Iļģi have reached the big time in Latvian music. They have released a number of compact discs in recent years and have expanded from a strictly folklore group to something modern, worldly, and some might say, plain loud. So the release last year of Agrie gadi (The Early Years) could be seen as a way to (re)introduce people to Iļģi’s roots.

Agrie gadi is a two-CD compilation of various Iļģi songs from their inception in 1981 until 1991, along with a re-release of their 1993 recording, Rāmi rāmi. Being a long-time Iļģi fan myself, I find the evolution of their music wonderful and amazing. Their sound has dramatically changed since 1981, but the type and content of the folk songs they choose has stayed remarkably similar throughout the years. Because there are very few recordings of Iļģi’s early music, Agrie gadi finishes a circle, finally linking the past to the present and vice versa.

If there’s one word to describe the early Iļģi sound, it’s dreamy. Listening to Agrie gadi, you may at times feel as if you’re intruding on an intimate and private gathering of musician friends. Almost the only accompaniment on the first CD (1981-1991) is the traditional kokle. The songs have a beautiful, otherworldly, almost choral sound, although there is often little vocal harmony. The voices are strong, but delicate, and for most songs the entire ensemble sings and you don’t hear the full force of Ilga Reizniece’s voice (whether that’s for the better or worse is up to you), who has always been the heart of Iļģi.

The more lively “Kad maņ beja bolta puče” and the līgo song “Saule brida miglājos” are a couple of exceptions to the reverie of the first CD. The latter song relies on only two notes—and only Iļģi can give a two-note melody such style! The first CD also includes a very simple yet dramatic rendition of “Ar laiviņu ielaidos,” a favorite song of many Latvians. Otherwise, most of the songs are fairly unknown.

Despite the title Rāmi rāmi, which means calm, gentle or quiet, the second CD has a slightly (but only slightly) heavier sound and more variety than the first CD. The kokle, the main instrument on Rāmi rāmi, is again splendid.  Many of the songs are sorrowful and intricately ornamented, such as the title song, “Rāmi rāmi,” as well as “Kas to teica,” “Kam tie tādi kumeliņi,” and “Kūkleites kūklēja.”

“Sveša mote mani sauce,” “Ozols auga jūrmalā,” and “Situ koku” have a similar sound with drums and strong bass lines. “Skaista mana brāļa sēta” is another beautifully arranged yet extremely simple song, this time with the main melody consisting of only three notes. “Zīdi zīdi” demonstrates an interesting traditional way of singing, where the words are almost declared rather than sung. Unfortunately, the last song, “Stādīju ieviņu,” seems a bit lackluster and monotonous.

For those who know Iļģi only from their last couple of recordings, Agrie gadi will definitely be a change.  But it’s a pleasant change, a change for the calmer and quieter. For those who have been following Iļģi’s music since the 1980s, many of the songs may be familiar, particularly on the Rāmi rāmi CD, but it sure is nice to finally have a fresh replacement for those old tapes.

The Agrie gadi songs cover a range of topics, although Iļģi definitely have an affinity for the more mythical and mystical lyrics, as well as the minor keys. No light dance music here. And also no accordion, thankfully, which is heard on almost all folk recordings lately.

Even back in the early days Iļģi did more than just play and sing a folk song. They crafted it into a true piece of musical art.

Laiksne specializes in the music of eastern Latvia, and all of the songs on Kyukova dzagyuze (The Cuckoo Called) are sung in the Latgallian dialect. None of the singers is a native speaker of the dialect, but they do a good job. They have employed linguistic consultants, as well as specialists in traditional singing and music, and the result is a very professional recording.

Laiksne’s style of singing is not "rough." It is not the almost-shouting style of singing that some people associate with songs in dialect. The five young women (Lauma Garkalne, Dina Kalniņa, Dace Prūse, Baiba Suško and Vineta Romāne) are all very strong singers with rich, beautiful voices. If you happen to have heard Bolta eimu, the third album in UPE’s Latvian Folk Music Collection featuring the music of Biruta Ozoliņa, then you will understand when I say that Kyukova dzagyuze sounds much like Biruta Ozoliņa times five—and turned up a notch or two in volume and in the variety of instruments.

The recording begins with "Zynu, zynu brūļu sātu," a dreamy song that does not mention the namesake of the album, the cuckoo, but speaks nonetheless about the heartache a grown daughter has for her childhood home.

