Michal Zeman: From underground beginnings to Březfest with a distinctive identity and clear direction

Thirty years on the scene, hundreds of events, hundreds of bands across countless genres - and one new festival that is quickly making a name for itself. Michal Zeman, founder of Březfest, speaks openly and without filters about how concerts were organized in the 1990s, why he refuses to build another "agrofest," and what lies behind the connection with Fajtfest within the Kořeny Vysočiny initiative. He also talks about why Březfest has its own world, its own visual identity, and its own direction -a world full of symbols that have followed him for many years and appear across his projects as subtle hidden links for those who know how to notice them.

The first part of the interview focuses on Michal's journey into concert promotion, starting in the 1990s when events were created improvisationally, without proper facilities, but with enormous enthusiasm. He describes his development from early attempts to a full understanding of production, as well as what still keeps him in the industry today - the energy of the audience, unpredictable situations, and the raw power of music. The conversation then moves to Březfest: its direction, its move to an amphitheatre setting, the Kořeny Vysočiny project, and the behind-the-scenes year-round work on which the entire festival is built.

Michal, looking back on your journey since 1996 – do you still remember the very first event you ever organized? What was your biggest "promoter's win" back then?

If I go all the way back to the beginning, my "promoter career" didn't actually start in 1996, but already in 1991. Back then, everything was done in a very punk way – manually, without budgets, without experience, just with a huge desire to do something. Together with Judas, we were figuring out how to get his band Piran Death onto stages, and because there was basically no scene around Jihlava, we arranged shows at village dances. Literally. You go up to a band playing "Holubí dům" and say: "Hey, can we play three songs before you?" And sometimes it actually worked… hehe.

The Pogosession in Malé Beranov in March 1991 was the first event where I realized it could actually work. 250 people, great atmosphere, everything ran smoothly – and a month later Piran Death broke up. That was the reality of the 90s. In the meantime, I was publishing my zine Death Attack, five issues of fifty copies each, pure underground for underground music.

In 1992, Judas and I founded Parricide. Doom/death metal, English lyrics, darkness – and above all, my first real experience of how a band actually functions, how music is created, how shows are played, and what it takes to make a concert happen at all. That was my apprenticeship period.

Then came 1996 and Wagon's Brutal Show. That was a chapter on its own. Pure underground, DIY as hell, gear assembled from half the district, bands arriving one after another, sometimes even ones not originally in the lineup. We did it together with a group of local guys – everyone brought what they could: someone brought speakers, someone lights, someone beer. Chaos, but beautiful chaos. Energy that today wouldn't even pass a safety inspection… haha.

And my first real producing debut came in 1997: Wagon's Show IV in Mysliboř. By then I already understood that organizing an event is not just booking bands and opening doors. It means handling everything – sound, beer, transport, people, nerves… and even moments like a guitarist dropping an amp head from two meters onto the ground during a set, and you just hope the equipment survives. The sound wasn't great, fewer people than expected, but the atmosphere was amazing – and most importantly: the event happened, two barrels of beer were emptied, and I realized this is exactly my path.

So my biggest victory? That in all that chaos, I found direction. And that back then I told myself: "Yeah. This is what I'm going to do."

Organizing around 250 events requires enormous endurance. What keeps you going when a crisis hits? Is it the adrenaline, or the feeling when people in front of the stage go wild?

Honestly? It's a mix of everything. Adrenaline, chaos, music, people… and also that strange "quirk" of mine where I actually enjoy things that a normal person would have thrown in the trash a long time ago. When you do around 250 events, a million crises are bound to happen – the tech fails, the band doesn't show up, it rains, it doesn't rain, it rains too much, the sound engineer loses cables, and sometimes even himself… haha. But that's exactly where the energy comes from.

What keeps me going is mainly the fact that music still makes sense. When I see a band that has its own identity, its own story, and is truly committed to it, it gives me more of a boost than three coffees. And then I see people in front of the stage going crazy, singing, jumping, laughing, or just standing there letting themselves be completely carried away. That's when I think: "Yeah, this is it." That moment when everything clicks – that's a drug. A legal one. For now… hehe.

And then there's the second thing: the scene itself. I've always been drawn to bands that are not mainstream, but have something real to say. Storytellers, rebels, visionaries. Whether it was metal, rock, electronic music, or cabaret – I've always enjoyed giving space to people who actually have something to express. That's the engine that keeps me moving forward.

And of course – experience. Since 1996 I've done club shows, festivals, multimedia nights, cabarets, tours, visual projects… and you learn that a good event is not created on paper, but among people. In reality. In that mess you're trying to control so it turns into an experience.

So what keeps me going in a crisis? Knowing why I do it. And knowing that when the lights go up and people start screaming, I'll say to myself: "Good thing I didn't give up again."

When you compare organizing concerts in the "wild" 90s and today – what's the biggest difference? Is it harder today to get people off the couch, or harder to deal with bureaucracy?

