‘I’m going to quit.” He had spoken the words after the performance, during adinner with the band. Even before the meal, as he had planned. Add a glass ofwine, it was hard enough.
There was a silence. And then the questions. “And we?” “What now?” “We are onetogether, aren’t we?”
About this series
We live, as good and as bad as we can. But what makes it worth it? No one cangive the definitive answer, but many have ideas or even strong feelings aboutit. In this series we ask artists, painters, poets, musicians and scientists.
They’ve known each other for so long. Gathered as the musical setting of RuthJacott twenty-five years ago, then fused. Permanent backing band of Nick &Simon, Jan Smit, the TV program Dear Singers. Played with all major artistsin the Netherlands and Flanders, at least five days a week on the roadtogether. Three, four tours at once. Pop, rock, jazz, classical, country,latin, life song, metal: everything flawless. Rehearsing? Not necessary. Whenone starts, the other knows what to do. The bass player, steady. The drummer,very tight. The backing vocals, color makers. The keyboardist, gluer. Theblazers, confident.
And so he, Marcel Fisser, the modest guitarist who oversees it all, alsoleader of the Marcel Fisserband, the most famous backing band in the country.
Fisser tried to explain it to his fellow band members that evening. That hehas discovered that he is more than his instrument. That he only now knows whohe is and what he finds important, as a person, and that a role even more inthe background suits him better.
Now, three quarters of a year later, he hasn’t stopped yet. And it won’t, fornow. Fisser is going to play less, and the band will continue to exist. Buthis intention is certain: a new way.
But you know how it can go into retirement: suddenly you’re dead
“Ah, here I have it.” Marcel Fisser rummages through the stuff in his son’sdrum room and pulls one out. An Otwin Harmony from the fifties. “Look, hisname is on it: NF Diets. That was my grandfather Nappie.”
He turns the tuners for a moment and strikes some chords, sitting on an officechair in his home studio, which can be reached via the utility room. “Thisguitar was the first I ever heard.”
When Fisser came to visit with his parents as a little boy at the flat inAmersfoort, Grandpa Nappie was always playing on the couch. A little bit ofhumming. Jazzy, country-like. And it wasn’t even his notes that touchedFisser, but the way in which. The feeling his grandfather put into it.
In hindsight, he thinks, in that tone was his grandfather’s life history.Indonesia. The Japanese camp. The Netherlands. New start. To adjust. Not standout. Never talk about it. “In his songs there was sadness, hope, melancholy.Maybe that’s what I heard or felt then.”
Is music about hearing or feeling?
“When I am really touched, I feel it. Goosebumps. Tears in my eyes.”
Do you ever have that?
“Yes very often.”
When?
“Usually live, when something intense happens on stage. That’s the magic isn’tit. That’s what we try to achieve as a band. We have a good energy together sosometimes it happens. But you never know when. And sometimes it doesn’thappen, even though you’re playing the exact same thing. Then it just doesn’tlock. Or one band member says ‘fantastic!’ and the other ‘terrible!’”
While you both hear the same thing, right?
“Yes, but you don’t feel the same. That is the difference.”
And what exactly is that magic?
“Well, I do not know. I don’t really want to know either. Because then…”
A longing, that was also in the guitar tone of his grandfather Nappie. Once inthe Netherlands, like many Indo-Dutch people, he had opted for security. Agovernment job until his retirement, then back to Indonesia. That was hisdream. “But you know how it can go into retirement: suddenly you are dead.”
It was a moment in Marcel Fisser’s life when he realized: don’t wait forlater, life is now. Another such moment: the early death of his father, aged42. Fisser, nine years old, hardly remembers anything about that time, butaccording to his mother he was only behind the guitar after that. All days inhis room, playing the Eagles LP, country music cassettes, playing along.
Play, play, play, that was all Fisser wanted in his life. He had nothing to dowith school, took eight years on the mavo, then another attempt at havo – hismother’s wish – and then the conservatory. And play wherever he could.Initially at weddings and parties and later, through Willeke Alberti, into’the circuit’. Always say yes to everything because everything was always fun.Getting as much out of life as possible, that was also behind it. Because hethought he was going to die early, just like his father – “you get somethinglike that in your head, don’t you?”
When was your playing style formed?
“At the conservatory I was trained as a guitarist-guitarist. There I learnedto play very technically and I was guitar-player at my best. But only then doyou develop your own style and become a musician.”
An instrument, is that an extension of the person?
“Yes.”
And you are…
“No screamer. You have people who like to be in the foreground in everydaylife. They do that on their guitar too. Long solos, lots of notes. But I’m notinto it. I don’t necessarily have to play a solo either, not at all. I’mactually not much of a talker, not even on the guitar.”
