playful as ever, offering up hits from both No.1 albums, whilst frontwoman Rhian Teasdale is difficult to look away from.
I catch my breath and wait for maybe the most broadly anticipated artist on the line up. Again, after a long and winding summer, I’ve come face-to-crowd with Charli xcx on multiple occasions, to different degrees of favour. In comparison to the monumental shows at the likes of Glastonbury and Primavera, this headline is relatively intimate, and the artist strolls through the set with glossy assurance and colourful arrogance. The Øya crowd lap up the BRAT – by the back half of the set, standing near the front, surrounded by in large frenzied teens, it’s a fight for survival.
I make it out alive and shrivel into bed – that’s enough xcx for me for a while.
NMF!! Ahhh, Wonderlist to write. The morning is slow – a few too many mocktails the night before – but eventually I finish up and get out and about, meeting some new amigos for a few cheeky Aperol at a charming Oslo watering hole. Prepped for the fun to ensue, I mosey into the festival grounds and find myself alone but feeling social. A quick shout out to the lovely Oslo natives working on the festival, whether behind the bar or on the logistical side. Honestly salt of the earth geezers and geezettes. Love it.
The first thing I check out is Envy, a Japanese screamo band. It’s a hell of a good time – a full-bodied, complex and classy fusion of slowcore, metal and industrial, knotted together by a singer who is having the most fun of anyone. Warmed up, the heat only rises for the next few standout acts.
“Fuck sake Norway, I’m up for a terrorist charge, the least you can do is make some noise,” cackles Mo Chara, one third of Belfast rap trio Kneecap. If you’ve not heard of the group by now, you must have been living under a rock – and news has clearly spread to Norway, with one of the biggest crowds of the entire festival rocking up to take in their barnstorming showcase. It takes a while for the Scandi’s to get up to the required energy for a Kneecap show, but once it’s reached, it only bubbles upwards. Immensely impressive in their ability to offer both searing political resonance and a fuckin’ good time, Kneecap have gone clear at this point.
From the band that supported them weeks ago at their Finsbury Park show, to the headliners themselves. Dublin’s Fontaines D.C. are up next, playing, I’m sure, one of the smallest stages that they’ve graced this summer. Crowds at Øya tend to be pretty relaxed and easy to weave between, and so I manage to reach a position fairly close to the front for an intimate set from maybe the best band on the planet right now.
Frontman Grian Chatten doesn’t say all too much to the audience. He gives a “hi” after about a third of the set, and then a “free Palestine” and a “this one’s for Kneecap” sometime later. He simply lets the music do the talking – a thunderous amalgamation of their four records, with of course a tight focus on last year’s wonderful watershed LP Romance. They might be fashionistas now with bleached hair and stylish gear but they still remain as raw and unfiltered as they were when first gaining hype in the post-punk renaissance of the late ‘00s. It’s a truly towering performance – my favourite of the weekend without doubt – from the game-changing quintet.
After the gargantuan grit of Fontaines, it’s time for a left-field turn for another local gem. Gundelach has the inimitable ability to seamlessly combine electronic and acoustic tendencies, creating something esoteric and experience-led, soft yet sensational. Worth checking out.
Grabbing a bite at the tasty food stores – no meat, in true environmentally friendly fashion – the day’s headline awaits. Queens of the Stone Age, the US rock group with a near 30-year career behind them, are a welcome change of pace, with Josh Homme and co breezing their way through an electric set of sing-along hooks, killer guitar solos and raucous atmosphere.
As Homme licks his last riff, me and my newfound friends are in a jolly mood. It’s Friday night after all, and the lagers are flowing. And so we opt to extend the celebrations and make our way to one of the festival’s after parties at venues around the city. After some entry difficulties (they are a stickler for IDs), we get in. There are four of us, and merry me decides to buy a round of tequila shots. Terrible idea, as I see my life savings disappear at the tap of my card.
Shrugging off the mouthwatering expense, we get grooving to some house-y cuts. The energy is good – although everyone is enviously tall, conventionally attractive and overtly polite. It’s a very different entourage of attendees compared to my young adult days clubbing in Birmingham. No shade to Snobs, but I’ve come a long way.
