Many people are quick to heap praise on conductor Māris Sirmais and his work with the State Choir Latvija, and with good reason. They have achieved laurels worldwide, and have released many noteworthy recordings. In 2008, Sirmais and Latvija released yet another excellent and significant collection of choir songs, No Baltijas krasta / From the Baltic Coast.

No Baltijas krasta collects some of the best choir work by noteworthy Latvian, Lithuanian and Estonian composers.

Of particular note is the recording of Latvian-Canadian composer Imants Ramiņš’ arrangement of the Latvian folk song “Pūt, vējiņi!” Differing from the traditional arrangement by Andrejs Jurjāns, this version has a subtly different melody and adds the rarely heard sixth verse, “Pats precēju līgaviņu, Tēvs, māmiņa nezināj’” (I wed my own bride, asking neither mother’s nor father’s leave). I am rather surprised that this extra verse is not normally heard, as it adds a bit of context to the song itself (about a man not being given permission by a girl’s mother to marry her). One of the most beautiful of Latvian songs is given a fresh and memorable look by Ramiņš, as well as soprano soloist Sanita Sinkēviča.

From Catholic Lithuania we are given the very spiritual “Pater Noster” by Vytautas Miškinis, who specializes in musical arrangements of religious texts. The piece begins quietly, rises to a crescendo, then, as the prayer is delivered, closes with a barely audible “Amen.” Miškinis displays his innate ability to transform these Latin texts into powerful works of music, magnificently assisted by Sirmais and the choir.

Latvia is also represented by the very spiritual Pēteris Vasks and one of his most famous choir works, the ominous “Māte saule,” with lyrics by Jānis Peters. The text at first glance seems to be simply about a new day breaking and about baking bread, but becomes a powerful statement on eternity with the music of Vasks, giving the sense that humanity itself is hanging in the balance.

If “Māte saule” can be called ominous, then “Raua needmine” (Curse Upon Iron) by Estonian composer Veljo Tormis is downright sinister, if not terrifying. The text is full of violent imagery of weaponry and death—and the music requires a heroic effort by tenor soloist Juris Jēkabsons, as well as bass soloist Zigmārs Grasis.

Besides the aforementioned works, the CD contains recordings of works by Ēriks Ešenvalds, Arvo Pärt, Rihards Dubra, Pēters Butāns and Georgs Pelēcis, covering the broad spectrum of Baltic composers and their styles.

No Baltijas krasta is one of the best and most valuable choir music collections I have heard. So much great music has come from the Baltic countries that to narrow it down to one single album is not possible, but as an overview of modern Baltic choir music, this CD is second to none. Thanks to the tireless efforts and artistic talent of conductor Sirmais and the State Choir Latvija, we, the listeners, are blessed.

Among characters in Rūgtais vīns are Ralfs (played by Normunds Laizāns), Agnese (played by Agnese Zeltiņa) and Donats (played by Kaspars Znotiņš).

Many “character-driven” Latvian films wind up being rather ponderous. The films feature many tortured souls (Nerunā par to, Augstuma robeža and Amatieris come to mind), but they don’t make the stories compelling. In fact, the characters wind up being more irritating than tortured, and one loses interest in whatever happens to them. Something similar happens in the 2007 film Rūgtais vīns (The Bitter Wine), directed by Rolands Kalniņš, written by Jānis Jurkāns, and available on DVD.

The story is about a guy named Donats (played by Kaspars Znotiņš), described in the film’s summary as a “modern day Don Juan,” which I suppose is true as the film gets divided into multiple episodes, each dealing with Donats and one of five girlfriends.

The film is described as a melodrama, which by definition should be a film with amplified, even exaggerated, emotions. However, since many of the characters in the movie (and in many other Latvian films) talk like robots, with little or no emotion, I’m not so sure I would call it a melodrama. The main question I had at the end of the film is how Donats, who exhibits minimal personal charm, and whose emotions seem to limited to the tiny space between not smiling and faintly smiling, is able to have so many women fall for him. Must be some really powerful pheromones, I guess.

Donats apparently drives all women who come into contact with him mad, including Baņuta, played by Rēzija Kalniņa; the artist Anna, played by Aurēlija Anužīte-Lauciņa; the older Regīna, played by Regīna Razuma; and even Ieva, played by young singer and saxophonist Liene Šomase. However, he seems to have been stymied by Agnese (played by Agnese Zeltiņa), his boss at the graphic design studio where he works. Agnese appears to be an unrealized conquest, but that is likely due to her overprotective and jealous husband Ralfs (played by Normunds Laizāns), a very successful, if slightly menacing, architect who sports curious fashions combos, like a grey suit, purple shirt, and black and white tie.

The film’s climax comes as Ralfs gets progressively more and more jealous of Donats (with one scene of Ralfs angrily playing pool to drive the point home) and then makes a few ominous but vague threats of poisoning. Donats backs off, but I am not really sure, because the ending is ambiguous.

The only character who exhibits something close to a personality is Donats’ older and wiser colleague Varis (played by Pēteris Liepiņš), who halfheartedly suggests to Donats to change his ways, but looks on in amusement as the situation between Donats and Agnese develops. There is also what I assume to be an homage to Federico Fellini’s La Dolce Vita, with a similar fountain bathing scene involving saxophonist Ieva.

The film is short, but those 80 minutes go by pretty slowly. I hesitate to call the film tedious, as it does try to analyze all of its characters and tries to show that Donats is doomed to unhappiness as he juggles these five relationships. But, by the end, it remains unclear if he repents or suffers for his “sins.” Even W. A. Mozart threw his Don Giovanni into the depths of hell at the end of the opera, but nothing so dramatic or interesting happens in Rūgtais vīns. Donats seems to just glide between all of his relationships, with none of them appearing to be at all fulfilling or satisfying. Perhaps that is the point. He is supposedly a passionate lover for Baņuta, who complains about the inept flirting of the men at her workplace, but their conversations wind up being rather banal, with them halfheartedly discussing a ski trip to Norway. Baņuta offers vague compliments. “Dažreiz tu esi jauks” (Sometimes you are nice) is about the most passionate and emotional thing she says—not that Donats says anything more romantic. Baņuta then disappears from the screen, never to return or even be mentioned again, begging the question of why was she there in the first place?

What is the point of this film? I am not really sure. Znotiņš surely is an excellent actor, but this dreary dialogue and the minimal emotion he is allowed to express do him no favors. Why does he have all these girlfriends? Is he happy or unhappy? Will he ever change, or will he continue to bounce around among many women? Who really is Donats? Where did Ralfs get that fabulous purple shirt? I don’t know the answer to any of these questions. For all of his supposed charm, Donats seems like a rather empty guy, which makes for a rather empty movie.