Interview Douwe Eisenga

“Douwe, you’re both a composer and a pianist. How would you describe yourself?”

“Mostly as a composer,” he answers without hesitation. “Playing live has come about in recent years, but for a long time, I thought it wasn’t for me. When I was studying at the conservatory, I saw all these brilliantly talented people around me playing. I always thought, what could I possibly add to that? I thought; just let me write for others so that they can play it. And I consciously maintained that separation for 30 years.”

“Did you never feel the urge to go on stage yourself?”

“No, not really. It started with writing piano pieces for myself, just to improve a little. Playing other people’s work always seemed endlessly dull to me. But then, For Mattia came out, and a friend kept insisting I should go perform on stage myself. That people weren’t coming for those 271 beats per minute, but for the story behind the music. Although I found it incredibly nerve-wracking, I eventually did it, and it turned out to be a success.”

“Let me interrupt you for a moment. You already had a significant career as a composer. You didn’t have to perform… you could have kept writing for others in your study.”

“That’s true,” he says with a laugh. “But my friend kept urging me so much that I had no choice. But it was also the release of For Mattia that made me think: there’s such an emotional and heavy story behind it that I decided to make a video of myself playing it. At some point, everything came together. The piece was played worldwide, and before I knew it, I was being approached to give concerts, and things took off from there. It wasn’t a very deliberate decision, but that’s how it happened.”

“I think most people know you as a pianist. Would you say that’s true?”

“You might be right about that. The piano albums do sell the best.”

“How do you feel about that? Do you prefer being recognized as a composer or as a pianist?”

“I don’t really mind,” says Douwe. “As a matter of fact, I find performing exciting and fun, but I also enjoy writing ensemble pieces. They’re really two different skills. They complement each other, and it makes the story more complete.”

“If people look back on you 100 years from now, how would you like them to remember you?”

“I don’t think I’ll be remembered like Lang Lang for my virtuosic piano playing. Maybe as a composer, if it’s meant to be,” he says humbly.

I ask him about his youth and the influence of Mike Oldfield’s Tubular Bells, the album that inspired him at the age of 13. “Yes, that was a turning point,” he recalls. “I thought then: this is what I want to do; write music.”

Douwe tells me that he initially played the organ, though he would have preferred to learn the guitar. “The music store owner convinced my parents that the organ was a better choice,” he says, laughing.

“That probably didn’t help with getting girlfriends in high school?”

“Unfortunately,” Douwe laughs. “I never got to play that Philicorda organ around a campfire.”

From the organ, Douwe eventually chose the piano as his main instrument. At the age of 13, he wrote his first compositions, which he regrets having thrown away.

“Nowadays, I keep everything,” Douwe says. “Unfortunately, I no longer have those first compositions, but they weren’t much to speak of anyway.”

“So what did you write back then?”

“I grew up in the 1970s, the era of progressive rock bands like Genesis, Gentle Giant, Camel, and others. I was definitely influenced by that. Later, a huge mix of different styles came into play, like baroque, minimal music, pop, classical, and more.”

From his influences, we move on to talk a bit more about For Mattia, his most well-known work. A composition which he composed at the request of the parents of Mattia, a young girl who tragically passed away. “A lot has already been said in other interviews about this piece. What I want to know is how it feels for you that such a personal and vulnerable piece has gained such commercial success.”

Douwe pauses briefly. “That’s a very good question,” he says. “I’ve asked myself the same thing, and I actually address it in the booklet for the re-release of that album, which recently came out. The piece has brought me so much. From the main hall of the Royal Concertgebouw to the NPO Klassiek Top 400. It can still feel a bit uncomfortable.”

“I completely understand.”

“For Mattia came from a situation that you and I, as parents, can’t even begin to imagine. Losing a child brings unbearable grief that can’t be put into words. When I wrote that piece at the request of her parents, I had no idea it would become so significant. Although I often speak with her parents, and I’ve been reassured that I shouldn’t worry about it at all, the feeling can still linger.”

“But that must be a relief, right?”

Another brief pause. “Whenever this comes up, I almost always get emotional. Simply because I have so much respect for her parents, who managed to turn such an emotional loss into a gift for others. I find that truly overwhelming.”

“Can you play it without tears?”

“Yes, but during the introduction at a concert, I can still get emotional. The most beautiful moment is when it’s completely silent afterward. Then I know people have truly experienced the music.”

I ask about his composing process. “Douwe, when people ask about your composing process, you often say that they shouldn’t ask the writer of the piece himself. But I’m curious. You describe yourself as a ‘down to earth’ composer. How did you approach such an emotionally charged story? Do you distance yourself from the emotion?”

“Yes, actually I do,” he answers. “If you’re interested, I can send you my sketchbook. You’ll see that I wanted to maintain some distance while writing. I aim to create something that isn’t overly emotional. I don’t want to impose a specific emotion on people, as was common in the 19th century. I want to leave it open enough for everyone to feel and experience what they find themselves.”