The 90s were a completely different universe. Back then, concerts weren't really "organized" – they just happened. The scene in the Vysočina region was full of entertainment bands that played everything from Michal David to Kabát, often in such a way that you only recognized a hit when someone finally caught the chorus. It was a time when people didn't go to events because their "favorite band" was playing, but because it was a social occasion. A dance party. A backdrop to a ritual. Booze, girls, sweat, smoke, and somewhere in the back a band trying to survive.

Clothing? That was a chapter on its own. Hand-drawn T-shirts, denim vests held together by patches, sandals with socks as a fashion statement. And when a girl borrowed a legendary vest "to fit in," it was a styling choice that would probably win a prize today for ultimate retro horror… haha.

And most importantly: there were no mobile phones, no excuses. You were either there, or you didn't exist. After the event, it was simply: "Next time Polná, we're taking the train," and off you went. Done.

Today? Today it's a completely different discipline. People are at home on their couch, the couch has Netflix, Netflix has an algorithm, and the algorithm is stronger than a poster on a street pole. Getting someone to leave the house is sometimes more of a magic trick than booking a band from Norway. And on top of that, bureaucracy – paperwork, permits, noise limits, GDPR, contracts, spreadsheets… The 90s wouldn't have survived five minutes of this.

But you know what? Even though it's harder today, it still makes sense. Because when it works – when people show up, the band kills it, the atmosphere kicks in and everything starts vibrating – it feels exactly the same as back then. Just without the socks-and-sandals fashion… mostly.

So the difference? The 90s were punk, today it's production. Back then it was done "somehow," today it has to be done "properly." But the reason I do it is still the same: music, people, energy, and that moment when everything clicks.

How much have the demands of bands changed over the past nearly 30 years? Are musicians more spoiled today, or is a professional approach actually an advantage?

Band requirements have changed just like everything else – the world is faster, technology better, and possibilities much greater. In the 90s, a band was happy just to have a place to play, a couple of speakers somewhere, a microphone that didn't squeal every five seconds, and maybe a warm beer after the show. That was luxury. If someone wanted a monitor, we'd just tell them to stand closer to the amp… haha.

Today it's a different league. Bands have riders, technical requirements, they want quality sound, lighting, proper backstage facilities, merch space, professional communication. And you know what? I see that as a positive. A professional approach is not being spoiled – it's a standard. When a band knows what it wants and can communicate it clearly, it's much easier to work with. The real problem is when a band has no rider, but expectations like Metallica. That's a discipline of its own… haha.

But overall: today's bands are better prepared, more experienced, they travel more, see more, hear more. And that's a good thing. The scene grows through rising quality. And when a band arrives knowing how it should sound, how it should look, what it needs – that's not entitlement, that's professionalism.

The only thing that hasn't changed is the most important one: a band that has heart, energy, and its own identity will manage in any conditions. And a band that doesn't will struggle even on the best stage in the world.

So are musicians more spoiled today? Some yes, some no – just like back then. The difference is that today we simply have more options to do things properly. And I'm glad when a band wants quality. Because when everything clicks, it's not just a concert – it's an experience.

The first Březfest took place in Březinky. Why did you move it to the Amphitheatre this year? Is it about capacity, or about offering a more comfortable environment for visitors?

The first edition in Březinky was great – raw, close to the people, everything within reach. And most importantly: people showed up even though it rained all day. That really got me. In that weather, many people wouldn't even take out the trash, but they came and created an atmosphere you could almost cut with a knife. That was the moment I thought: "Yeah, Březfest makes sense."

Of course, there were also a few haters and troublemakers – that comes with it. Some complained about noise, others about bands not being their taste. And then there was one particularly strange guy who claimed in the media that Březfest and the bands were satanic, that we were performing occult rituals and using symbols and colours from another dimension… haha. So I told the media he should probably get himself checked, and that we are no longer in the 80s when concerts were banned and long-haired kids were beaten with batons. And that was the end of that.

The Amphitheatre was a logical step. Not because I want a massive festival, but because the space has a soul. Better acoustics, more comfort, more space, better facilities for both bands and visitors. And most importantly: it's a place where music can really breathe. Březinky were fine, but the Amphitheatre is simply a level up.

And now the key point: I don't want to do agro-festival style events that exist everywhere within a 20–30 km radius, all booking the same bands over and over. In a single summer season you can see the same line-up three times in the region. I don't understand that – why would people keep going to the same thing again and again? That brings us back to the 90s, when there were dance parties every Friday and Saturday and the same bands kept rotating endlessly… haha.

Březfest goes a completely different way. It focuses on bands that are excellent, but either have never played in the region, or haven't played here in decades. And also international names with a high level of quality that offer something more than bands everyone already knows. These are the bands I want to give space to – because I know that after Březfest, they often appear at other, sometimes larger festivals. And people say: "I already saw them at Březfest – and they were amazing."

This year's line-up is really strong. Legendary bands, emerging bands, established acts, rock and metal – but each band is different, each has something unique. No boredom, no copies, no "I've heard this three times already." Over two days, everyone will find their own thing and also discover something new they wouldn't normally encounter.

Březfest is its own thing. It has its own concept, its own dramaturgy, and its own identity. And the Amphitheatre is the place where it can grow into what it's meant to be.

