Dutch ‘Playfulness’: The Rise of New Dutch Naivety in Pop Music
A song about Amsterdam magically transforming into chocolate, ripe for the picking by gleeful children, might sound like a whimsical children’s tune. But for Thor Kissing, it’s a playful exploration of Dutch culture, a concept known as ludiek – a kind of cheeky, rebellious playfulness – that appears to be experiencing a resurgence. Kissing is at the heart of a new project aiming to define what ludiek music means in the 21st century: the two-volume compilation album series, Nieuwe Nederlandse Naïviteit (“New Dutch Naivety”).
The first volume launched in October 2024 in a youth centre in Zaandam, a suburb of Amsterdam. The second is slated for release this March in Amsterdam itself, showcasing a diverse range of contemporary Dutch-language alternative pop artists. The music defies easy categorization, spanning glitchy electro-pop, 90s alt-rock and even Cure-inspired post-punk. The project isn’t about genre conformity, but rather a shared spirit of experimentation and a willingness to challenge conventions.
Flemish voice artist Lila Maria de Coninck, who participated in the 2024 launch and features on the latest compilation as part of the duo Welnu, describes the music as possessing a “playfulness and imagination” that is “sometimes not well thought through,” but ultimately “challenging how music and language should sound, and function.” She points to artists like Niek Hilkmann, Miriam Hochberg, and Joris Anne as creators of “colourful autodidact worlds on pop’s margins.” This suggests a DIY ethos and a rejection of polished, mainstream production values.
The compilations aren’t afraid to be simple, and direct. Even when introspective, the songs possess a resilient quality, echoing the Dutch proverb, Elk nadeel heb z’n voordeel (“Every disadvantage has its advantage”). This sentiment is reflected in tracks like Domtuig and Lucky Fonz III’s alt-gabber track, Allen verloren (begin opnieuw) (“All lost, start over”), and in the music of Zaandam band Tupperwr3, who offer a paean to Amsterdam’s efficient transport networks, highly educated populace, and restaurants that thoughtfully include pictures of the meals on their menus. This last example is particularly interesting, offering a gently satirical counterpoint to the common perception of Amsterdam as overcrowded and expensive.
The concept of ludiek has deep roots in Dutch history, originating in the 1938 work Homo Ludens by Dutch academic Johan Huizinga, who posited play as fundamental to human social development. It first gained prominence in Dutch public consciousness with the anarchist Provo movement of the 1960s, and has continued to serve as a means of challenging mainstream Dutch society through art, performance, and television – exemplified by cultural provocateur Wim T. Schippers’ large-scale public sculptures of excrement and the absurdist comedy of shows like Jiskefet and the children’s program Erwassus, which incorporated gabber culture.
What distinguishes Dutch ludiek, perhaps, is its versatile and often lighthearted nature. Unlike its European counterparts, such as Monty Python or Dadaism, it doesn’t necessarily aim to enforce strong political critiques. Instead, it often proposes more agreeable ways of living, even if those ways are unconventional or absurd.
The driving force behind Nieuwe Nederlandse Naïviteit is Joost Weemhoff, a 50-year-old who works with teenagers in pre-vocational secondary education and also sings in Tupperwr3. He describes the historical ludiek as originating in the “dirty, noisy and smelly” Amsterdam of the early 1980s, a period he experienced firsthand during the punk explosion. He recalls a punk rallying cry – Wij maken onze eigen wereld (“We’re gonna create our own world”) – as a formative influence.
Weemhoff notes that the current generation of artists are largely young, white, middle-class, and progressive, but also interested in reflecting on aspects of Dutch society that don’t fit neatly into an increasingly homogenous landscape. He identified an eclecticism in their work that fostered a sense of autonomy and freedom. Crucially, he wanted the project to break away from what he perceives as the “masculine pretentiousness” prevalent in the Dutch music industry, aiming for a “modest and democratic” approach, funded entirely from his own resources.
Weemhoff also points to a uniquely Dutch social propriety, encapsulated in the phrase Doe maar gewoon, wees maar gewoon jezelf (“Just act normal, just be yourself”), suggesting that singing in Dutch is, in itself, a subtle act of rebellion. He questions why contemporary Dutch musicians feel compelled to sing in English, referencing a historical “gratitude to our American liberators” and a continued fascination with Anglo-American musical trends. He argues that singing in Dutch allows for a different kind of expression – one that can be poetic, sentimental, or even vulgar – but is unlikely to achieve the same level of “coolness” or international recognition as English-language music.
This embrace of the “uncool” is evident in the work of artists like Buurtbeheer’s Jacco Weener, who performs while wearing a homemade “magic robe” and exhorts his audience to “respect our veterans!” Kwartet Niek Hilkmann sing about the challenges of maintaining a public allotment, while Miriam Hochberg’s track, Antirookbeleid (“No-smoking policy”), expresses frustration with the restrictions on public smoking. Promotional material often features disappearing Dutch cultural signifiers, such as the traditional sweet and cigarette shops and Chinese takeaways.
This focus on the everyday and the slightly melancholic raises the question of whether this music reflects a form of discontented nostalgia. The themes and aesthetics do echo the phrase Vroeger was alles beter (“Everything was better before”), which has recently been associated with protests concerning government accountability, farmers’ rights, and asylum seekers. However, Weemhoff is quick to point out that “better” doesn’t necessarily mean a return to the past, but rather a recognition of values like tolerance and progress. He also notes the loss of a broader, more holistic education in Dutch schools, with an emphasis on arts, crafts, and social responsibility.
Weemhoff believes the Netherlands has turn into prosperous but also somewhat intolerant. He hopes the playful spirit of Nieuwe Nederlandse Naïviteit can repurpose Dutch rebelliousness for more progressive ends. The project’s echoes of Robert Jasper Grootveld’s Provo actions of the 1960s are deliberate, and performances like Teuntje’s song about cancer caused by nuclear weapons – delivered in a skeleton suit with a dolorous soundtrack provided by his parents – embody the project’s daft, Dutch, naive, and daring spirit.
Nieuwe Nederlandse Naïviteit vol 2 is out on