BBJ: What was it like to watch decades of festival history in one film, history you helped shape? Were there elements that particularly moved or surprised you?

Péter Sziámi Müller: I found the film to be a good and valid summary. I spoke at length during the shoot, and I’m glad the essence made it in. If you’re interested in the subject, the film shows how I, and how we as organizers and dreamers, view the whole process.

BBJ: The film also explores the “feeling of freedom.” You felt that liberation at underground shows in the 1980s “forbidden era,” and later at Sziget. How would you compare young people’s sense of freedom then and now? Can a festival today be as liberating as an URH or Kontroll Csoport concert was during the “tiltott–tűrt–támogatott” (3T or “forbidden–tolerated–supported”) years?

PSzM: The basic experience is the same. Desires and anxieties are passed down from generation to generation. Festivals are excellent release valves; of course, they change with time like everything else, but their anxiety-reducing and desire-stirring (and desire-satisfying) function remains the same.

BBJ: In the 1980s, the 3T system and cultural policy decided who could succeed. What was it like to exist as a “forbidden” musician? Do you see parallels today, hidden constraints or pressure, political or market-driven?

PSzM: The situation is radically different. There is no prohibition; tolerance is total. Support, however, is selective, which is natural, if not always acceptable. That’s cultural policy for you. And frankly, it would have been funny if we had asked those in power (especially Péter Erdős, who, due to a misunderstanding, hated us from the bottom of his heart) for support to perform or record our utterly system-incompatible songs, something that by now has become common practice.

BBJ: As frontman for your bands, you voiced strong social messages. Which of the older songs feels most current today and still hit home for young audiences?

PSzM: The answer shouldn’t come from me; it might not be valid. What is clear, though, is that certain songs are still brought back, covered, played in combative situations, nostalgically, or as freshly topical, and sung with us. We keep the best URH/Kontroll/Sziámi pieces on the set list.

BBJ: Take us back to the origins of Sziget. How did the idea arise? What were the initial goals and biggest early challenges? Did you imagine it would still be thriving 30 years later as a major international event?

PSzM: I never had entrepreneurial ambitions; I always did what I loved, and when something turned out spectacular or large-scale, it came from that, often from friendships, loves, loose, interest-free togetherness. As the bilingual book “Sziget Roulez!” says, “Sziget came out of Sziámi’s songs.” That’s basically true, but none of it would have become what it did without the others, above all, my friend Károly Gerendai, his work and ambition. Around 1992, the band, then called Sziámi és az Első Osztályú Vidéki Srácok [Sziámi and the First-Class Country Boys], became incredibly popular; from a “village leisure band,” it grew into a group playing sold-out shows every day. After the regime change, a generation felt a bit orphaned: community centers closed, parents were starting businesses, and many good young faces looked to us for support. I decided to bring the most sensitive fans and friends together and organized the first “Sziámi Vacation” in Zala, where we lived. We managed to get the Lower Forest camp from the Zalaegerszeg municipality. I set up a bunch of programs, food, concerts, a theater workshop, beach entry, and a free bus. Eighty guests and the band’s 20-person family crew vacationed there for a week, for HUF 3,000 with everything. It was wonderful. The next year, without really advertising, just word-of-mouth, several thousand people signed up for those 80 spots. The question arose: what do we do with them? We thought we’d go to a festival with them, but really, there was only EFOTT (National Student Festival), where we couldn’t take minors or families (sometimes with babies). So, we had to organize our own festival. That became Sziget, called Student Island (Diáksziget) in the first years. In ’93, we still had the Sziámi Vacation; from there, we went with the vacationers to Óbuda Island under the motto “We need a week together!” We believed the band’s roughly 10,000-strong core would be there; we were stunned when 43,000 showed up. We didn’t expect that, nor the later explosive growth. Over time, Sziget took on its current, mature, business-based existence; inevitable, if it wanted to survive those early years of heavy indebtedness.

BBJ: The film argues that Hungary has become a festival powerhouse. What made Sziget and other large festivals work? Compared to other countries, what makes the Hungarian atmosphere or model unique?

PSzM: For the West, we sit at the edge of Eastern exoticism, somewhat even today. It’s an ideal cocktail: a remnant hippie character combined with professionalism acquired over time; a sense of freedom, quality, and safety that remains attractive. Hungarian festivals are often strongly multicultural and carry more “spiritual” content than an average music festival. Perhaps it’s all of that together.

BBJ: From a business standpoint, how big a venture was Sziget? In those first Student Island years, was profit even part of the picture, or was it mission and enthusiasm? How much has the economic dimension changed over 30 years? Was it inevitable for a mission-driven festival to become an international business?

PSzM: Quite clearly, yes. If we hadn’t climbed out of the brutal indebtedness of the early years, there would be no Sziget now. [.…] The change was inescapable; [.…] Sziget is not the same, and yet, in essence, it is. People bring people together. For those who are there, it’s unambiguously a euphoric experience. The colleagues still do it with soul, which transfers to the audience and makes it attractive; that, in turn, attracts the industry’s big players as well.

BBJ: The documentary quotes Károly Gerendai as saying that David Bowie played Sziget in 1996 for around USD 100,000; today, a similar headliner may command USD 1.5 million–2 million. Were those fees exceptionally high back then, and does it still make business sense to book such stars now, or is it more about prestige?

PSzM: It seems it can make sense, although I personally never dealt with that side of things.

BBJ: Do you miss organizing festivals in your everyday life? Or, on the contrary, was it liberating to step out of your business role and focus entirely on creative work again?

PSzM: The second is the right answer.

This article was first published in the Budapest Business Journal print issue of October 3, 2025.