Heritage

At the start of my master’s program, I was so eager to learn about traditional folk music, especially from Norway and Sápmi. But at the same time, I was burdened by a great fear regarding my desire to grow within the realm of traditional music. At that time, I viewed traditional music through the lens of cultural appropriation, feeling the need to be cautious and submissive. From this perspective, traditional music is a sensitive topic, and due to my low self-esteem, I felt that I could only do it wrong. Even when musicians invited me into their tradition, I remained distant, unable to trust. At the same time, carrying this great desire to make the kind of music that musicians with a strong traditional music tradition make. Because it touches upon a certain essence, that’s how I receive this music. But what exactly is this essence that I think to feel?

In January 2024, I took a heritage test to gain clarity about my own lineage. Previously, someone had told me that I could only sing music from their tradition if I had ancestral lineage. This hurt me deeply, as I started to realize that I was desperately longing to belong somewhere. Now, with the perspective I carry, I completely understand the point that was made. If I was not raised within a specific tradition, the music and knowledge would indeed not run through my veins, and my understanding of certain things could not be as deep as that of someone who has been immersed in the tradition—they carry the spirit.

What I did not realize then was that my belief made me feel smaller than the musicians who carried a strong folk music tradition. Coming from a country that had lost its folklore and folk music, I felt impoverished and lesser than those with a rich tradition. It seems to me that those who maintain a connection to their tradition also possess a certain wisdom. This wisdom often translates into a strong connection with nature, an understanding of its importance, and the realization that we are all interconnected. Another vital element is the sense of community that thrives within folk music. Folk music is created collectively; we dance, sing, and gather to make music together. The barriers between musicians and the audience dissolve because the essence of folk music is its communal creation. It embodies the wisdom that we don't have to do everything alone—we need each other.

In the first year of my master’s program, I decided to delve deeply into Norwegian folklore. This journey provided me with tools and knowledge about folk traditions in general, much of which I could relate back to Dutch folklore and how to explore it. This marked the beginning of a rediscovery of my own roots. The Netherlands turned out to be musically richer than I had initially thought.

A pivotal moment was my first meeting with Unni Løvlid. Her lessons gave me the key to unlock my own potential. "You are the boss, Sanne," she said. "You decide what to play or not. You never have to speak low about your folklore because you are from the Netherlands and your country has not kept it as alive as other countries. That is just another story, and you can decide if you want to tell that story or not." In that moment, I decided I didn’t want to tell the story of my background as one of poverty anymore. Instead, I chose to focus on what already exists. This was exactly what I had been missing throughout my years of questioning: the courage to see who I am and what has shaped me.

Over the last ten years, I have gained so much experience, both in music and in life. I hadn’t yet realized how much folklore was hidden within these years and how authentic and rich the folk traditions within me already were.

In this lesson, Unni introduced me to viewing my music and journey through the metaphor of a house—a house I hadn't truly seen before. But this house exists, and now it is my journey to get to know it better. What is happening inside? What can I discover there? What does it look like? Who do I want to welcome? What does this house have to offer? With this vision, it became clear to me that other musicians and traditions have their own houses too. Over the past years, I have visited some of these houses, but by getting to know my own house better, I now experience a much deeper understanding of others' houses. I realize that I can't just take a beautiful vase from someone else's house, even if I admire it. This is how I hope others would treat my house—with respect, love, and care, knowing where the boundaries are but inviting each other in to discover each other's spaces.

By discovering the existence of my own house and Dutch folk music, I began to feel a foundation from which I could start communicating with other traditions from a position of abundance rather than insecurity and emptiness—something I couldn't do before.

For the course in Norwegian folk music history at NMH, we were required to write three essays on topics discussed during the classes. One of the essay topics I chose was the Jew's harp. While writing the essay, I discovered an intriguing connection with the Netherlands. One of the articles mentioned a Dutch medieval song that referenced the Jew's harp. This article used the song's text to illustrate how the Jew's harp arrived in Europe through trade with Asia. This discovery led me to another treasure in my search for Dutch folk music.

I found a recording of that particular Dutch medieval folk song performed by the Dutch early music ensemble, Camerata Trajectina. This opened up a new realm for me, as I learned that this ensemble has been performing Dutch folk and medieval songs for over fifty years! I concluded that our folk tradition is far from lost; in fact, it is incredibly rich! Our old music and songs are not forgotten—they are just well hidden. It appears that this music is studied and performed by those interested in "oude muziek" (a Dutch genre encompassing old, Baroque, and medieval music).

It is possible to study "oude muziek" in the Netherlands, but I never realized that this meant studying medieval songs, which are essentially our folk songs. The genre of old music in the Netherlands has been relegated to a small corner within the classical music department and scene. It is not as vibrant as the folk music department in Oslo. But why is our early music confined to small spaces for a select audience? And why is the folk music tradition still so alive in Norway and other countries?

While searching the internet for information on Dutch folk music, I came across the website Folk Forum. Here, I discovered a vibrant and lively folk scene in the Netherlands. However, it was surprising to see that this music is not performed on the larger stages and festivals I was familiar with. Instead, it is mainly showcased at smaller festivals, weddings, and other private occasions. This made me wonder why. Why is this music only popular among a certain group of people? Who are these people?

I realized that this group is probably similar to those who enjoy jazz or classical music, but the context in which folk music is performed is different. It is a genre with its own unique practices and culture. Another observation I made while analyzing the folk song community is that the music is performed in a very local, low-profile, civilian manner, just as it always has been. These songs were meant for home, weddings, funerals, and daily life tasks. The act of singing together creates an intimate atmosphere where the barrier between musician and listener is almost nonexistent, unlike in jazz or classical concerts.

On the Folk Forum website, I read about the Dutch band Wè-nun Henk, which hails from my hometown region of Noord-Brabant. I have always known about this band because one of the members was a friend of my father, but I never realized they played folk music. Only now do I recognize that they have been preserving Dutch folk songs by performing them live for the past 20 years.

Through Wè-nun Henk, I discovered the work of Harrie Franken, who has dedicated himself to collecting folk songs from the Noord-Brabant region. He transcribed these songs into a series of books, such as Liederen en dansen uit de Kempen (Songs and Dances from the Kempen) and Kroniek van de Kempen (Chronicle of the Kempen). The latter is a comprehensive series of twenty-four books that include stories, history, songs, architecture, and dialect history. The Kempen is a region in Noord-Brabant, which happens to be where I was born and raised. Discovering this filled my heart with joy. We haven't forgotten our folk songs; in fact, there are more than 1,000 songs transcribed from my region!

This realization strengthened my musical foundation. I no longer felt poor and small as I did before. I come from a region with a rich musical culture. I belong to something significant, even though I had never learned this music before. This discovery changed my perception of being Dutch. Acknowledging my roots was a pivotal moment. By fully embracing my heritage, I felt much more secure. Criticizing my heritage would mean denying and criticizing myself, leading to a lack of self-acceptance and a feeling of not belonging. The start of embracing my roots has given me a sense of belonging and strength.

However, I realized that discovering Dutch folk music from my region was not the answer to my master's research. While finding this music and experiencing an emotional response to it was significant, it pointed me towards what I was truly curious about: the concept of belonging.