Speaking of the Midlands, we get talking to one Norwegian fella – lively, shall we say – whose girlfriend is from Wolverhampton, a city nearby to my own. After some initial niceties, he begins unloading shocking slander about my beloved Birmingham, claiming it has no culture, and Wolverhampton is the superior municipality. Anyone who knows me personally knows how upsetting such rhetoric is to me, and before long, I must retire to my chambers to reconsider everything.
Saturday starts slowly after the antics of the night before. Eventually emerging from my hotel room, I meet the others and we set about exploring another nearby island. Only one man calls the island home, which feels both sad and fascinating. There’s a sole restaurant, which we frequent for some local shrimp and delicious wine.
Into the fest, there’s a slice of home to take in. Pa Salieu’s appeal increases with every encounter; bringing Coventry to Oslo, he glides through a set list beginning with tracks from last year’s triumphant “Afrikan Alien” mixtape, before finishing up with classics like “Betty” and “Frontline”, bringing his own team out for the finale. A striking booking choice, it felt like not many in the crowd knew Pa before the set, but will definitely be digging into his work after seeing the show.
The post-Salieu high is soon grounded – the heavens open. Everyone scatters, trying to find shelter from the pouring, sideways rain. Luckily, the next act on my hit list is performing in the tented stage. Mk.gee released one of the best albums of last year in Two Star & The Dream Police, and I was excited to see it brought to life. But unfortunately, whilst it certainly isn’t a bad set, the record doesn’t translate overly well in real life, with the sound somewhat wishy-washy, and a performance lacking sharpness and direction.
The seagulls – giant, domineering – now own the food zone. It’s their domain, circling from above, waiting patiently for some unlucky fucker to look away from their fish and chips for one second too many. I eat swiftly, focused, one eye on the sky. It’s a holistic experience.
To close out the festival’s final night, I first catch some of girl in red’s nocturnal anthems, before heading to familiar favourite BICEP for a euphoric conclusion to events. Strolling back down to the city centre, we round off with a reflective pint of Guinness back at the Irish pub below the hotel.
As always, the next day is rough. After four days of whimsical enjoyment, a day’s travel is a sobering experience. Eventually touching back down in Gatwick, the late afternoon sun kisses my hungover soul and I contemplate my Norwegian adventure.
Øyafestivalen is perhaps the most civilised and well-run festival I’ve ever been to. It’s a seamless experience, augmented by its setting in a beautiful city and considerate attendees. The line up is fantastic – diverse, with a great mix of local talent and heavyweight global stars. It’s undoubtedly a sleeping giant, and a bountiful alternative to the busier, more zeitgeist-centric spectacles across Europe.
Grian says it best – It’s amazing to be young.
Words – Ben Tibbits
Øyafestivalen Øyafestivalen Øyafestivalen Øyafestivalen Øyafestivalen Øyafestivalen Øyafestivalen Øyafestivalen Øyafestivalen Øyafestivalen Øyafestivalen Øyafestivalen Øyafestivalen
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In search of the finer things in festival life, Features Editor Ben Tibbits saunters over to Oslo for a trip to the renowned Øyafestivalen, a Scandinavian sleeping giant with a mouth-watering music line-up and the politest punters.
It can take a while to understand Scandinavian people. Like – why are you being genuinely, sincerely nice to me? How dare you be so accepting of seemingly any situation?
A trip to Oslo, the Norwegian capital, is full of enlightenment. It’s dizzingly expensive (I guess that’s what happens when you run a country well and everyone has money), but it breathes with culture; a gentle kind, rooted in tradition, community and nature. It’s got good food, great beer, and lively but modest nightlife. Øyafestivalen, Oslo’s premier music showcase, is emblematic of the city’s appeal – an egalitarian, eclectic and effervescent experience.
Oslo is better at most things, but even their trains get busy. I’m sitting on my suitcase in the middle of a carriage after a relatively painless flight from Gatwick. It’s been a hazy summer full of party-laden antics and cross-Atlantic adventures. I’ll perhaps leave out the gory details, but after a crescendo of mischief, a graceful diminuendo towards the season’s symphony seems apt. Norway feels as suitable a place as any to take stock of my mistakes and partake in some milder hedonism.
