Kessels Museum - Tilburg

If someone had told me that I would end up in Tilburg not because of a museum, but because of an old friend and I would end up playing the clarinet in front of a group of children, I would have calmly asked him “And when exactly did I sign a script for a comedy with a budget of three euros and zero grams of prestige?”. But that's what happened... I ended up at the Kessels Museum, where the industrial past and the musical present meet in an almost surreal experience with the aroma of brass instruments and a slight embarrassment at my own lack of musical talent.

Kessels Museum is not one of those museums where you drift through sterile corridors with a hushed tone and false respect. It isn't. This is a place that lives. It breathes through old harmoniums, screams through rusty cymbals, and whispers stories to you from a time when music wasn't just a backdrop for Instagram stories, but art produced with hands, sweat, and metal. Located in the Huis van Muziek - the former Royal Harmony building, right next to the train station - the place seems to invite you to come in... and get... stupid. Which I willingly did.

The story? Oh, it begins long before my humble musical improvisation. Back in 1890, Mathieu Kessels, a dude with a vision and a weakness for sheet music, decided it was time for Holland to have its own music factory. What followed were years of prosperity, hundreds of thousands of instruments produced, over 450 employees, and a cultural revolution that at one point even exceeded the imaginations of his contemporaries. The factory closed in 1956, but the magic didn't die, it was just waiting for a new home to revive it. That home today is more than a museum. It is a laboratory, a stage, an archive and a stage for self-irony. As I waited for my friend, who was not only late, but clearly not ready to meet such a cultural masterpiece (or me after coffee 3), I decided to go in. The result? Participation in Kids MuziekLab, where I pulled out a clarinet, blew, and sounded like a mix between a broken toaster and a scared owl. The kids didn't judge me. Most even chose to ignore what happened. Heroes.

The collection isn't just extensive, it has bronze brass, keyboard monsters, strange string creatures, and even prototypes that never saw a concert stage. Among them, old sheet music, rusty instruments, and a typewriter that could probably spell my name with a note key error. The pictures on the walls, the instruments with faded lettering, all reminders that music was once a craft, not just plug-and-play from SoundCloud. Particularly impressive is the restoration studio. Imagine a place where saxophones are restored with more care than human connections. The craftsmen work live in front of you - precise, patient, and with an attitude that even waiters in Amsterdam's finest establishments lack.

But let's not underestimate the atmosphere. This is not a museum that takes itself seriously. It's a place that says, “Yes, we have a history, but if you want, take the drum and make your own,” and lets you do it. Events like Zolderconcerts, themed exhibitions and even city tours where the storytellers sound more like enthusiastic musical archaeologists give the museum a vibrant pulse that doesn't let up after closing.

The idea that you can create your own curatorial choices through a DIY archive, experimenting with combinations of notes, stories and photographs - this is now a next-generation museum. Nothing to do with the dusty showcases of the 90s. And the best part? It's all 150 metres from the station. No unnecessary transfers, no google mobs to the max, no desperate queries to random passers-by. You walk in, play, shame yourself (or discover a new talent - it's a 50/50 chance), have a coffee at De Harmonie, and wonder why you ever thought museums were boring. And if you're asking if meeting my friend happened - yes. She came after my whole musical odyssey. I waited for her in the hallway of the museum, a trail of flute dust on my sleeve. She looked at me and said, “What have you been up to?” I replied, “History, nostalgia, and minor damage to children's hearing.” she laughed. For the first time in months I felt like I was in the right key.