NitsAMG

Nits

There seems little doubt that were they not so geographically challenged, the Nits would be one of the most widely respected bands in the world today - at least on a par with smart-as-a-whip types like XTC and Prefab Sprout. Certainly few can match their sheer creative stamina: how many other bands can claim to be still reinventing themselves after 30 years and nearly 20 albums? But the Nits come from Holland. And furthermore, the occasional tour of the US and Canada aside, they quickly made it clear that their only concession to the big outside world where real rock stars wear shades indoors would be to sing in English. That aside, anyone wanting them to tailor their unique brand of art-pop to the demands of a broader audience could go hang. In particular, the Nits specialise in making their latest album sound as little like the last as possible - a marketing man's nightmare. This has simultaneously guaranteed them a modest degree of success across continental Europe, where fans appreciate their fierce integrity and commitment to playing intimate venues, and denied a lot of people in Britain and America some wonderfully inventive - and very accessible - music.

In retrospect, you can only wonder what was on the members' collective mind in 1974 when they formed the band in Amsterdam and decided that calling themselves the Nits was a good career move. Apparently, they felt it suggested an insectoid link to the Beatles, but in pop history only Prefab Sprout and lugubrious Aussies My Friend The Chocolate Cake have made more teeth-grindingly inappropriate choices. Initially the band consisted of Henk Hofstede (vocals, guitar, keyboards), Rob Kloet (drums), Michiel Peters (guitar, vocals) and Alex Roelofs (bass), and it was this line-up that recorded the independently released single "Yes Or No" in 1975 and their eponymous debut album in 1978.

On this and the next three albums - Tent (1979), New Flat ( 1980) and Work (1981) - the Nits carved themselves a slce of the post-New Wave action that spawned bands like XTC and Talking Heads. Indeed, Hofstede has conceded that both were big influences on the band in those early days, along with the literary approach of Leonard Cohen. But though Hofstede's melodies had often betrayed the odd Beatles influence, this only came to the fore on the Nits' 1983 album Omsk. Where before the band's reluctance to conform had often resulted in a self-conscious quirkiness, suddenly it showed signs of blossoming into something of genuine depth and distinctiveness. Something moreover that drew as much on European traditions like chanson and musical theatre as it did on British and American pop. It was also no accident that the album marked the arrival of keyboard player Robert Jan Stips. Having previously worked with the band as a producer, the one-time Golden Earring and Supersister member gave the Nits a whole new orchestral dimension with his rich array of individually tailored samples.

Omsk and the mini-album that followed it six months later - Kilo - also established Hofstede as a genuinely gifted singer. Most listeners instantly pick up on his voice's Lennonish edge, but there's also a touch of Costello - without the ever-looming threat of a sneer - in the way Hofstede nails a ballad like "Dapper Street" or "Mask". He's also a powerful presence onstage, simultaneously charismatic and affable.

In the years that followed Omsk, the Nits always seemed to be on a mission never to retrace their own musical footsteps. Adieu Sweet Bahnhof in 1984, helmed by Stars On 45 producer Jaap Eggermont, was the closest they ever came to courting commercial success, though it includes two of their most memorable songs in " Mask" and the title track - a wistful waltz whose melody once heard is never forgotten. Henk followed in 1986, an album whose heavy reliance on sampled sounds and surrealistic songs like "Port of Amsterdam" and "Bike In Head" contrasted sharply with both its glossy predecessor and the altogether more sober 1987 album In The Dutch Mountains, whose title track gave the band their biggest hit. That in turn was followed in 1990 by the kaleidoscopic Giant Normal Dwarf, conceived by Hofstede as a kind of fairytale for his newborn child, but sounding more than anything like a joyous expedition to the candy-striped psychedelia of "Strawberry Fields Forever" and "Glass Onion".