Øya Festival is over 25 years old, and, remarkably, stronger than ever. Its forward-thinking in its business structure, progressive in its moral uptake, untainted by a changing market. It leads the way as the world’s greenest festival, and is a long-standing champion of 50/50 gender splits for artists.
This year’s line up is at the cutting edge of the zeitgeist. Joining local heroine girl in red and US rock legends Queens of the Stone Age as fellow headliners are two of pop’s names of the now. Both fresh off busy summer festivals after monumental breakthrough albums, Charli xcx and Chappell Roan will both be blessing the mainstage. That’s without mentioning the plethora of local rising talent – such as indie group Pachinko and post-punk outfit Pom Poko – and pantheon of international heroes – like Irish band of the moment Fontaines D.C. and Pittsburgh polymath Montell Fish.
So, as I stroll up the hill towards Tøyen Park on a sunny Wednesday afternoon, expectations are high. The festival grounds are within walking distance of Oslo’s centre and my hotel, which makes for a pleasant and stress-free expedition, merely enjoying some light conversation and spotting one particularly gigantic man.
What’s your first pit stop at a festival? There’s only one right answer here – mine’s a lager. Beer in hand, I waste no time in revelling in some local sonic goodness, catching some of the psychedelic excellence of Flammer Dance Band. The seven-piece brings the afternoon energy up with idiosyncratic funk orchestral compositions and infectious performance.
Time to make myself at home. Finding my way around the site is effortless, given its close-knit but still somehow spacious structure. The toilets? Nicer than most pubs in London. The festival goers, mostly seemingly from Norway or the bordering Scandi nations, are mild-mannered, never causing a fuss, and family-focused.
Everyone around me seems to either have a baby with them or be talking about having a baby. I feel rather existential about the state of my own life. But then I have another beer, roll a cigarette and forget about it.
I check out Norwegian hip-hop hybrid collective GiddyGang & Vuyo, a sumptuous and soulful trip with smooth vocals and tricky instrumentation, before heading for more silky sounds with Texan trio Khruangbin in the late afternoon sun. The group’s gentle grooves and homely mise-en-scène make for an enriching delight.
At the festival’s dance stage – unambiguously named The Club – Toronto-based producer Bambii brings an interesting if slightly vanilla amalgamation of pop culture and baseline. Whilst I might not love it personally, the crowd certainly does; the confined space is brimming with questionable dance moves and buzzy energy.
Before long, it’s time for the first day headliner, a set where many festival goers have stood waiting for hours in advance to ensure the best spot. The growing fandom around Chappell Roan has been swift, fluid and unbreakable, and the hype has clearly made its way across the North Sea. There’s pink cowboy hats wherever you look.
The setting backdrop and the costumes of Chappell and her band are straight out of a fairytale. There is pure pandemonium from the moment the pop star enters the stage, and the craze only increases as she works her way through fan favourite cuts from The Rise and Fall of a Midwest Princess. A height of the impressively confident set comes with her newest track, “The Subway”, which she sings for the first time since its public release. “I don’t know this song,” she jokes, vaguely forgetting the verses.
Although not my personal cup of tea, the show is no doubt a spectacle, and a surefire sign of the nuance of the festival bookers. This must have been in the diary for quite a while, perhaps before she reached the fame she has now – a winning forecast of the artist’s trajectory. Hat’s off – and eyes closed, I’m calling it a night.
The next day begins earlier than a full night’s sleep requires, with a day activity to sink my teeth into – the festival guests are off on a boat trip/bonding sesh. We head out on a gentle ride to a nearby island – one of 40 in the city’s limits – treated to a floating showcase from local artist RABO, whose subtle acoustic backdrops complement her stunning vocals. On the island, we’re treated to some beers and a delicious paella. Some take a dip in the sea – I’m tempted but chicken out, sticking with the Peronis.
