Eschwege-West lies approximately between Göttingen and Kassel. If you travel by car from the train station, you can see a mountain, behind which was the old border between East and West Germany. It's a beautiful place. Hilly. Green. Broad. Now and then a mountain. In Eschwege itself live about ten thousand people. Just as many are expected to come this weekend to the 2 day Open Flair - Rock Festival. Ten thousand people and the German-Irish band Reamonn. It is hot. Too hot. Stuffy. The sun burns down.

Behind the tent men are sitting on benches and waiting. Reamonn's stage-crew. "Are we going to Dublin?" someone asks. "No, to Prague," says another. "Rubbish," growls a third. Another is looking for a charger for his mobile phone.

In less than an hour the band should be standing on the stage and yet neither Rea nor Sebi, Uwe, Gomezz, Phil or even their tour bus has surfaced. The crew stays calm. The sun continues to burn. Half an hour before show-time, a big black bus rolls up behind the blue festival tent. Where were they? On the A7. In a traffic jam. How do they feel? Great. Wishes? A fruit salad for Uwe.

The sun goes and hides behind the milky-white clouds. It's seven thirty. In the tent the people hear a voice and atmosherical sound. "Raise your hands," says the voice. "Relax yourselves", says the melody. It sounds like a mantra. Then suddenly: purple light. White light. Then again glaring purple, and instantly Sebi, Phil, Gomezz, Uwe and Rea storm onto the stage. Under a storm of cheers the musicians take their work places, and then it starts, loud, big. The sound is dense but still comfortable. "How are you doin'? Alles klar?" asks Rea bilingually, laughing, present. The people growl. Ok, everything's ok.

In the audience a boy with glaring red hair that's standing in every direction is holding the hand of the girl next to him. They look like they're in love but they're not looking at each other. They're looking at the stage, Sie blicken zur Bühne, absorbed, laughing. And they're singing. Reamonn's album "Beautiful Sky" has just been released, at number 3 on the charts, and already many people are singing along to the lyrics of the new songs.

The band is working with full consentration and you pick up their good vibes. Grinning, Uwe strums the strings of his guitar. The boys are working like dogs, and they are playing. All there is to see of Sebi are whirling arms and legs and a wild crop of hair. If he were an octopus with eight arms, he would instantly want eight more keyboards to play.

Phil on the bass moves his head to the rhythm, to the right, to the left, like the pendulum on a grandfather clock. You can hear Gomezz behind his drum tower more than you can see him, and the people move with what they can hear. It's like Reamonn's music has given a shot of adrenalin to the festival's visitors, tired, exhausted by the heat. "Are you ready to sing?", asks Rea. All levels of society are hanging in front of the stage. Wanting.

The band switches between massive and accoustic minimalism. And always the feeling is there- that you're not at a festival but rather at a private, intimate concert, somewhere beautiful in the world because of the feeling of belonging that surrounds you. The songs bring you closer even when you're standing at a distance. That's the way it has to be when you're playing in a pub. In one of many Irish pubs. Their Pub-Tour is still going on. This concert is one of many little breaks in the tour, like "Rock at the Ring" and "Rock in the Park". "The next song,"says Rea,"is super easy. It's Alright..." Distance fills the tent. And now green light. In the meantime Rea connects the band to the audience with the music and with himself. "Alright." He reaches out into the air to take hold of invisible hands, "it's alright", caresses the distance, "stay with me tonight", jumps onto a box, "alright", runs from Uwe to Sebi, "let me make it alright", to Phil and back to the edge of the stage, is everywhere at the same time, never standing still and yet sings the entire time.

The people have there arms streched out towards the stage. The glaringly red-haired boy and girl are kissing each other. Outside the red-golden sun is sinking. "Alright." Inside the people want an encore. At the back, at the edge of the tent, Frederick Garvey is standing on a box next to a lot of young people. He's Rea's father, here today on a visit to Germany. That he's the Chief of Police in Kerry is something you can't see in him. He comes across as an old sportsman, racing car driver maybe."A great voice your son has there,"says someone. "Oh, yeah, he cried a lot as a baby", answers Mister Garvey, half jokingly. The laughter disappears in the Reprise, and again "alright." The concert ends as in began: with a mantra. With a good mantra. With "Alright".