In the heyday of Doe Maar, I was allowed to tour the Netherlands with the band for a while. A big favor, because the band members were allergic to snoopers. The Telegraph didn’t get in, but for the left-wing weekly Free Netherlands what I was working for at the time, they had a soft spot.
It was January 1983. Free Netherlands, then also in full bloom, paid little attention to Dutch pop music, but the editors were happy to make an exception for the Beatles-like success of Doe Maar in the Netherlands. It had to be a ‘report about a fad’ – that’s how it was heralded on the front page of the edition of January 29.
The band members agreed to my request to travel the halls with them and were willing to be interviewed individually at home. They were more casual and candid than I expected. Most were my age, in their thirties, that must have helped. Henny Vrienten and Ernst Jansz were clearly the Lennon and McCartney of Doe Maar, but they treated the other two members, guitarist Jan Hendriks and drummer Jan Pijnenburg, with respect.
Of them, Vrienten was most focused on publicity, he was the one who always sought contact with me. I was allowed to stand right behind the stage during the performances and remember how he would turn to me every now and then with a triumphant wink, as if to say: “Now you see for yourself how we get them down.”
“Them”—mainly the girls between the ages of twelve and seventeen who were the staple of their audience. They filled the halls screaming to every corner, bought the records en masse and sent an avalanche of often very intimate fan mail, including this note from Esther (14) to Vrienten: „I read somewhere that you had a girlfriend and my heart exploded. I learned nothing more, I didn’t want to live anymore. Later I read that she had left you and my hopes bloomed again, although I think I will stay put this year.”
I noticed how strenuous and tumultuous the existence of a pop band can be. A lot went wrong in the De Vriendschap room in Akersloot in North Holland: girls were constantly passing out and the stage was not wide enough. “I’m so down after such a performance,” Vrienten complained.
Until six o’clock in the morning, the group continued to chat in Vrienten’s motel room, initially concerned, but thanks to the drink, they were finally so elated that the owner came to ask for rest. “You used to read that pop stars broke down their hotel rooms,” said Vrienten, “I can understand that recently: it’s a matter of venting.”
Jansz noted that success is alienating. “It caresses me, it gives me confidence, but at the same time the loneliness hits me hard. I no longer meet people who help me a lot, they are just people who help me a lot.”
The age difference with their audience gnawed at the band. Their lyrics were often not intended for such young people. Moreover, they suspected that their music was not taken seriously by the authoritative critics of because of that difference Ear and humor†
Recognition eventually came, as is again apparent from the reactions to the death of Vrienten, who would later emerge as a versatile musician and composer. “Is this all?” It was enough.
A version of this article also appeared in the newspaper of April 27, 2022