In 1992, Ting was a more stripped-back affair with Stips' piano the dominant sound, and later that year the Nits (who were now just known as Nits) recorded Hjuvi with a full symphony orchestra. Mostly composed by Stips, the piece mixed songs with instrumental compositions in the style of composers ranging from Satie to Gershwin, mostly led by Stips at the piano. Da Da Da followed in 1994, even securing a release in the US and UK, though as usual Sony had no idea how to promote it.

By now Nits were reduced to a three-piece, with Alex Roelofs having bailed out in 1981 and Michiel Peters following in 1985. And though subsequently they were often augmented by other musicians, a trio they would remain until 1996 when Stips also departed to form his own band Stips Egotrip, leaving only founder members Hofstede and Rob Kloet.

At this point it's worth noting Kloet's important contribution to the band. No mere time-keeper, he's a master of economy - the polar opposite of Keith Moon - whose minimalist interjections nevertheless keep the bombast and rhetoric of rock at bay while applying the very sleekest forward thrust. Someone once described him as less a drummer, more a percussionist and that's spot on. He's never to be heard simply laying down an off-the-shelf rock rhythm and it's significant that he always gets a co-composer credit.

With the band down to a core of two members, Hofstede nevertheless ensured their 1997 album Alankomaat still boasted the kind of lush textures with which the band had become associated by focusing much more heavily than usual on his own role as a keyboard player. Similarly, on 2000's Wool (their first for new label Play It Again Sam), Hofstede drafted in a string sextet, a jazz trumpeter and various soulful backing singers to compensate for the Stips-shaped hole in the band's sound.

After a six-year absence, however, Stips returned for the 2003 album 1974. Though the title refers to the band's year of formation, it nevertheless contained little that might be described as backward-looking. In fact, after the somewhat subdued and tightly arranged music of Alankomaat and Wool, it represented a return to a more playful and spontaneous style. There remained a suspicion, though, that Hofstede had expended some of his best music on a 2002 solo album - comprising music written for a video installation - called Het Draagbare Huis (The Portable House) and was fresh out of top-notch material.

In their 30-odd years of existence, Nits have notched several chart successes in their homeland and been showered with awards. Around the time of "In The Dutch Mountains", it seemed international stardom was theirs for the taking. Yet only two of their albums have been released in the US and UK, and though they can boast a small but loyal following in Canada - where they have doubtless benefited from the endorsement of Barenaked Ladies - they remain one of rock's best-kept secrets. And you suspect they wouldn't have it any other way.

Omsk (1983)

The parallels between the careers of XTC and the Nits are remarkable and too numerous to ignore. Both began their recording careers in the late '70s as part of the arty post-punk new wave movement characterized by scratchy guitars, jerky rhythms, cheesy organs, and nerdy frontmen. And both evolved into something infinitely more complex and enduring, despite being gradually whittled down to a core of just two members. That said, whereas XTC underwent a gradual transition from the fractious pop of 1977's White Music to the pastoral psychedelia of 1986's Skylarking, the Nits shed their new wave skin in a relative trice with the 1983 album Omsk. The startling opener, "A Touch of Henry Moore," begins with a mesmerizing, Steve Reich-like barrage of marimbas and (synthesized) hammered metal over which Henk Hofstede ponders the physical hard labor that goes into creating a thing of beauty. One of the most stunningly original pieces in the Nits' repertoire, it's still a stage favorite. At the time, the Nits also boasted a second singer/songwriter in the form of Michiel Peters, who contributes three songs to Omsk. He was no Colin Moulding, however, and his first song on the album provides a rare and unwelcome reminder of the kind of music the public was gorging on in 1983. "Unpleasant Surprise" is just that, a horrible exercise in Spandau Duran, all brash synths and big drums, while "The Cold Eye" is a contrived exercise in atmospherics let down by Peters' thin, reedy voice. Only the surprisingly rootsy "Spirits Awake," with its spooky Wicker Man vibe, is a worthy addition to the album, and it was probably a blessing all round when Peters left the band within two years. Keyboard player Robert Jan Stips — who must take a lot of the credit for the album's lush textures — also contributes a couple of tracks to Omsk, most notably the irresistibly breezy instrumental "Walter and Conny," which pushes some of the same buttons as Zappa's "Peaches en Regalia." But the Nits were already essentially Hofstede's band, and Omsk contains one of his most enduring songs in the form of "Nescio." With its serried ranks of frenziedly strummed mandolins, pizzicato strings, and cascading piano, "Nescio" finds Hofstede milking the song's larger than life Latin emotions to stirring effect — though disconcertingly the title refers to the nom de plume of an obscure Dutch writer. At the other extreme is the delicate "Jardin d'Hiver." This attempt to capture the sparkling stillness of a winter's day is another of Hofstede's most bewitching songs. Traceries of vibraphones, piano, and strings intertwine with a series of short vocal lines to suggest the chiming of bells. Though it's not without its moments of clumsiness, Omsk contains enough examples of what would prove to be the Nits' mature style to make it worthy of investigation. [The CD reissue contains three tracks not included on the original release.]

