He used to fight for peace
He shot thirty men to pieces
And then set the village on fire
So they awarded him the Grand Cross
Of the Order of the Dutch Lion
This is a rare ‘committed’ lyric by Rob Chrispijn, Herman van Veen's regular lyricist in the early days. Chrispijn was a masterly writer of songs about small, personal problems, often unspoken and suppressed. Commitment came to occupy a more prominent place in Van Veen's repertoire as Willem Wilmink gradually ousted Chrispijn as his court lyricist. In the early seventies, he wrote a protest song against the disappearance of Amsterdam's traditional ‘brown’ bars (‘Adieu Café’). Later lyrics were about the suspicious disappearances under the military regime in Argentina and about the war that he himself lived through as a child:
There are photos of the round-ups
But Herman van Veen remains primarily a gentle, tender idealist and a clown, who with just a silly hat or a red nose radiates a childlike mirth that transforms him, without a single touch of makeup, into a harlequin.
Van Veen did indeed make it to Broadway in 1983, but he was never really successful in the States. Ten years later he launched himself once more on the English-speaking market with covers of classic pop songs: ‘You Take My Breath Away’ by Queen, ‘Isn't She Lovely’ by Stevie Wonder and ‘Let It Grow’ by Eric Clapton. The project made it painfully clear how a wonderful singer can be a poor interpreter of other people's music. I can best explain the problem by looking at Van Veen's interpretations of Brel songs in Dutch. Jacques Brel is the French-speaking Belgian artist whose songs Van Veen has interpreted most often. It is perhaps an obvious choice, because Jacques Brel is without a doubt the best-known Frenchspeaking chansonnier in the Netherlands, partly thanks to the translator Van Altena and the singer Liesbeth List. And yet for me there is something surprising about this fondness for Brel. Of course there are striking similarities. The virtuosity paraded in Brel's articulation of ‘Valse à milles temps’ or ‘Vesoul’ is certainly matched by Van Veen in ‘Harlekijnlied’ (Floebelegab stobelegab flof flop flee). Moreover, a live appearance by Herman van Veen is accompanied by the same litres of sweat and complete surrender to the audience as those of Brel. His encores in particular have become legendary. Sometimes they get so far out of hand that they turn into concerts in their own right. He has even made them into records! And yet the intensity is on a different level. Van Veen always remains, just a little bit, the classically trained singer with the audience sitting at his feet, whilst Brel always remains, just a little bit, the small boy from the clay of West Flanders who still has to prove himself every day. When Brel belts out his songs, he emits almost animal-like shrieks, the noises in his throat more like shouting than singing; when Van Veen belts
out his songs, he reverts to the classical operatic voice that allows him to produce a pure sound even at impossibly high pitches or at an impressive volume. When Brel sings ‘Ne me quitte pas’, tears fill his eyes and he stumbles over his words in despair; when Van Veen wants to arouse emotion, he sings the lyrics differently, almost as if he were speaking, parlando, half whispering. In short: Brel (but this also applies to Clapton, Freddie Mercury or Tracy Chapman, whose songs he covered) is emotion, and Van Veen knows perfectly how to arouse emotion. And admittedly, at times both men achieve a similar effect, but there is a difference in intensity, in perception.
Wim Chielens
Translated by Laura Watkinson
www.hermanvanveen.com
