Modern interpretation of the most beautiful Latvian folk songs? Being that I like my folk music to be fairly traditional, I’ll admit that I was a bit skeptical when I first heard about UPE’s collection Skaistākās dziesmas (The Most Beautiful Songs). Curious, but skeptical.

But the album started off just right, with Ainars Mielavs’ (the founder of UPE and lead singer of the pop group Jauns Mēness) distinctive voice singing “Tumša nakte, zala zale”—a favorite in our family. The next song, “Sarkandaiļa roze auga,” was an old favorite of my mother’s (and therefore also often heard at our house), albeit with a variation in the lyrics. Should I have been surprised that those two songs were also somebody else’s favorites?

The songs on Skaistākās dziesmas stand on their own, which is probably why they’re considered favorites by so many people. In other words, the songs’ beauty does not rely on elaborate vocal arrangements and instrumentations, but rather only on the traditional melody and text. In fact, only “Tōli dzeivoj muna meilō” has a sung harmony.

There’s no question that Latvians like songs in minor keys and sad lyrics! There are plenty of examples on Skaistākās dziesmas. I guess the minor keys “speak to our souls.” It’s funny, though: in our folk music not all songs in minor keys are sad. It’s also kind of odd that a third of the songs on this album have to do with war. Maybe that’s because Latvia has experienced so much of it. In any case, Skaistākās dziesmas covers a large spectrum of songs.

“Jūrā gāju naudu sēti” and “Div dūjiņas” are sorrowful songs about drowning and war, while “Čuči, guli, līgaviņa” is a tender lullaby and love song. “Visu dienu bites dzinu” is one of hundreds of orphan songs. “Snieg sniedziņis, putināja” and “Tumša nakte, zaļa zāle” are about the horse, a Latvian’s favorite animal. “Saulīt vēlu vakarā” is possibly the all-time favorite Latvian folk song. “Caur sidraba birzi gāju” is definitely not one of my favorites (it reminds me of singing class at the obligatory Latvian school every Saturday morning of my childhood), but it is very widely known. “Es izjāju prūšu zemi” sounds conspicuously like Jauns Mēness, and although a very catchy tune, seems slightly out of place on this compilation. Maybe it was included for the sake of variety. The more I listen to the album, though, the more I’m beginning to like “Es izjāju.” Could be that Mielavs and Ilga Reizniece are on to something!

Mielavs and Reizniece (of the post-folk group Iļģi) collaborated on choosing the songs for this very personal project. Any more people and the songs probably would not have fit together as well as they do. But what a daunting job: to come up with a dozen or so marketable favorites out of literally thousands upon thousands of folk songs. How do you maintain objectivity and yet remain true to your own aesthetic sense? After all, my own list of the most beautiful Latvian folk songs would be quite different, and so would yours (which is why I call this such a personal project). In any case, Mielavs and Reizniece have done a good job. The more you listen to Skaistākās dziesmas the more it grows on you.

All of the selections on the album are “interpretations of Latvian folk songs in the year 2000.” But that does not mean rock or pop. It means that the guitar, which is definitely not a traditional Baltic folk instrument, provides the only accompaniment to the songs. (After many listenings, though, I think I heard a kokle in one isolated spot. The kokle is a very traditional instrument.) The acoustic guitar’s calming and peaceful strums, though, lend themselves well to these serene songs. “Modern interpretation” also means that the singers are not specialists in folklore; they’re normal, everyday people like you and me (except that they make a living singing and composing modern music). In fact, the liner notes hint that the singers—including such pop artists as Ingus Ulmanis and Rolands Ūdris—are new to singing these timeless folk songs.

But don’t expect much gusto. This is more of a nostalgic, easy-listening, background-music album, rather than a “catch-you-by-the-collar-and-demand-all-of-your-attention” album. Except for the two or three more lively men’s songs, the acoustic guitar and mild voices pretty much all blend into one another. Although I realize that it’s largely a matter of singing style, some of the singers could enunciate their words a bit better. In part, it is this weaker enunciation that makes some of the songs sound nonchalant.