Adieu Sweet Bahnhof (1984)

Three tracks into Adieu, Sweet Bahnhof and it's starting to sound as though the headway made by the Nits on the previous year's Omsk and Kilo was all for naught. "Woman Cactus," "Silly Fool," and "Think It Over" are catchy synth pop at best, yet for the most part charmless, dated, and disposable. Then, frustratingly, comes a triple whammy of three of their most memorable songs. Legend has it that Stars on 45 producer Jaap Eggermont pushed the band into adopting a more commercial approach on Adieu, Sweet Bahnhof, although he is only credited as engineer. Yet that at least would explain the blitzkrieg of brittle pop pastiche that opens the album and the solid gold nuggets you have to rummage around for. "Mask," the first such nugget, is another of those slow-burning ballads like "Dapper Street," on which Henk Hofstede summons his best Elvis Costello croon, bolstered by a satisfyingly abrasive brass section. The bandmembers were never happy with the recording, however, and reworked the song in a spellbinding new arrangement with the Amsterdam Saxophone Quartet for the 1989 live album Urk. In fact, reservations about the production extend to much of the album, which sounds muddy, drowned in reverb, and heavy on the analog synths. No amount of technical shortcomings could sabotage the title track, though. It's a delightfully wistful Parisian waltz with a refrain that still gets audiences joining in over 20 years later. Hofstede's "The Tender Trap" is the album's last classic, a widescreen vignette of romance gone wrong with a stately brass arrangement and an overarching melody. Though the album eventually fizzles out, there are still three more fine songs to come in the form of Robert Jan Stips' "Poor Man's Pound," Michiel Peters' "The Infant King," and Hofstede's "Vah Hollanda Seni Seni." This latter is a rare venture into the world of social comment for the Nits, with its depiction of racism as seen through the eyes of a Turkish immigrant girl.

Henk was the first album to be recorded by the Nits as a three-piece following the traumatic departure of Michiel Peters, yet it found them in an unexpectedly playful mood. From the eccentric openers "Bike in Head" and "Port of Amsterdam," it was clear that the band members were once more in control of their own destiny and would have no truck with pleas to emphasize their more commercially viable songs. "Bike in Head," for instance, deploys samples of bicycle bells and includes the lyric "I just bought an elephant today," while "Port of Amsterdam" is a rambunctious drinking song in which Hofstede's voice is subjected to all manner of wacky electronic distortion. But for all its often wilful eccentricity, Henk does contain a core of enduring songs that marry the band's pop sensibility with its more experimental tendencies. On the first, "Typist of Candy," Hofstede's touching, double-tracked voice recalls the Everly Brothers, though any retro intent is canceled by a beguiling climax featuring Robert Jan Stips' fairground keyboards and what sounds like someone tap dancing on a typewriter. "Home Before Dark" is an altogether more somber affair, the album's single foray into understatement and one whose directness and simplicity foreshadow Henk's successor, In the Dutch Mountains. "Sleep (What Happens to Your Eyes)" survives a tricky synth arrangement to become one of the Nits' most persuasive blends of melody and electronica, while the irresistible "Cabins" sets Philip Glass to a four-square beat. Too much of the rest, however, is quirky in a bad way. More than once, you suspect Stips and his fancy new sampling equipment were allowed to run riot, dressing up already slender songs with eldritch noises that began to date as soon as the record hit the shops. The CD reissue is filled out with the 1983 mini-album Kilo, none of which has dated as badly as Henk.