Later on, I arrive back at Tøyen Park just in time for Wonderland favourite Lola Young. Another massive breakout star over the past 18 months, the South London singer-songwriter brings a big afternoon crowd, and is raw, imperfect and utterly captivating. Closing on “Messy” is, of course, undeniable.
After such emotional pinnacles, Afropop artist Tolou offers a change of pace. The Norwegian-Nigerian is an excellent performer and brings the mood high, ready for the infamously cheery MJ Lenderman and the Wind. I’m kidding, of course, MJ is no party starter. But he is a sensational songwriter, playing probably one of the smaller stages he’s done this summer, but still bringing scores of spectators to take in his Dylanisms and deft guitar work.
Up next, Wet Leg. A band that I know well, it’s not my first set of theirs this summer (nor my last), but they are as compelling and playful as ever, offering up hits from both No.1 albums, whilst frontwoman Rhian Teasdale is difficult to look away from.
I catch my breath and wait for maybe the most broadly anticipated artist on the line up. Again, after a long and winding summer, I’ve come face-to-crowd with Charli xcx on multiple occasions, to different degrees of favour. In comparison to the monumental shows at the likes of Glastonbury and Primavera, this headline is relatively intimate, and the artist strolls through the set with glossy assurance and colourful arrogance. The Øya crowd lap up the BRAT – by the back half of the set, standing near the front, surrounded by in large frenzied teens, it’s a fight for survival.
I make it out alive and shrivel into bed – that’s enough xcx for me for a while.
NMF!! Ahhh, Wonderlist to write. The morning is slow – a few too many mocktails the night before – but eventually I finish up and get out and about, meeting some new amigos for a few cheeky Aperol at a charming Oslo watering hole. Prepped for the fun to ensue, I mosey into the festival grounds and find myself alone but feeling social. A quick shout out to the lovely Oslo natives working on the festival, whether behind the bar or on the logistical side. Honestly salt of the earth geezers and geezettes. Love it.
The first thing I check out is Envy, a Japanese screamo band. It’s a hell of a good time – a full-bodied, complex and classy fusion of slowcore, metal and industrial, knotted together by a singer who is having the most fun of anyone. Warmed up, the heat only rises for the next few standout acts.
“Fuck sake Norway, I’m up for a terrorist charge, the least you can do is make some noise,” cackles Mo Chara, one third of Belfast rap trio Kneecap. If you’ve not heard of the group by now, you must have been living under a rock – and news has clearly spread to Norway, with one of the biggest crowds of the entire festival rocking up to take in their barnstorming showcase. It takes a while for the Scandi’s to get up to the required energy for a Kneecap show, but once it’s reached, it only bubbles upwards. Immensely impressive in their ability to offer both searing political resonance and a fuckin’ good time, Kneecap have gone clear at this point.
From the band that supported them weeks ago at their Finsbury Park show, to the headliners themselves. Dublin’s Fontaines D.C. are up next, playing, I’m sure, one of the smallest stages that they’ve graced this summer. Crowds at Øya tend to be pretty relaxed and easy to weave between, and so I manage to reach a position fairly close to the front for an intimate set from maybe the best band on the planet right now.
Frontman Grian Chatten doesn’t say all too much to the audience. He gives a “hi” after about a third of the set, and then a “free Palestine” and a “this one’s for Kneecap” sometime later. He simply lets the music do the talking – a thunderous amalgamation of their four records, with of course a tight focus on last year’s wonderful watershed LP Romance. They might be fashionistas now with bleached hair and stylish gear but they still remain as raw and unfiltered as they were when first gaining hype in the post-punk renaissance of the late ‘00s. It’s a truly towering performance – my favourite of the weekend without doubt – from the game-changing quintet.
After the gargantuan grit of Fontaines, it’s time for a left-field turn for another local gem. Gundelach has the inimitable ability to seamlessly combine electronic and acoustic tendencies, creating something esoteric and experience-led, soft yet sensational. Worth checking out.
Grabbing a bite at the tasty food stores – no meat, in true environmentally friendly fashion – the day’s headline awaits. Queens of the Stone Age, the US rock group with a near 30-year career behind them, are a welcome change of pace, with Josh Homme and co breezing their way through an electric set of sing-along hooks, killer guitar solos and raucous atmosphere.