The original plan was for this year's edition to be one-day only. What convinced you to expand it to two days? Was it pressure from fans, from bands, or your own ambition?

Originally, Březfest was supposed to be a one-day event. Compact, intense, a pure Saturday ride. But then bands, fans, and people from the scene started reaching out… and they all said the same thing: "This deserves more space." And I realised they were right.

And on top of that came an idea that pushed everything further: Kořeny Vysočiny.

This vision came from me. I started thinking about how to name a community of two festivals from the Vysočina region. Several ideas came up, but in the end it naturally settled on Kořeny Vysočiny. Basically an underground network of Vysočina – two events with their own identity, but working together.

I reached out to Tomáš "Bob" Flek from Fajtfest – someone who runs one of the most prestigious underground festivals in the country. Fajtfest is now in its 18th year, and like me, he's from Vysočina. I'm from Jihlava, he's from Velké Meziříčí. We connected, I presented the whole idea, the direction, the vision, and what it could bring.

And Tomáš? He was excited. He immediately added ideas of his own, and from that moment we started building it together. Not a merger – but a partnership of two festivals that keep their identity while cooperating. Sharing experience, joint promotion, technical support, community building, joint events… a meaningful connection.

And that's how the Friday day of Březfest was created – the Kořeny Vysočiny line-up. It's still Březfest, same stage, same sound, same production. Friday just has its own identity, energy, and purpose.

Friday is about bands we want to showcase for various reasons – mainly quality. And also about giving a chance to a new band through an open selection. Bands send their recordings, Tomáš and I listen carefully, and we pick one that gets the opportunity to play on Friday. Fair, transparent, no favoritism.

Was it ambition? Yes. But not ego – it was the festival's ambition. I just stepped aside so it could grow.

What comes next? We're planning more things, but we're not revealing them yet. Everything has its time. Kořeny Vysočiny is only just beginning to grow.

What does organising a festival like this actually involve? How much time, effort, and how many people does it take to make Březfest happen?

Organising a festival is something most people can't really imagine. From the outside it looks like two days of music, a stage, bands, beer, and fun. But the reality? It's a year of work, hundreds of hours of calls, emails, meetings, plans, crises, improvisation, and decisions that need to be made faster than a thrash metal riff… haha.

To be honest, I do most of the work myself. From programming and booking to contracts, technical production, permits, budgets, promotion, graphics, communication with bands, partners, the city, media… even solving the last detail when everyone else is already asleep. Březfest doesn't start in June. It starts immediately after the previous edition ends.

But it wouldn't work without the people around me. One of the key figures is Jana Tesaříková – Marketing & Social Media Manager / Assistant to the Festival Director. Jana is not just "the social media person." She's someone I can always discuss things with from a different perspective, helping me look at problems from another angle and find the right decisions. She can listen, think, ask questions, search for solutions, and follow things through to the end. When something needs to be done, she does it exactly as agreed, and helps me handle tasks I no longer have capacity for – because time flies and the workload is endless. Outside of Březfest, she is also exceptionally talented – she photographs, paints beautiful artworks, and plays in two metal bands. Music and art are in her blood. And I truly value having someone like her as part of Březfest.

And of course, the rest of the team is just as important: technicians, sound engineers, lighting crew, stage crew, security, merch team, photographers, videographers, designers, volunteers… everyone plays a role in making it work.

This year is even more intense thanks to Kořeny Vysočiny. The cooperation with Tomáš from Fajtfest means shared experience, joint planning, promotion, technical support, band selection, Friday dramaturgy… and most importantly, not being alone in it. It's a community of two festivals from Vysočina working together while keeping their own identity.

And how much time does it take? Honestly – all of it. It's a job without working hours. Sometimes you deal with things at 10 a.m., sometimes at 2 a.m. Sometimes everything runs smoothly, sometimes five things break on the same day and you have to fix them all because the festival won't wait.

But when you stand in the Amphitheatre and see people enjoying it, bands giving everything, lights, sound, atmosphere… you just think: "Yeah. This is worth it."

Březfest is not just a festival. It's work, passion, community, team, vision, and a piece of life. And I'm glad I can do it.

This year Březfest takes place on June 19–20. How far in advance is such a large event actually prepared?

A festival like this is prepared practically all year. As soon as one edition ends, the next one is already running in the background – programming, booking, permits, technical production, promotion, Kořeny Vysočiny, communication with bands… it's a long chain of interconnected steps.

And since most of the work is done by me alone, it's a continuous process – sometimes during the day, sometimes late at night, sometimes when a normal person would already be asleep. The festival simply never stops.

The team gets fully involved mainly in the period before the event and, of course, during the festival itself, when everything runs at full speed.

In short: Březfest is a year-round project that culminates in two very intense days.

Thank you to Michal for the open and honest interview, in which he shared his journey from the raw beginnings of the 1990s to the present-day form of Březfest - a festival with a clear vision, its own style, and a strong identity.

In the second part, you can look forward to insights into this year's programming, negotiations with bands, and the behind-the-scenes work involved in preparing the festival. The discussion will also cover the financial reality, how the whole team operates, and the vision of where Březfest could be heading in the coming years.

Kačí