“I understand that you’ve used an almost classical sonata form in your work, but you’ve flipped it a bit. Instead of expanding in the development, you keep it more restrained.”

“Yes, that’s right. It happens quite often with me. For me, the development is more about investigating the absolute core of the musical ideas than about expanding them. It’s actually a fairly classical setup with a first and second theme, where the second theme isn’t in the dominant, but in the mediant. Then there’s a sort of development-like section, a recapitulation, and a coda. Very classical, but I think many people don’t notice that. Yet it’s a form familiar to many, even if they don’t know what a sonata is. There’s a nice balance to it.”

“That was my nerdy question, haha. There are so many song structures to choose from while writing. Why did you choose a sonata form?”

“It sort of happened naturally. It wasn’t a conscious decision beforehand.”

“You just thought: this is how it has to be.”

“Yes, exactly. It turns out the sonata form was there from the start.”

“Sometimes it just comes to you, right?”

“Yes, and I rarely compose with a form in mind. It’s more the notes that dictate the direction.”

“Melody first or harmony?”

“I’m not sure, but it often starts at the piano. I just tinker around and write things down. I also keep diaries and notebooks, so I can track everything. There’s always a date and notes on what works and what doesn’t.”

“So you’re pretty organized!”

“I really need to write things down, to see them. I have to find the core of an idea. How can I turn this one minute into five or six minutes? Where’s the key to making that possible?”

“From traditional forms to the genre of neo-classical. As I understand, this is a term coined by the press for new music by composers who perform their own work. A label that’s both loved and hated. Do you see yourself as a neo-classical pianist?”

“No, but I don’t really care what label people put on it. There’s one of my compositions called Theme One. It’s not the first piece I wrote, but it’s a piece from 1981. Back then, the term neo-classical didn’t even exist, but you could release it under that label today. Classical is a vague term, don’t you think? It can refer to the classical era of the Greeks and Romans, but also to the Viennese classics like Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven. Some people call anything with an orchestra classical. Neo-classical actually says even less than classical on its own.”

“Something different. Congratulations on your first sold-out headline show at the Concertgebouw in Amsterdam! Quite an honor. In a previous interview, you mentioned that you were very nervous for your first show because you didn’t really want to be on stage. How do you feel now? And what do you think of this upcoming show at the Concertgebouw?”

“Luckily, it’s in the Koorzaal, which is much more intimate, so I don’t have to walk down those stairs. That helps a lot, he laughs. A few years ago, I played at the Concertgebouw during ‘Piano Nights’ with Hannes Minnaar. He’s such a virtuoso, so I even took a few lessons to prepare.”

“You had to go down those stairs then, of course.”

“Yes, that’s right. And with 1,200 people in the audience.”

“Does it feel different than performing in another venue?”

“It’s still the concert hall of all concert halls in the Netherlands. But now, I remind myself that people come to my concerts because they like the music and enjoy hearing me tell my story through the music. It’s also human to make mistakes sometimes. I’m sure you recognize this as a pianist. A while back, I was playing a very quiet piece in a packed Cloud9 in TivoliVredenburg, and I suddenly hit a completely wrong note. But it was so obviously wrong that afterwards I asked, ‘Who heard that wrong note?’ and the whole audience raised their hands. That’s the charm and humanity of this music, that you can make mistakes.”

“Coming back to the question, do you still feel pressure for a performance in the Concertgebouw?”

“Yes, the pressure is always there. Performing is a special phenomenon. So much happens in my head while playing.”

“Are you able to shut off your mind?”

“No, sometimes I’m deeply focused, but other times I catch myself thinking about the groceries I need to get at Albert Heijn the next day. I don’t know if you experience this,” he laughs, “but suddenly you’re 16 bars further. But after a performance, I’m always grateful that I do something that people enjoy. That you give something, share something, that you have a kind of gift that makes people happy.”

Besides the Concertgebouw, Douwe will be performing at several other venues around the country, including the St. Aegten Chapel in Amersfoort, Katse Church in Kats, and St. Jacob’s Church in Vlissingen. “Coincidence? Or are these also places where your music fits best?”

“No, that’s purely coincidence.”

“Finally, how do people feel when they leave a Douwe Eisenga concert?”

“Haha, you shouldn’t ask me that, but the audience. But it’s an easy answer: I hope they’ve had a great evening. As I mentioned earlier, I don’t want to dictate anything with my music, so I don’t want to impose an experience. The best responses come through email. People tell me that a certain album is their go-to or that it helped them through a difficult time. That really makes me happy.”

Douwe Eisenga stays true to himself, both in his music and his words. A composer who, through simplicity and honesty, touches the listener, without pretense or excess. An encounter that lingers long after.