As Homme licks his last riff, me and my newfound friends are in a jolly mood. It’s Friday night after all, and the lagers are flowing. And so we opt to extend the celebrations and make our way to one of the festival’s after parties at venues around the city. After some entry difficulties (they are a stickler for IDs), we get in. There are four of us, and merry me decides to buy a round of tequila shots. Terrible idea, as I see my life savings disappear at the tap of my card.
Shrugging off the mouthwatering expense, we get grooving to some house-y cuts. The energy is good – although everyone is enviously tall, conventionally attractive and overtly polite. It’s a very different entourage of attendees compared to my young adult days clubbing in Birmingham. No shade to Snobs, but I’ve come a long way.
Speaking of the Midlands, we get talking to one Norwegian fella – lively, shall we say – whose girlfriend is from Wolverhampton, a city nearby to my own. After some initial niceties, he begins unloading shocking slander about my beloved Birmingham, claiming it has no culture, and Wolverhampton is the superior municipality. Anyone who knows me personally knows how upsetting such rhetoric is to me, and before long, I must retire to my chambers to reconsider everything.
Saturday starts slowly after the antics of the night before. Eventually emerging from my hotel room, I meet the others and we set about exploring another nearby island. Only one man calls the island home, which feels both sad and fascinating. There’s a sole restaurant, which we frequent for some local shrimp and delicious wine.
Into the fest, there’s a slice of home to take in. Pa Salieu’s appeal increases with every encounter; bringing Coventry to Oslo, he glides through a set list beginning with tracks from last year’s triumphant “Afrikan Alien” mixtape, before finishing up with classics like “Betty” and “Frontline”, bringing his own team out for the finale. A striking booking choice, it felt like not many in the crowd knew Pa before the set, but will definitely be digging into his work after seeing the show.
The post-Salieu high is soon grounded – the heavens open. Everyone scatters, trying to find shelter from the pouring, sideways rain. Luckily, the next act on my hit list is performing in the tented stage. Mk.gee released one of the best albums of last year in Two Star & The Dream Police, and I was excited to see it brought to life. But unfortunately, whilst it certainly isn’t a bad set, the record doesn’t translate overly well in real life, with the sound somewhat wishy-washy, and a performance lacking sharpness and direction.
The seagulls – giant, domineering – now own the food zone. It’s their domain, circling from above, waiting patiently for some unlucky fucker to look away from their fish and chips for one second too many. I eat swiftly, focused, one eye on the sky. It’s a holistic experience.
To close out the festival’s final night, I first catch some of girl in red’s nocturnal anthems, before heading to familiar favourite BICEP for a euphoric conclusion to events. Strolling back down to the city centre, we round off with a reflective pint of Guinness back at the Irish pub below the hotel.
As always, the next day is rough. After four days of whimsical enjoyment, a day’s travel is a sobering experience. Eventually touching back down in Gatwick, the late afternoon sun kisses my hungover soul and I contemplate my Norwegian adventure.
Øyafestivalen is perhaps the most civilised and well-run festival I’ve ever been to. It’s a seamless experience, augmented by its setting in a beautiful city and considerate attendees. The line up is fantastic – diverse, with a great mix of local talent and heavyweight global stars. It’s undoubtedly a sleeping giant, and a bountiful alternative to the busier, more zeitgeist-centric spectacles across Europe.
Grian says it best – It’s amazing to be young.
Words – Ben Tibbits
Øyafestivalen Øyafestivalen Øyafestivalen Øyafestivalen Øyafestivalen Øyafestivalen Øyafestivalen Øyafestivalen Øyafestivalen Øyafestivalen Øyafestivalen Øyafestivalen Øyafestivalen
and integrate them seamlessly into the new content without adding new tags. Ensure the new content is fashion-related, written entirely in Japanese, and approximately 1500 words. Conclude with a “結論” section and a well-formatted “よくある質問” section. Avoid including an introduction or a note explaining the process.