In The Dutch Mountains (1987)

After the synthesized hijinks and tomfoolery that blighted much of Henk, the Nits — once again a four-piece with the addition of bassist Joke Geraets — opted for a return to simplicity with In the Dutch Mountains. The result was an album that probably did more to seduce listeners far beyond their homeland than any other, not least because it was the first to secure a release in the U.S. and the U.K. Yet although it was recorded live in the studio direct to two-track tape, this is no mere exercise in bash-it-out, one-take boogie. It's a warmly atmospheric set that contains some of the Nits' most fully realized work to date. Many of the songs are inspired by childhood memories, including the title track with its reference to the young Henk Hofstede's assumption that there must be mountains beyond the borders of his home town of Amsterdam. A massive hit across continental Europe, "In the Dutch Mountains" still generates a storm of applause at Nits concerts. Another live mainstay is "J.O.S. Days," an atypically rustic song about Hofstede's failure to make his local football team, featuring sampled acoustic guitar and (real) harmonica. This contrasts sharply with the dreamy "Two Skaters," at around seven minutes one of the longest songs in the Nits' repertoire and as close as they've ever gotten to an exercise in pure atmospherics. Other highlights include "The Swimmer" (yet another in a long line of film references), with frenzied accelerating piano assaults framing a delicate melody; the faintly berserk "An Eating House"; and the gorgeous lullaby "Good Night," with Hofstede's tender vocals cushioned by a remarkably convincing brass band sample. On the vinyl edition, this made for a wonderful coda to the album, but for the CD release three bonus tracks — none of them quite in keeping with the rest — were tacked on to the end. Nevertheless, In the Dutch Mountains marked the beginning of a richly creative five-year period that the Nits have yet to top.

Hat (1988)

You won't find many more minimalist titles than those listed on the sleeve of the Nits' 1988 mini-album, Hat. These include "Blue," "The Train," "The Dream," "The House," and, inevitably, "The Hat." A total of six tracks, with five definite articles and two adjectives between them. Lyrics are similarly minimalist and often take the form of fragments of recollected dreams and memories in which everyday scenes and objects trigger feelings of loss and melancholy. It's perhaps surprising, then, that for such an austerely conceived project, the Nits again came up with some of their most enduring work. Opener "The Train," whose rolling rhythm matches that of its subject matter, boasts a breezy, instantly memorable melody framed by Robert Jan Stips' exultant piccolo-synth and, at one point, samples of wheels on tracks and screeching brakes. Hat's other undoubted masterpiece is "The Bauhaus Chair," a poignant melody, beautifully sung by Henk Hofstede (though his inability to master the English "th" sound is particularly intrusive here) and rounded off by a richly resonant organ passage that evokes Procol Harum in their pomp. Elsewhere, "The Dream" has a vibrant South American feel that recalls "Nescio," while "The House" is an altogether bleaker affair, with its measured, incantatory refrain of "Time slipping away." Only "Blue" and "The Hat" are a little too sketchy to make much impact. Songs apart, what is most striking about Hat, however, is Stips' keyboard playing. In just two years he had gone from the often grotesque and alienating synth effects that blighted much of Henk to the lushly organic settings contained here. Rob Kloet had also by now arrived at a distinctively understated and highly musical technique that saw him tailor his percussion parts to the precise requirements of each individual song, rather than reaching for a ready-made beat like most rock drummers.

