Dear Pukkelpopper

A whole year goes into Pukkelpop. Twelve months of planning, building, moving, changing, fixing, dreaming. And then we get four days, that’s it.

No rehearsals, no second takes, not even much of a soundcheck either. The stars need to align, sometimes quite literally, and somehow everything has to come together at exactly the right time. And then, just like that, four days become memories and we get to see them through your eyes. 
  
Tens of thousands of faces, hands in the air, arms wrapped around each other … 
Friends losing their voices and finding each other in the crowd. People dancing like nobody’s watching while, obviously, everybody is. Songs becoming part of your story before the last note has even faded. That feeling of being exactly where you’re supposed to be, with exactly the people you’re supposed to be with.

But not everything fades when the music kicks in. A broken heart, a troubled mind, someone who should have been right there beside you. Pukkelpop holds space for that too. For the joy and the ache, the noise and the silence. For losing yourself among 66,000 people and finding a moment that’s entirely yours.

Maybe that’s the magic of it. The dancing, the singing, the laughter (yes Zara, yours too), and all those faces that, for a few days at least, seem to say: this is where I want to be.

We spend a whole year making Pukkelpop happen.
You’re what makes it Pukkelpop.

Always yours,
Pukkelpop