I Blocked Your View at the Kinnekswiss Concert, and I’ll Do It Again

By 9 pm, I’d blocked views at the Philharmonie in the park, Meute at Neimënster, Martin Garrix at Luxexpo, and some Portuguese cover band performing out of a Citroën van in a Clausen car park

By Sandrine, Visual Obstruction Enthusiast and Cultural Gatekeeper

It was a warm Luxembourgish evening. Birds chirped. Children laughed. The gentle clink of Crémant glasses echoed across the Kinnekswiss. And you—poor, naïve you—thought you were going to enjoy an unobstructed view of live music in this city.

Cute.

I saw you arrive early with your blanket and optimism. You picked a perfect spot. Front row to the music. Hummus and olives arranged with surgical precision. Sunglasses perched on your head like you just believe in fairness.

So I did what I was born to do. I stood directly in front of you.

Not diagonally. Not off to the side. No. Directly. I even opened a large artisanal tote bag at calf-height for maximal trip hazard. I adjusted my belt bag with great ceremony. I slowly unwrapped a sandwich—Smoked salmon. Environmentally tragic. Delicious.

And then I did it again at the next concert.

By 9 pm, I’d blocked views at the Philharmonie in the park, Meute at Neimënster, Martin Garrix at Luxexpo, and some Portuguese cover band performing out of a Citroën van in a Clausen car park. I nearly made it five-for-five, but had to skip the electronic set at the Philharmonie auditorium—my knee was acting up, and Gen Z doesn’t hesitate to tell you to piss off. Still, four venues, one evening. Like Santa Claus, if he hated joy and specialised in ruining your line of sight.

Why do I do it?

Because you don’t deserve an unobstructed view. None of us do. Luxembourg is a land of bureaucracy, concrete cranes, and line dancing at 11:30 a.m. in front of the town hall. Beauty must be earned, not pre-booked via picnic blanket at 17:45.

Also, I stand for all those who arrived late and want your spot. I am the system that keeps concerts equitable by making them mildly frustrating.

You think I’m just unaware. You think I can’t feel your eyes boring into the back of my Decathlon windbreaker.

Oh, I know. And I lean slightly left when the chorus hits, just to remind you: I control the vibe.

So the next time you attend an open-air concert in Luxembourg, look around. I might already be there. Lurking. Blocking. Protecting the sacred chaos.

And if I’m not, just wait. I’m probably at a craft gin stand. But I’ll be back.

You will never see the stage!