The album is built around the theme of the cuckoo, a bird that is associated with sorrow, heartache and ill fortune in Latvian—and especially Latgallian—folklore. The cuckoo motif shows up in funeral songs, but also in many wedding songs, because marriage was thought of as a type of death (the woman left a relatively carefree life with her family and was "reborn" into a harsher life as a young wife in her husband’s home). Kyukova dzagyuze focuses on these wedding songs referring to the cuckoo. They are a very appropriate theme for a group of young women, and Laiksne has selected the songs and arranged them very well.

The calmer, slower songs—such as "Kyukova dzagyuze," "Kū es beju sarībuse," "Tymsā dzymu, tymsā augu," and "Kyukoj ōra dzagyuzeite"—all tend to have that dreamy feel to them. Considering the usually heavy emotion in these songs, some sound surprisingly light. "Vanadzenis tupēja" is least like the rest, reminding me of the Lithaunian "sutartine" singing style. Every time I listen to the compact disc I seem to pick out a new favorite song: "Mani mōte radeja," "Palākais vanadzeni," "Tōli mani tēvs atdeve"…

Laiksne is usually considered a "post folklore" group, but they’re not rocky, plugged in or too far out there. In fact, despite the careful arrangements, I would consider their music quite traditional. The accompaniments are heavy on the kokle, the ancient Baltic stringed instrument, but Laiksne also play violin, whistles, bass, drum and bagpipe. A cool switch from major to minor key in "Tev mōseņ zeile vēsti nese" caught my ear as something unusual, but otherwise the harmonies and arrangements do not travel far from the Latvian singing tradition.

For the most part the Kyukova dzagyuze songs are not well-known, but they definitely grow on you and provide for good and beautiful listening.

The best advertisement for Labrītiņi, rītiņā is our 4-year-old son. He just loves it! He’s fascinated by the songs and rhymes and the children who sing them. Right away he recognized the couple of pieces that were already in our family’s repertoire, and he has since picked up several more. In fact, when the compact disc comes to an end and I go to put in another one, he protests. Every time. Need any more reason to get this recording?

The children singing on Labrītiņi, rītiņā are plain, regular kids, aged about three to six, from a school in Jūrmala, Latvia. Actually, they are all pupils of Ilga Reizniece of the world music band Iļģi. On this recording Reizniece also provides many of the accompaniments, as well as a vocal motherly nudge here and there.

The CD doesn’t sound so much as a performance as it sounds like walking into a room of preschoolers going about their daily activities. They sing songs and tell rhymes, sometimes giggling in between: jājam, jājam mēs ar zirgu… cepu, cepu kukulīti… ar vilciņu Rīgā braucu… dop, dop Rīgā… vāru, vāru putriņu… sitam plaukstiņas… sīkas, mazas meitenītes… kur tad tu nu biji, āzīti manu?… Dievs nosvieda bumbuli zemē… etc.

Labrītiņi, rītiņā does not try to make recording artists out of young children. Just the opposite: the idea behind this project is to have the children and their performance of the songs sound as natural as possible. So, no synthesizers and drum sets. Out-of-tune notes and changes in tempo are forgiven. The shy child is helped along by the teacher. This is not the Rīga Dome Boys’ Choir or the poppy Neparastie rīdzinieki, nor does it try to compare with them.

Instead of the elaborate (and often annoying) arrangements so common on many Latvian children’s recordings, the arrangements on Labrītiņi, rītiņā are appropriately simple and unobtrusive. A kokle here, a guitar there, a quiet whistle or drum is all. The words can be understood fairly well, but all the texts are written in the liner notes so that it’s easy to follow along and learn the songs. The translations are good, with the exception of a couple of odd words. For those who do not know Latvian, the texts will probably often sound silly or senseless. But keep in mind that many of the rhymes are actually little finger or lap games with accompanying motions, kind of like "This little piggy went to market."

Reizniece stresses that folklore is inseparable from everyday life, that folklore is life. She writes: "Folklore has never been a school subject; it’s the very life of our ancestors simply given a foreign name. And if it is not lived daily, but once or twice a week for half an hour, it can remain incomprehensible and unloved." With this recording parents can help to make traditional Latvian songs and rhymes a part of their children’s—and their own—everyday lives.

Although it’s the perfect thing for young children, I honestly don’t know whether I would listen to this CD much if I had no children. That’s probably because I’m just not one of those people who finds young children irresistably cute (except my own, of course!). But, even though I’m not a "cute" person, the cuteness of several of the tracks has really grown on me.

Labrītiņi, rītiņā definitely has children’s appeal. A former Latvian school director I recently spoke to suggested that every Latvian school and family with young children ought to have this CD.