Henk van der Vliet; oldest composer of The Netherlands

A misunderstood talent at his age? Yes, thinks the Roosendaal composer in all his thoughtful modesty. Oh well, in contemporary classical circles, they do know him. Just recently, at the drinks reception of music publisher Donemus, which cherishes and manages the works of some six hundred Dutch composers, Henk was complimented by colleagues for his vital work. The oldest composer in the Netherlands, they praised.

Still beautiful, Van der Vliet concludes in his museum living room, wallpapered with paintings and drawings made in his turbulent life. Of Mab, the woman he married for 67 years and shared the music world until she (96) had to give it up four years ago. Paintings also of the Waalhaven, Rotterdam Bospolderplein, his birthplace (1928). A portrait of Djenna, their daughter who lives upstairs with him on Damstraat. She takes good care of Henk, as long as he plays on his electric piano with headphones.

”I have to, every day. Otherwise, I don’t exist. Composing is my elixir. It doesn’t get any better, but I want to grow. You’re never completely satisfied. Sometimes that’s terrible, I keep trying. Djenna thinks so too, hence the headphones,” he laughs amiably. Atonal music, abstract, modern classical, not always easy to listen to, give it a stamp. Think also of Debussy, Bartók, and Ravel, whom Henk learned from by listening. But he does make his music, all aimed at the clear sound, ‘the sonorous beauty of the dissonant’, as he says.

Van der Vliet composed approximately one hundred and fifty works. For flute – his favorite instrument -small and large ensembles, vocal societies, etudes for the municipality of Breda and pieces for the Roosendaal Symphonie Orkest. Even a dramatic opera, De Tol, which to his regret, however, has never been performed.

Renowned violinist Vera Beths sparkled with his sprightly Scherzo. Pianist Daniel Kramer gave soul to his Elegie, a lament on the death of Mab whom he misses in every fibre. Mab Vuijk, his muse, the pianist Henk met at the Rotterdam Conservatory. Together they taught at numerous music schools. In Goes and Middelburg, in Breda and Eindhoven. Bergen op Zoom, Roosendaal at last. “We were complementary in everything, moved seventeen times, and worked together everywhere to make a living. Playing the piano at rhythmic gymnastics clubs and folk dance clubs, that too. Juicing together.”

As a boy, he was given a harmonica, a 60-cent Bravo. Poor instrument in a family with three children, where the father brought in the money as a tram conductor. Later accordion lessons, after the war the Rotterdam Conservatory. Sometimes he wonders what would have happened in his life if his father had not been a tram conductor but a surgeon or a teacher. ‘An intelligent man, but nothing happened to music in our family. No connections either – that stifles talent. My work would have had more chance and prestige in a city like Amsterdam; there, you meet people who appreciate contemporary classical music. In Roosendaal, it’s different anyway.” Things worked out the way they did, sighs the little man in his big seat. A bit regrettable, sometimes. For a number of years, for instance, he played in the Rotterdam Chamber Orchestra, also secretly called the bedroom orchestra because of its many collusive relationships.

“Second-rate company, much less than the Rotterdam Philharmonic Orchestra. I ended up among unemployed cinema musicians and newly graduated youngsters. Was I any good? Pretty much. But with my pedigree and flute not the bearer of an orchestra.”….