The pleasant and subdued voices of Skaistākās dziesmas sing very nice, comforting folk songs. It almost sounds like a few friends getting together over a glass of wine and then pulling out the guitar and singing for themselves (in Latvian: savā nodabā) the quiet old favorites that bring back memories. These are favorites pretty much the way you and I sing them—no fancy accompaniments, no messing around with melodies or texts, no embellishments. You’ll be able to sing along to this album right off the bat, and there will hardly be any new texts to learn. If you happen to not recognize some of the songs, this is the perfect album for learning them, because the songs are sung very straight-forward, and all of the texts are written in the liner notes. The liner note translations, though, should have been proofread for spelling errors and awkward expressions, and I’d also like the liner notes to show who sings which song.

It surprised me a bit to see that Dzelzīm dzimu, the latest album in UPE Recording Co.‘s “Latvian Folk Music Collection,” features Vilki (The Wolves), a controversial folklore group that specializes in warrior songs.

Vilki seem to be a group more interested in “doing” rather than “recording”—that is, researching and actually acting out and living the ancient customs and rituals, rather than sitting in a modern recording studio. Vilki concentrate on the past, and not just musically. They’re interested in the whole warrior culture—from the very oldest times to modern times, too—but especially in the culture of about 1,000 years ago, before the forced conversion of Latvians to Christianity. This particular recording focuses on these oldest of Latvian warrior songs from the medieval times and before (no mention of guns and artillery—here it’s only about swords and war horses!)

Notwithstanding this, the result of Vilki’s foray into the studio is powerful. The quality of the songs is high and (it sounds to me) authentic. Every last one of the songs is about war. But even if war isn’t your thing, this is riveting and inspiring music. It’s stark, strong, even chilling. The music does a remarkable job of evoking the power, sadness and uncertainty of war, as well as the excitement of adventure and joyfullness of prancing horses. But luckily, most people who listen to Dzelzīm dzimu are not doing so to get into the mood for going off to war—they’re just listening to good music.

Considering that the subject matter and aura of most of this music are very similar, Vilki have come up with quite a variety of sounds: driving drums, small whistles, a war horn, an assortment of bangles. The listener is taken from the haunting sounds of the first song, “Ko domāji, tu kundziņi,” to the loud bagpipes of “Novītusi tā puķīte,” to the gentle strum of the kokle on “Div’ baloži”; from the intense “Šķiramies, brāleliņi” and mighty “Lustīt mana” to the almost dreamy “Uz tiem laukiem” and sorrowful “Kas tie tādi.”  Inbetween is the relatively bright and spirited “Kaŗavīra līgaviņa.”  One hears the persevering beat of “Zviegtin zviedza” and the subtle bass of the ģīga on the heavyhearted “Māte mani lolodama.” “Cīrulīti, mazputniņi” is a melancholy solo, while “Visi kauli noguruši” and “Sadziedami, mēs bāliņi” are forceful a capella pieces.

The arrangements are simple yet sophisticated. Vilki rely heavily on fifth intervals for vocal harmonies, giving the music an appropriate “primitive” feel, and only in two places did my ears perk up at hearing an unconventional harmony. About half of the songs on Dzelzīm dzimu are already on the 1997 cassette by Vilki, also called Dzelzīm dzimu. But at least it sounds like the old songs have been newly or freshly recorded. The compact disc sounds much more professional than the cassette.

It seems that the fad in folk music is to introduce modern elements and ingredients from other cultures. Vilki, though, have stayed true to the old music. They’ve stuck to traditional instruments, melodies and texts. And it’s well they have. It’s not even appropriate for warrior music to have much accompaniment besides drums, because you don’t take your fancy musical instruments along to war. But despite the bareness of this music, the effect is good. It’s dark and heavy, and in it one truly feels the somber nature of war. This is powerful music—it sent a few good shivers up my back!

Obviously, these songs have powerful lyrics. Powerful in the emotional sense, but also texts that are meant to bring and concentrate strength—magic spells and rituals, if you will. Unfortunately, the English translations in the Dzelzīm dzimu liner notes are poor. For the most part they can be forgiven, but I feel that the translation of “Uz kariņu aiziedams” is not just poor, but wrong (and in this case, not for a lack of knowledge of English). The child in the song is not the soldier’s fiancee’s child by another man, but rather the soldier’s own sister, who has grown into a young woman while he was away at war.