After the relative austerity of In the Dutch Mountains and Hat, the Nits really let their imaginations run riot for Giant Normal Dwarf. On first acquaintance, this beautifully packaged album might suggest that lyricist Henk Hofstede had taken an LSD-inspired trip back to the world of "Lucy in the Sky With Diamonds" and "Glass Onion": the opening track alone manages to rhyme "telephone lake" with "periscope snake." Yet the mundane truth was that these apparently psychedelic ditties had been penned by Hofstede as a kind of musical fairy tale for his newborn daughter. That said, there's nothing childish about the music on this album, which is one of the most consistently satisfying of the band's career. Though occasionally the whimsy might get a little cloying for some tastes, there's no denying the sheer beauty of a song like "The Night Owl" — which sounds like a lost Moody Blues classic — and the delightful strangeness of the closing songs, "House of the Sleeping Beauties" and "The Infinite Shoeblack." Yet amidst all the candy-striped surrealism, the band's ability to write instantly memorable, utterly distinctive melodies that frequently veer off at unexpected tangents shines through. Check out the entry of a full choir singing "Little red roses fall" in the midst of "Radio Shoes," for instance. If that doesn't bring a smile to your face, check for a pulse. Special mention should go to the keyboard work of Robert Jan Stips, who created a multicolored world of sound that perfectly complements Hofstede's flights of fancy, without ever fetching up in synthesizer hell. Though it remains a favorite among fans of the band, Giant Normal Dwarf nevertheless failed to match the commercial success of In the Dutch Mountains.

After the phantasmagorical Giant Normal Dwarf, where they'd gleefully splattered the canvas with every color in the rainbow, the Nits opted for an altogether more restrained palette for this follow-up. The result was one of the most satisfying albums of their career — one, moreover, that sounds like no other in the rock canon. On paper, the idea of foregrounding the piano to the exclusion of virtually all other instruments might sound less than radical. But if that leads you to expect something in a similar orbit to artists like Ben Folds or Bruce Hornsby, forget it. Rather, the name of Philip Glass might spring to mind more readily, especially during the exquisite opening track, "Cars and Cars," where Robert Jan Stips' piano arpeggio is doubled by Dieuwke Kleijn's cello. Throughout the album, (digital) pianos are stacked and layered (there are no guitars here): they chime, cascade, and swirl, providing both melody and rhythm to magical effect. Much is made on the sleeve of the presence on Ting of a set of stones, designed by Swiss sculptor Arthur Schneiter to function as both artwork and musical instrument — "when you hit them with a mallet they say Ting." (In fact, they're just one of a battery of exotic percussion instruments deployed with great sensitivity throughout by drummer Rob Kloet.) Yet you don't need to know any of this to be seduced by the haunting title track, or cheered by the McCartney-esque "Soap Bubble Box." In fact, of the 15 tracks, only "River" fails to make much impression, not least because it's the one occasion where Henk Hofstede's Lennon-ish vocals give way to the characterless piping of Stips. Ting marked the end of a five-year period during which it seemed the Nits' creativity knew no bounds. Though there would be no precipitous decline, they would never quite scale these heights again.

With a title created by random strikes of the typewriter and a full symphony orchestra on board, you might be forgiven for expecting Hjuvi to be a bracing blast of art rock experimentalism. Certainly, it's by no means a typical Nits album — helmed and mostly written as it is by keyboard player Robert Jan Stips, rather than regular frontman Henk Hofstede. But only listeners with an unreasoning dread of '70s-style rock and classical fusion need be deterred from this 57-minute piece for group and orchestra. Even that would be a little unfair, given that the lengthy instrumental sections — or "rooms" as they're called — are dominated by the orchestra and Stips' always lyrical piano, with nary a synthesizer wig-out or guitar solo to be found. What's more, Stips the composer demonstrates an impressive familiarity with many of the 20th century's more approachable figures, including Bartók, Gershwin, and Satie. There are occasional lapses into discord and pretension (though "Silence, Solo for Conductor" was mercifully omitted from the recording, "Room for Percussion" will try most listeners' patience), yet for the most part Stips keeps things aloft with his command of melody and orchestral color, along with the occasional splash of humor and pastiche. Interspersed among the orchestral sections are a number of more conventional Nits songs, including "Night Fall" and "Cars and Cars" from Ting, both of which benefit from an added orchestral dimension. For all that the piece is divided up into the aforementioned "rooms," however, there's little in the way of structural unity to be found. Not one for the Nits newcomer, then, but an admirable demonstration of the pioneering spirit that has kept the band sounding so remarkably fresh for so very long.

