Text and Review by Katlyn Jennings! Every city has a sound. In Gothenburg, it’s the rush of the tram, the slap of rain on cobblestones, and for three days in August, the bassline of Way Out West shakes through Slottskogen Park. “This moment is all you have. What will you do with it?”
Josh Homme leans into the mic, sweat carving lines down his face as Queens of the Stone Age drag “No One Knows” into something dark and unshakable. The crowd stands in a collective trance. Strangers, friends, rain-soaked dancers locked into the same heartbeat.
Here we stand in solidarity, in a city carrying centuries of salty air and open-mindedness in its bones. In August, Gothenburg hums at a different frequency: canals meet the sea, rocky green hills roll into weathered streets, and the air smells like cardamom and espresso. For three days, the city’s pulse runs through Way Out West, a fully vegetarian festival back for its seventeenth edition. Rooted in sustainability, where music, food, and activism share the same space.
Over 78,000 fans weave through paths and open fields under sunshine and rain showers that come and go like applause. The weather doesn’t dampen the mood; it becomes part of the rhythm.
Mavis Staples turns a damp Thursday into a gospel revival, her voice warm and commanding, folding a Funkadelic cover into a set that has strangers swaying shoulder to shoulder. Fontaines D.C. arrive lean and sharp, guitars slicing through the mist as they dedicate “Favourite” to their friends Kneecap, who earlier had the crowd bouncing between political fire and danceable chaos.
At Way Out West, sustainability isn’t performative, and accessibility is built into the blueprint. Every detail feels intentional.
The lineup bridged generations and genres, music as both a time capsule and blueprint for the future. Iggy Pop, shirtless, ageless, and dangerously iconic, hurls himself at the mic like it’s 1977. Little Simz commands the stage with razor precision, every bar a clean strike. Charli XCX turns the park into a nightclub in three songs flat. Neon green BRAT beats bounce off ponchos and camera lenses. Chappell Roan closes out day three like a forest witch goddess. Glitter, grit, pure joy and just a little bit wild.
Between the sets, strangers dance to ABBA under the trees, Palestinian flags sway in time with guitar riffs. Small flashes of connection make the festival feel less like an event and more like a shared chapter in the city’s story.
Gothenburg doesn’t just give Way Out West a stage. It gives it a soul. And for a moment, it felt like a brighter future was right there in front of us. I felt it then, and I can still feel it now.
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