The House (In Loving Memory of De Werf)

I’ve been inside The House only once, but it was enough for it to become for me one of the most magical buildings in the whole world. Like no other band, Nits know about places and buildings, about houses.

The House of Jacob, House on House, An Eating House, House on the Hill, House of the Sleeping Beauties, The Concrete House, Nick in the House of John, … The House. During their latest tour Henk even covered his face for a few moments wearing the mask of a house. It could be a symbol of their whole work. Their music was never homeless, it is now … for a short while, a very short while, the time needed to process the massive grief.

Because Nits are loyal and steady. Loyal to their house of music, which from the outside, looked like the most humble, unimaginative place. Four walls, a door (often half open), two, what looked like blocked off windows, a light against darkness, a drainpipe – as it becomes a house full of sleeping beauties – on one side, a little roof. It had a small garden with trees – where local birds were singing along -, long grass and a large parking space to accommodate their generous hospitality for the many friends and colleagues that used to visit. To me De Werf always looked like a friendly face: two eyes, nose and mouth with a little hat. That’s all it was. That’s all it needed to be. Inside the friendly face, their music took shape. It was a house full of tools, like those used by manual labourers or artists. The instruments there looked like they were builders’ utensils, mechanisms and machines. It were the tools of a fantasy world being created through sounds and words. I never knew a musician’s world could look like that. It was full of all sorts of materials, the link between their music and our world of matter , immediately became clear to me when I entered its open door. These men were builders of some kind of a world. Music was their tool. I had never come across such an honest, straightforward, open, simple way of dealing with and handling music. Yes, they handle their music, with the utmost care and dedication, they gave it this fabulous home where it could thrive for so many years, where it deepened and deepened, where it flourished and bloomed in all modesty and discretion. Such a home can never truly disappear.

When I was there, one of these craftsmen-musicians was about to cook himself some eggs, for a late lunch or early supper. That was the kind of place it was. The friendly face will soon be back, with its open door through which their music once more will connect so effortlessly with our world… full of beauty.

Into a town, into a street, into the house… There’s a hole…

Joke Roelandt, May 2022