The Nits' first release after leaving Sony, Wool is a fine album characterized by an autumnal mood and, for the first time, more than a hint of jazz. Founding members Henk Hofstede and Rob Kloet are augmented not only by the usual corps of semi-permanent backing musicians, but by the soulful vocals of Leona Phillippo, a string quartet, and a horn section. Perhaps unwisely, the album opens with its three strongest tracks. "Ivory Boy," whose lyrics were inspired by a fan of the band who died of cancer, is one of the most startlingly beautiful and original songs in the Nits' repertoire. As he approached 50, Hofstede's voice was starting to acquire a smoky intensity and has rarely sounded better than it does here. An extraordinarily intense string arrangement, in which soaring harmony emerges from strident discord, brings "Ivory Boy" to a breathtaking close. "Walking with Maria," with its altogether more comforting strings and a languorous flügelhorn solo, has the timeless feel of a jazz standard, while the sparse "26A (Clouds in the Sky)" features some stratospheric improvising by Phillippo and a unique electronic effect on her voice that gradually s-t-r-e-t-c-h-e-s out the phrasing without affecting the pitch. These may be Wool's high points, but there's still plenty more to enjoy in what follows. Most of the tracks are characterized by a jazz-tinged drowsiness that never quite settles into an easy listening rut. "Crime and Punishment" is an exception, with its Arabic saz solo introducing a meditation on terrorism that some listeners might find ill-judged at best and simple-minded at worst. "I cannot understand why they blew up a car/With a man and his wife," sings Hofstede, and who could argue? The album's melancholy mood is finally shattered by the frenetic closing track, "Frog," which sounds a little too much like a last-ditch attempt to dispel the gathering gloom, and certainly belongs to another album.

Expectations for 1974, named after the year of the band's formation, were raised by the news that keyboard player Robert Jan Stips was back on board after a two-album absence. How to explain, then, that with a star player back on the team, the Nits turned in one of their most lacklustre performances to date. Clearly aiming for something more spontaneous and playful than 2000s somewhat solemn Wool, they ended up instead with something that often sounds alarmingly half-baked. Much of the blame for this must attach to the material — 1974 contains some of the band's flimsiest songs since 1994's Da Da Da. "Athens," "Espresso Girl," and "Savoy" (with its embarrassingly wacky lyrics about a rabbit and sampled snuffling noises) border on self-parody, while Stips' "Welcome Home" is arguably the most humdrum song ever recorded by the Nits. It's just possible that Henk Hofstede was fresh out of top-drawer material, having recently used up some of his strongest melodies in years for the solo Dutch-language project Het Draagbare Huis. Yet what's especially disappointing is the way that even the album's strongest tracks are hamstrung by slapdash arrangements, or promising ideas that simply aren't developed. "Chain of Ifs" begins with a jaunty piano figure that recalls the heyday of Harry Nilsson, yet it's no compensation for the threadbare melody that follows. Similarly, "Canigo" and "Espresso Girl" sound as though Hofstede was merely improvising a tune over an already existing groove. "Rumspringa" starts off like some kind of electronic hoedown before it too peters out, while the Arabic-tinged "Eifersucht" — a great hit with live audiences that sometimes incorporated a snatch of the Beatles' "Within You, Without You" — frustratingly stops dead after only two-and-a-half minutes (compared with the lifeless Athens' interminable five minutes). Only "Between the Buttons" should be guaranteed a place on any future "Best Of" compilations. Here, at least, you get the impression that actual sweat had been expended on crafting both melody and arrangement. Early pressings of the album came with a free, six-track DVD of live performances from 1982-2000.