Despite a comment I heard that Dzelzīm dzimu sounds like a funeral dirge, this is a good, strong and powerful recording for those who like very traditional folk music with a primitive sound and natural “oompf.” Those who like to pore over every last word of liner notes, though, may find the English text on Dzelzīm dzimu to be less informative than notes on previous UPE recordings.

After a visit from his grandparents, many sugary foods and being cooped up in the house for a long, rainy afternoon, our two-year-old was definitely overstimulated. He was having a tantrum just as I put this compact disc in to listen to for the first time. By the third or fourth song, he had quieted down and was playing and babbling by himself. I like to think it was this music that calmed him. And it really might have been. After all, these are lullabies, time-tested melodies that are specifically meant to calm a baby.

The first song on this newest album in the Latvian Folk Music Collection, Šūpuļdziesmas (Lullabies), is slow to develop. But, then, lullabies are supposed to put you to sleep, aren’t they? I don’t mean that as a criticism—actually, I think this is a beautiful recording! This album is produced by Ilga Reizniece and Māris Muktupāvels, both of the post-folklore group Iļģi. Although Iļģi have moved on to much more modern and upbeat renderings of Latvian folk tunes, this album reminds one of their earliest recordings. It is simple, traditional, meditative and, above all, very calming.

Šūpuļdziesmas sounds very “live”—it often seems like you’re right there on the bed next to the child being sung to. The singers sometimes repeat verses, improvise, hum—just as any mother does when her child has not yet fallen asleep by the end of the song.

Many of the songs are accompanied by only one instrument. A full third of them are sung a capella. A couple of the songs, for example “Aijā, Ancīt’, aijā,” are new arrangements, but most are just simple, straight-forward lullabies. It is, for the most part, not the typical lullaby repertoire that most Latvians in North America heard as young children, but they are all bona fide traditional Latvian melodies and texts. The liner notes tell of the hope that these lesser known lullabies will not take the place of our “old favorites,” but rather inspire us to learn new ones.

The lullabies on this album are sung and accompanied by well-known musicians in the the Latvian folk and folk/rock scene. My favorite is Biruta Ozoliņa, who has a whole album (Bolta eimu) devoted to her music in the Latvian Folk Music Collection. Her voice just seems so perfect for this. She sings, as usual, in the Latgalian dialect. I was happy to hear “Aijā, žūžu, lāča bērni” and “Pele brauc, rati čīkst” sung by men and fathers. When a child’s name is called for in certain lullabies, the singers name their own children, giving the songs a truly personal touch.

My only complaint about this album is the use of the synthesizer on a few of the tracks. It’s fairly inconspicuous on the first and last songs, but I really don’t like the trite New Age feeling of calmness that it is trying to evoke on “Velc, pelīte, bērnam miegu.” It’s a beautiful song, but the accompaniment kind of ruins it.

Interestingly, songs No.1 (”Čuči, guli, mazbērniņš”) and No. 12 (”Čuči, guli, mozi bērni”) are so similar that I had to compare them several times before figuring out that they are two different melodies. No. 1 is in fact a song that Iļģi recorded back in 1987 and 1989. The arrangement, though, has changed a bit. Those older Ilgi recordings of lullabies placed more emphasis on the instruments, and the vocals were more arranged. Their lullabies back then seemed to be arranged more for performance than the Šūpuļdziesmas album.

I tried playing this CD several days later when our son was again in a really irritable mood, this time specifically to see if the music would calm him. And it worked again! This time, about half way through the album, he even said, “Mamma, I want to be in that song.” Wow!

For you Latvians out there, this album will give you some simple, fresh ideas to expand your lullaby repertoire (in case you’re sick of “Aijā, žūžu”). Sing them to your child, your dog, yourself or your significant other.

For everyone else, put this CD in at the end of a long day and just enjoy the relaxing music!