Welcome in. It's so great to have you joining
us for this deep dive. We are unpacking a truly
fascinating journey today. Yeah, a really incredible
life story. Right. We're guided by this comprehensive
set of source material that details the life,
the... profound struggles and the revolutionary
work of Matthijs Vermeulen. And if you're asking
yourself, you know, who is Matthijs Vermeulen?
Well, that is exactly our mission today. We're
going to explore how a blacksmith's son revolutionized
Dutch music, fought the traditionalist establishment
tooth and nail. Literally tooth and nail. Endured
just unimaginable personal tragedy and still
managed to encode his deepest political and philosophical
beliefs into some of the most radical compositions
of the 20th century. And to give you some overarching
context right out of the gate, it's crucial to
understand that Vermeulen wasn't just, you know,
a man composing notes on a page to make a pleasant
sound. Right. It wasn't just about entertainment.
Exactly. For him, music was an aesthetic and
an ethical message. It was a literal oral blueprint
for how a free and functioning society should
operate. A blueprint for society. Yeah. He viewed
his symphonies as living, breathing representations
of human interaction. Which is such a massive,
ambitious concept to wrap your head around. But
whether you're a hardcore music theory nerd who
loves unpacking avant -garde structures, or you're
just someone who appreciates a gripping story
of rebellion and resilience against the odds,
Vermeulen's life is a masterclass in sticking
to your convictions. Oh, absolutely. So let's
start at the beginning. He was born. in 1888
in the town of Helmond in the Netherlands. But
his birth name was Matthias Christianus Franciscus
van der Meulen. Quite the mouthful. Yeah, a bit
of a mouthful. And his trajectory was supposed
to be very different. He was expected to follow
his father into the family trade right after
primary school. And his father was a blacksmith.
Right. Which is a physically demanding, highly
practical trade. It leaves very little room for
the arts. Zero room, really. But fate intervened.
The sources note that he suffered a severe illness
in his youth, and during that prolonged period
of recovery, his inclination shifted away from
manual labor and toward the spiritual. Because
he was raised in a strict Catholic environment.
And he eventually decided he wanted to become
a priest. So he actually entered a Catholic seminary.
But the irony here is that going to the seminary
to become a priest is the very thing that derailed
his path to the priesthood. Yeah, completely.
Or actually pushed him toward his true calling.
So what happened there? Well, he started learning
about music, specifically. the principles of
counterpoint from the 16th century polyphonic
masters. Counterpoint? Right. Now, to put it
simply, counterpoint is the art of interweaving
different musical voices. Imagine several people
singing different melodies at the exact same
time, but instead of clashing... Instead of just
sounding like noise? Exactly. Instead of clashing,
they fit together harmonically while remaining
independent in their rhythm and shape. Which
is incredible. It is. And studying these 16th
century masters just flipped a switch in his
brain. By the time he was 18, he abandoned his
ideas of the priesthood entirely. He left school,
and in the spring of 1907, he moved to Amsterdam,
which is the musical capital of the country.
Just imagine the sheer courage that takes. You're
a teenager, you've pivoted from blacksmithing
to the priesthood, and now you're dropping everything
to move to the big city for music with no real
safety net. Not at all. And amazingly, it pays
off. He approaches Daniel Delange, who was the
director of the conservatory in Amsterdam. And
Delange clearly spots a rare talent in this kid
because he ends up giving him free music lessons
for two whole years. Which gave him the technical
foundation he desperately needed to survive in
that world. Yeah. But Vermeulen didn't just want
to write music. He had fierce opinions about
it, too. In 1909, he began writing for a Catholic
daily newspaper called Detide. And the music
journalism of that era was notoriously long -winded,
polite, and dry, right? Incredibly dry. But Vermeulen
brought this resolute, highly personal tone to
his reviews. He was sharp, he refused to conform
to the meandering style of his peers, and he
really made waves. People definitely noticed,
specifically a prominent figure named Alphonse
Diepenbrock. Diepenbrock was struck by the fiery
quality of Vermeulen's reviews. and recommended
him to a progressive weekly paper called De Amsterdammer.