And when you talk…
“Then it must be hit. Over the years I’ve started to leave out more and more.Only play the notes that matter. They try to get to the core.”
Modesty, is that a requirement in a backing band?
“In a band you need different characters, which is good. Our drummer is acrowd pleaser, our horn players are too. They stand. Never doubt in theirtone. But the most important thing is: we can all play in the service of theartist we accompany. We can completely efface ourselves, empathize withsomeone else’s music.”
Empathic ability.
“Yes, musically. And we can do that immediately, the first time we play withan artist. How does he want to sound, what does he want to hear, how do we getrid of everything superfluous to get to the core?”
What is the lack of redundancy?
“Well, you miss the message. That as a listener you can hear the singersinging, but get distracted by the pianist, the guitarist, the drummer. Thatthere is way too much going on in music.”
It’s about the core.
“Yes, it’s about the core.”
And does that also work in your daily life?
Smile: “Getting better.”
The Netherlands doesn’t have that many backing bands at such a high level, sowho is good is often asked. Marcel Fisser has been receiving daily requests inhis mailbox for years – Toertje? Performance? master class? Play in? – and healways said ‘yes’ to just about everything. Morning, afternoon, evening:always music. And when he became a father—two kids—he may have stepped it up anotch. Because which musician has a livelihood? He invariably picked up thechildren from school at lunchtime, but otherwise the agreement was: he lefthis career, his wife – with whom he has been together for 38 years – at home.
It has provided him with a bungalow in Leusden that is large enough toorganize garden concerts. Alain Clark, Ruth Jacott, Tim Akkerman; in thecorona summers they all came by. And in his studio, the walls are covered withgold records. Songs he has contributed to, all kinds of national hits, fromGerard Joling – 10,000 sold singles – to Davina Michelle – 60,000,000 streams.
I loved it, in the evening on the couch with my family. Netflix!
Making music has never felt like work, still not. And Fisser has also passedthis on to his children: if you think something is too crazy, go for it. Howoften does he see people around him who have obtained a diploma and who do notyet know what to do? Grumpy to work every day. His son Micky, “who alsothought school was terrible”, is now a drummer in Dré Hazes’ band. Hisdaughter Jennifer runs a nail salon. “They went for it.”
Photo Andreas Terlaak
But in the corona time, when Fisser stopped in one go – switched back from”playing five, six nights a week” to zero – he also got to know other sides ofhimself. “I loved it, in the evening on the couch with my family. Netflix! Ihad never genetflixed, ever. I didn’t know what happened to me… At home, withmy wife, and with Jennifer, because her nail studio was closed too. We playedsports together in front of the TV. Cooking every day. I had always been justthe guitarist, the musician. But then I found out: I am much more than that. Iam also a father, I am husband, neighbor, friend of some people. I became veryaware of that then. And I don’t want to lose those sides of myself.”
When everything opened up again last year between two lockdowns, the bandmembers were happy to be able to play again, except for Marcel Fisser. “Theperformers continued where they left off – same jokes, same repertoire – as ifnothing had happened. But I had changed. I didn’t like it. The sound was bad,the musicians out of shape – myself included. And I couldn’t imagine that… Ijust didn’t like it.”
When did you first say no to an assignment?
“That already happened with small requests. But a big assignment with someoneI really don’t like? I used to take it, but I don’t do it anymore.”
What can make an artist unpleasant?
“We band members are behind it, on stage, that’s a different perspective. Wealso see the transience. Artists come and go. A lot of money is earned veryquickly, but that also affects people.”
You see artists…
“Slide away, sometimes. Walk next to their shoes. Suddenly four managers arestanding around to give them a drink. Then I think: act normal. And socialmedia doesn’t help. They disappear into it, get distracted by it because theythink they need it for their career. Likes, likes, likes.”
And what happens to characters?
“Then we lose our core. Because everything around it gets too big, literally.”
The core, that’s what it’s all about. And yes, he still loves the band, thegoosebumps when they play together have not disappeared, and there must alsobe bread on the table. But a little less bread, he realizes, is fine too.
Marcel Fisser has chosen something that makes him happy now. His family, theproduction of major music shows behind the scenes, such as Dear Singers.And… Nashville, cradle of country, the music of his grandfather Nappie. “I’venever been there, but all the music I love comes from there.”
He’s going there next month, for two weeks. His publishing house has arrangedeverything. Meetings with artists, with whom he can write songs, and a bigcar. He also liked Klein, but status is important to them in the US. “I wasintroduced there as the man with the gold records in the Netherlands.”
Which guitar are you taking?
“This…” Fisser pulls one from the rack, an acoustic one. “This is a SantaCruz, handmade in California. My favorite guitar. Small, compact. Because I amonly a little man.” He puts his arm around it and starts to moan. Smile: “Itjust looks good on me.”