Bands who release one of their very best records in the 31st year of their existence are scarce indeed, but that's exactly what the Nits pulled off with Les Nuits. Where its predecessor, 1974, gave the impression of being too much the result of studio improvisation, with little in the way of embellishment to cover the cracks, Les Nuits sounds like the product of a great deal of thought — and no little heart. Its centerpiece is a trilogy of songs — "The Laundrette," "The Pizzeria," "The Keyshop (War and Peace)" — inspired by the assassination of outspoken filmmaker Theo Van Gogh in the street near lead singer Henk Hofstede's Amsterdam home. Hofstede's lyrics contrast the banality of an everyday scene with the unimaginable horror of the shooting, at one point spinning off into the realm of magical realism before coming back to earth with the life-affirming "Keyshop," with its tip of the hat to "Penny Lane." Arguably the album's most memorable track, however, is "The Rising Sun," in which Hofstede's falsetto blends to eerie effect with Robert Jan Stips' howling synth to create something both plaintive and utterly distinctive. On 1974, Stips, who had recently rejoined the Nits after a seven-year sabbatical, frequently sounded as though he were no longer sure what his role in the band was. A virtuoso of the old school, his overly ornate embellishments seemed to have been grafted on after the event, adding only clutter. Here his contributions, while less overtly eye-catching, add both texture and atmosphere, further enhanced by some elegant arrangements for the Mondriaan String Quartet. Rob Kloet's drums, too, have never sounded better, not least because he is playing — usually very softly — a replica of John Bonham's mighty Vistalite kit, miked to pick up every last brush stroke. One of the most distinctive and sensitive percussionists at work in rock today, Kloet truly surpasses himself on a track like "The Long Song," where his gentle improvisations offset superbly the stillness of the song. Most important of all, Hofstede is in prime form throughout, not just as a vocalist who can channel Lennon and Costello at will, but as a composer who can still surprise and delight even in his 55th year.

The prospect of an album's worth of music composed to accompany a video installation is probably enough to make most listeners' blood run cold. Traditionally, such projects are characterized by half-formed ambient doodles and fragments of songs that urgently need some kind of visual element to distract from their skeletal state. Such accusations can emphatically not be leveled at the first solo album by Nits frontman Henk Hofstede, which easily ranks with the parent group's best work. Though Dutch by birth, Hofstede had sensibly opted to broaden the band's appeal — ironically to almost everywhere but America and Great Britain — by using the lingua franca of English. The odd side project aside, Het Draagbare Huis (The Portable House) was his first attempt to write in his native language in a career stretching back some 28 years. Yet such is the hushed beauty of this meticulously realized music that mere language ceases to be an issue very quickly. The opening (title) track establishes the mood of dreamy intimacy that pervades much of the album: a languid bass riff underpins rippling pianos, melodica, theremin, synth brass, and brushed drums as Hofstede unfurls a plaintive melody. Playing most of the instruments himself throughout the album, Hofstede creates an utterly distinctive sound world in which delicately textured electronics and layered vocals intertwine. Most importantly, unlike most works whose provenance can be traced back to the world of conceptual art, Het Draagbare Huis is driven not by atmosphere but by melody. "Het Stenen Kind," for instance, begins like a solemn, centuries-old folk ballad, until a delightful instrumental passage in which mandolins and theremin harmonize suddenly whisks listeners away to a beach party on the moon. Of the 13 tracks here, only the concluding "Gebroken Ijs" sounds like a work in progress. But by then, most listeners will in any case have been utterly beguiled.