And that's where Vermeulen really found his voice
as a champion of progressive music. He advocated
for Claude Debussy, Gustav Mahler, and, of course,
Diepenbrock himself. He even went so far as to
call Diepenbrock his matre spiritel, his spiritual
master. Yeah. And while he was building this
reputation as a formidable critic, he was quietly
honing his own crack on the side. Right, because
between 1912 and 1914, he composed what is considered
his opus one, his first symphony. He titled it
Symphonia Carminum, and it was an expression
of the joys of summer and youth. But structurally,
it laid the groundwork for the radical techniques
he would use for the rest of his life. He didn't
just write about summer and youth, though. By
1917, the First World War is raging across Europe,
and he writes four songs that display his profound
preoccupation with the war. Every piece handled
the topic in its own unique manner. And by 1915,
he had become the head of the art and literature
department for The Telegraph, which was a major
daily newspaper. And in his writing there, he
made one thing absolutely clear. Politics and
culture were entirely inseparable. You could
not divorce the art a society produced from the
political reality of that society. And that underlying
belief is the spark that ignited the massive
conflicts that would soon derail his career in
the Netherlands. Vermeulen harbored an intense
disdain for the unidirectional German orientation
of Dutch musical life at the time. He felt the
local establishment was just suffocating under
this singular foreign influence. Here's where
it gets really interesting, because this disdain
leads to a climax that history calls the Vermeulen
Incident. The famous incident. Right. To understand
how we get to this explosive moment, we have
to look at the timeline. Vermeulen had a complex
relationship with the musical establishment.
He deeply admired Willem Mengelberg, the legendary
chief conductor of the Concertgebouw Orchestra.
Right. And Vermeulen presented his beautiful
first symphony to Mengelberg, hoping his idol
would bring it to life on stage. And he waited
for a whole year. Just imagine the agonizing
anticipation of waiting for your hero. to validate
your life's work. A whole year of waiting. And
after 12 months of silence, Mengelberg rejected
it with open disdain. Ouch. The rejection was
devastating. Because of Mengelberg's immense
influence, Vermeulen's orchestral work suddenly
had no future in Amsterdam. So he's bruised,
he's frustrated, and the tension is simmering.
Let's fast forward to November 1918. You are
sitting in the stands of the famed Concertgebouw
in Amsterdam. The traditionalist composer Cornelis
Stopper is on the podium conducting his own seventh
symphony. It is the ultimate display of the traditional
establishment parading its power. Right there,
in the middle of the concert, Vermeulen stands
up in the stands and shouts at the top of his
lungs, Long live Sousa! Referring to the American
March King, John Philip Sousa. Exactly. What's
fascinating here is the sheer volatility of the
historical context surrounding that specific
moment. It wasn't just about the music. Not at
all. Just days earlier, the socialist leader
Peter Gels Trolstra had attempted a political
revolution in the Netherlands. Wow. The country
was on a knife's edge. Nerves were completely
frayed. So when Vermeulen disrupts this concert,
a significant portion of the audience misinterprets
his intention entirely. They didn't view it as
a sarcastic musical critique of Dopper's rigid
style? No, they interpreted his words as Literal,
dangerous political incitement. And turmoil erupts
in the concert hall. It triggers a wild flurry
of publications in the press. The orchestra's
board actually holds meetings to debate banning
specific journalists from the hall. It becomes
a massive scandal. And it essentially forces
a line in the sand. On one side, you had the
traditionalists represented by Cornelis Doper
and Willem Mengelberg. Right. On the other side,
you had avant -garde figures, including the assistant
conductor Everett Cornelis and Vermeulen himself.
This incident ruined relations forever. Which
leads to the tragic premiere of his first symphony.
Because Mengelberg shut him out, the symphony
finally got its first performance by the Arnhem
Orchestral Society in March 1919. And the sources
state it took place under abominable circumstances.
It was a deeply traumatic experience for Vermeulen
to hear his work played so poorly. And Mengelberg's
petty vengeance didn't stop there. Vermeulen
writes his second symphony between 1919 and 1920.
And Mengelberg publicly states that he refuses
to even look at the score. Refused to even open
it. Yeah. Because of this blockade, that symphony
wouldn't get its premiere until the 1950s. Faced
with this impenetrable wall of institutional
hostility, Vermeulen realizes he has no future
in Amsterdam. He makes one last fruitless appeal
to Mengelberg. And when that fails, he makes
a drastic choice. Right. In 1921. backed financially
by some friends, he packs up his family and moves
to France. Embarking on an exile, he hopes it
will provide a more favorable climate for his
avant -garde ideas. OK, let's unpack this. We
keep using the word avant -garde, but what does
his music actually sound like? The sources describe
his symphonies as atonal but extremely contrapuntal.
It involves many different musical lines combining
simultaneously. Exactly. The focus was obsessively
on melody, but not melody as we traditionally
think of it. If you listen to modern pop or even
classical period pieces, you hear distinct structures.
