Putnu dziesmas is a strange little recording. It is a collection of children’s songs about birds. But between the songs one hears not only actual recordings of real bird songs, but also the bird song imitations and interpretations (“bird languages”) that have become a part of Latvian folklore. Think “chick-a-dee-dee-dee” and “whip-poor-will.”

Thus, the compact disc includes a great variety, from the long songs “Meža malā klausījos,” “Zvirbuli zvirbuli” and “Visi putni skaisti dzied,” to the standards “Kur Tu teci gailīti mans” and “Skaisti dziedi lakstīgala,” to the very short bunting’s, chaffinch’s and cuckoo’s ditties. The credits on the liner notes even mention an ornithologist, so Putnu dziesmas is obviously well-researched.

The style of Putnu dziesmas is quite similar to Labrītiņi rītiņā, another album in UPE Recording Co.‘s “Latvian Folk Music Collection.” Both reflect the vision of Ilga Reizniece, who also produced both CDs. Following Reizniece’s philosophy that children’s music should be very natural and not pretentious or over-produced, Putnu dziesmas has simple arrangements: kokle, violin, guitar, and whistles—but no synthesizers. All of the songs and verses are sung and said by normal, everyday young children, complete with giggles here and there. It sounds like they had fun during the recording process!

The kids are cute, but not overly so.  Still, Putnu dziesmas may not be for everyone. It fits well into our household, though, because our young children really pay attention to the children’s voices.

Although there truly are many songs and verses about birds in Latvian children’s folklore, many of those on Putnu dziesmas seem to be a bit less well-known, at least to Latvians outside Latvia. That said, I hope this recording will serve to introduce these songs to many children and adults, too.

What could be more Latvian than the kokle? Now there’s a whole double compact disc devoted to this traditional string instrument, recorded by kokle expert and virtuoso of our times, Valdis Muktupāvels.

Don’t dismiss this collection of music because it focuses on just one instrument—an instrument that, while very pleasing to the ear, can quickly grow monotonous. In fact, Muktupāvels has compiled quite a diverse collection of music. The first CD consists of Muktupāvels’ own compositions and is therefore more “modern.” The second CD contains only traditional folk tunes. You can conveniently choose music according to your mood: modern or traditional.

The first CD, named Muktukokles, is the more varied of the two. On it one hears not only the kokle, but various other instruments, as well as some singing by Muktupāvels’ wife, Rūta. Except for two arrangements of traditional songs, Muktukokles is all modern compositions. For the most part, though, they appeal to a “traditional ear.” They also appeal to connoiseurs of Indian-influenced music. The 11-minute “Dzeltenās lapas tumšajā straumē” and the 14-minute “Austrumu blūzs” feature the Indian sarod, tambura lute, and tabla drum, as well as the guitar.

A song that drew my attention was the beautiful “Prūšu vedību dziesma,” which is presumably sung in Old Prussian, a Baltic language that died out a couple hundred years ago. The Old Prussian language has long been a particular interest to Muktupāvels. Another interest of his is overtone singing, like that done by the throat singers of Central Asia, who can sing two and three tones at a time (listen for the low drone plus the high whistling sound). This is heard in the compostion “Skaņā,” the sometimes strange-sounding “Briežu balss” and the tender “Rasas šūpļadziesma.”

Towards the end of Muktukokles is the absolutely superb “Sēju rūtu,” a song about the fleeting nature of youth. “Austrumu blūzs” follows it: nice, calm music, but not too Latvian-sounding. The last song, “Ilgas,” is again heavier on the kokle and repeats motifs from the first song, “Rati” (Wheels), named for the around-and-around meditative quality of kokle music.

The second CD, Tradicionālās kokles, has more than twice as many songs as the first disc. Considering that all of the tunes are played only on the kokle, with no other accompaniment, there’s still quite a bit of variation. Many of the tunes are lively dances from Kurzeme and Latgale, and Muktupāvels plays so nimbly, intricately and lightly, that, according to the old clichˇ, they truly make one want to get up and dance. Some of the better known tunes include: “Mugurdancis,” “Koklītes koklēja,” “Malni muni kumeleni,” “Bērīts manis kumeliņš,” “Kūkleites skanēja,” “Pīci bēri kumeleni” and “Tumsa, tumsa, kas par tumsu.” Even if you’re not into the kokle, tabla beats and overtone singing as highlighted on the first CD, Muktupāvels’ recording is worth getting just for this second CD of folk tunes.

Definitely give this recording a chance. It sounds like much more than just 11 kokle strings!

I was told that Sirdsgrieži is much different from Biruta Ozoliņa’s earlier recording, Bolta eimu, so I was prepared for something different. Now I am preparing you.

But I don’t know exactly how to properly describe her new sound. Maybe easy listening? Maybe New Age lounge music?  Maybe something jazz-influenced? Because of the folk song content, though, it’s probably considered a type of world music. In any case, the main instruments on Sirdsgrieži are keyboard, bass and percussion. A couple of songs have the traditional kokle for flavor, but the instrument does not make those songs sound any more traditional.

At least the type of songs that Ozoliņa sings has not changed since 1999’s Bolta eimu. They are mostly songs about young women’s lives, with the emotions and doings of courtship and marriage predominating. Not all of the songs are sad—some are even slightly humorous—but the overall mood of the music has a hint of melancholy.

I, of course, particularly like the beginning of the song, “Deļ meiteņu rūzis zīd,” which features a field recording of Marija Golubova, an old Latgallian woman from whom it seems Ozoliņa has learned many songs. Ozoliņa continues the song with the same melody and text that Golubova sings, but takes great liberty in tempo, ornamentation and style. It is hard to decipher whether the other melodies on Sirdsgrieži are also traditional folk songs or Ozoliņa’s own compositions.

The men’s voices at the end of “Nūreib zeme” sound comical and out of place, but in fact do relate well to the lyrics of this light-hearted song. The jingles at the end of “Laimes muote” add a nice touch for the same reason, although I don’t care for the gurgling brook and other nature sounds here and there throughout the compact disc.

After a while all of the songs on Sirdsgrieži start to sound very similar and meld into one another. A few songs with their a capella or kokle beginnings seem at first to promise a change (“Deveņi buoleleņi” and “Par zylū zagiuzeiti”), but sure enough, the keyboard and bass kick in soon after that.

Despite not being too enthusiastic about this album, some of the songs have started to grow on me after listening to the CD several times. I have found that some of the melodies, for example “Pyut viejeņ” and “Pateik man,” get stuck in my head and I catch myself still humming them the following day and the day after that.

I like that the lyrics are written in the liner notes, because all of the songs on Sirdsgrieži are sung in the Latgallian dialect, which is not always easy for us non-Latgallians to understand. But otherwise there is sparse information about the songs or Ozoliņa herself. The notes do include a quote and short excerpt by popular author Nora Ikstena that hint at the emotions involved in developing this recording. Reading a recent Santa magazine interview with Ozoliņa, I learned that her life has not been easy and that this recording may mark a turning point in her life. After all, “sirdsgrieži,” a newly invented word meaning “heart solstice,” implies a time of extremes, a profound change, a turning point.

I have absolutely no complaints about Ozoliņa’s choice of songs or her singing style. It’s the same delicate, fragile, heartbreakingly beautiful voice as before, used this time with even more freedom. But I don’t care for the accompaniment. That said, the author of the above-mentioned interview was very impressed with Sirdsgrieži and enjoyed it very much. I guess it’s just a matter of taste.

Sirdsgrieži is contemporary, relaxing music that is pleasing to many, but not all, ears. Be forewarned, though, that it is completely different from Ozoliņa’s earlier music.