You have four bar phrases, predictable periods,
clear beginnings, clear ends. Vermeulen rejected
all of that. He used what he called free declamation.
Wait, if he's throwing out all the traditional
structures and mixing all these atonal melodies
together at the same time, doesn't that just
sound like a wall of noise? How does that actually
work in practice? It works through brilliant
psychological pacing rather than rigid rules.
He used what the sources call anti -metric figures,
basically, intentionally writing notes that rebel
against the steady ticking of a metronome. It
throws the listener off balance in a beautiful
way. Interesting. He would spin these long flowing
lines into continuous. melodies where any memory
of traditional structure is just gone. And unlike
a composer like Arnold Schoenberg, who essentially
invented a strict mathematical grid to govern
his notes, the 12 -tone system, Vermeulen hated
strict systems. He didn't want to be boxed in.
Exactly. He let his melodies flow naturally based
on psychology and emotion, supported by underlying
harmonies that alternate between tension and
relief. Wow. If we connect this to the bigger
picture, we get to the core of Vermeulen's genius.
His philosophy of polymelodicism. In his writings,
Vermeulen drew a direct parallel between melody
and the individual human being. He wrote, the
melody is a frame of mind expressed in tones.
That is such a vivid way to look at music, a
frame of mind expressed in tones. Seen in that
light, a multi -voiced, polymelodic composition
isn't just a musical choice. It takes on the
meaning of an oral representation of society
itself. By combining several distinct, independent
melodies, he was revealing his ultimate wish
for society. Which was? He wanted a world where
every single individual is able to freely express
and develop themselves without infringing upon
other people's freedom to develop their own abilities.
It is a utopian blueprint encoded into sheet
music. The open simple textures alternating with
complex ones. It is literally the sound of a
free society. But despite the brilliance of this
concept, the reality of his exile in France was
incredibly harsh. The French concert halls ignored
his symphonic works, just like the Dutch ones
had. And you really have to feel for the guy
here. Oh, Devin. From sheer necessity just to
put food on the table for his family, he had
to return to the exhausting grind of journalism.
And this wasn't just casual occasional writing.
In 1926, he became the Paris correspondent for
the Sorabayash Handelsblad, a daily paper in
the Dutch East Indies, what is now Indonesia.
Think about the crushing weight of that reality.
For 14 years, he had to write two extensive articles
a week on every possible topic. I want you to
really put yourself in his shoes for a second.
Yeah. Imagine knowing you possess this world
-changing artistic vision, a vision you are desperate
to share. But instead of composing, you're staring
at a blank page, churning out endless newspaper
copy about daily politics and mundane events
for a paper thousands of miles away just to survive.
While your piano just sits silent. Your piano
sits silent while you meet another looming deadline.
It is a profound test. of endurance. It took
a massive mental toll, essentially forcing him
to hit pause on his life's true work. But his
creative spirit was never fully extinguished.
The turning point finally began in 1930. When
he received a commission. Right, to compose incidental
music for the play The Leaker to Hollander, The
Flying Dutchman by Martinus Niehoff. This offered
him a glimmer of hope. But the monumental breakthrough
comes nine years later in 1939. And this is such
a triumphant moment. The Concertgebouw Orchestra,
the very institution that had shunned him for
decades, finally performs his work. Yes, Edward
Van Bynum conducted his third symphony. And after
years of waiting in the wilderness, that long
-anticipated confrontation with the resounding
notes proved him right. It confirmed the effectiveness
of his musical concepts in the real world. This
validation carries him into a new era of productivity,
even as the world descends into darkness. During
the heart of World War II, from 1940 to 1944,
he's composing again. Does his music from this
era reflect the despair of the war? Actually,
the exact opposite. During this terrifying period,
he wrote his fourth and fifth symphonies. titling
them Les Victoires and Les Lendemains Chantons,
The Victories and The Singing Tomorrows. The
Singing Tomorrows. The titles alone symbolize
his unshakable faith in a good outcome for the
war. He was projecting hope into a dark world.
But right as the war was reaching its climax,
Vermeulen was dealt a shattering blow. During
the fall of 1944, in a devastatingly short space
of time, he lost his wife. And he also lost his
most cherished son, who was tragically killed
while serving in the French Liberation Army.
The magnitude of that loss is difficult to even
comprehend. To maintain such optimism for the
world, pouring all of your hope into The Singing
Tomorrows, only to have the war claim the people
you love most. So what does this all mean? How
does a man whose entire philosophy is built on
the beauty of human expression process that level
of grief? Does he just give up? He turned, as
he always did, to his intellect and his spirit.
The sources note that he documented his agonizing
mourning process in a deeply moving diary titled
Hatenage Heart, which translates to the singular
heart. Wow. But he didn't stop at documenting
his pain. Seeking the true meaning of this loss,
Vermeulen drew up a complex philosophical construction
to process his grief. He further developed this
framework into a book titled Het Avantur Vanden
Geest, or The Adventure of the Mind. What exactly
was in this philosophical construction? How did
it help him survive? He essentially built a philosophical
house to live in when his real house was destroyed
by tragedy. The book explored the journey of
the human spirit, searching for enduring meaning
beyond temporary suffering. Okay. He argued that
the mind's adventure is to push through the darkest
elements of human existence and connect with
a higher, creative source. He used this writing
to spiritually resurrect himself, proving that
the human spirit could withstand even the most
crushing blows if it remained focused on the
pursuit of truth and beauty. Which brings us
to the final act of his life, a period marked
by profound activism and remarkably unflagging
optimism. In 1946, he returned to the Netherlands
and married Thea Deppenbroek. And if that last
name sounds familiar to you, she was the daughter
of his former mentor, Alphonse Deppenbroek. Right.
He also went back to work for the weekly De Groen
Amsterdammer, and his articles on music from
this period are still ranked among the most compelling
ever written in that area. But he wasn't just
writing about music anymore. Politics and society
continued to occupy him passionately. As the
world transitioned from World War II into the
Cold War, Vermeulen found the stifling, paranoid
atmosphere increasingly depressing. He was deeply
afraid of a nuclear confrontation. And we are
just reporting his stances here based on the
source material to understand the man. But he
became fiercely active against the armored race.
He published his arguments in several periodicals.
Yeah. And during the first large scale peace
demonstration in 1955, he gave a speech where
he stated. The atomic bomb is an anti -life,
anti -God, anti -man weapon. That's a powerful
statement. It is. This raises an important question,
one that Vermeulen answered through his actions.
What is the role of the artist when the world
is facing an existential global threat? For Vermeulen,
the answer was engagement. You cannot separate
the art from the survival of the society that
produces it. If you believe your music is a blueprint
for a free society, you have to fight for that
society to exist. And the poetic justice of his
later years is that he finally got the widespread
validation he deserved. In 1953, his second symphony,
the exact same symphony that Mengelberg so insultingly
refused to even look at back in the 1920s, won
a prize at the Queen Elizabeth Music Competition
in Brussels. And then it was performed during
the 1956 Holland Festival. That is just incredible.
It really is. That performance instigated an
entirely new burst of creativity for him in his
late 60s. He moved to the rural town of Lorraine
with his wife and child. There he composed his
sixth symphony. followed by various songs and
a string quartet. And what about his final work?
What is the tone of his last major composition?
His final work, his seventh symphony, carries
the title for the times to come. The source emphasizes
that this final piece reveals an unflagging optimism.
After everything he went through. Everything.
He composed it as an ode to the beauty of the
earth, maintaining his faith in humanity right
up until the end. He died of a wasting disease
on July 26th. When we look at his legacy, it's
clear that his primary goal was to create music
that appealed to the spirituality of man. He
wanted to bestow feelings of happiness and connect
listeners with what he called the creative spirit,
the source of life. Because his ambitions and
his ethical messages were at right angles to
the mainstream movements of his time, he didn't
leave behind a specific school of followers or
direct disciples. Right. He was too unique. Exactly.
But his work has been cited as seminal by highly
influential Dutch composers like Louis Anderson.
Almost all of his true recognition took place
well after his death. He left behind a body of
work that includes symphonies, cello sonatas,
string quartets, and an enduring belief in the
power of the individual voice. He proved that
art isn't just entertainment, it's a moral stance,
which leaves us with a fascinating, provocative
thought to mull over today. If Matisse Vermeulen
fundamentally believed that a polymelodic musical
structure where every individual voice can freely
express and develop itself without stepping on
the freedom of the other voices was the ultimate
oral representation, of a healthy, functioning
society. Right. What does the heavily manufactured,
highly repetitive, and strictly controlled music
that dominates so much of our own modern pop
charts say about the current state of our society?
That's a great question. Are we fostering free
expression or just repeating the same tightly
controlled loops? Something to think about the
next time you turn on the radio. Thank you so
much for joining us on this deep dive into the
resilient, revolutionary life of Matisse Vermeulen.
We will see you next time.