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.

Liene Šomase is a young Latvian singer who is attempting to forge her own path. Also a saxophone player, she first became known in 2006 with her hit song “Ugunskurs.” Not long after that, she joined singer Jānis Moisejs to record the album Pasaule ir skaista, with music by Raimonds Pauls and lyrics by Guntars Račs.

The few songs that I have heard from that album seemed to be simple melodies, as can be expected from Pauls, but generally what one might call bubblegum pop music—sickly sweet flavor to start, but with a taste that quickly disappears. Šomase’s latest compact disc, 2008’s Vardos nepateiktais, takes a different road.

Besides being Šomase’s first solo album, the music on Vardos nepateiktais has more of a hard rock sound to it. Her MySpace page lists artists Faith Hill and Shania Twain as influences—women who have very successfully mixed a country music sound with a harder rock sound. According to the MySpace page, Šomase “sounds like” other female artists Natalie Imbruglia, Avril Lavigne, Pink and, very curiously, Madonna (that one I can’t see at all!).

Highlights of the album include the up-tempo opener, “Jauna diena,” as well as the song “Klauns (dzīve nav rožu lauks).”

The obligatory track in English, “Get Over It,” is a rather harsh break-up song, featuring lyrics like “If you get the urge to call me, you can call me history.” The poor guy must have messed up pretty bad to get this sort of treatment!

Šomase’s first hit, “Ugunskurs,” is also here. The song is certainly more in a šlāger vein than the other tracks, though certainly still catchy.

One needs only to look at the album liner notes to see that the cavalry has been called in to work on this album. Tracks have been penned by a number of heavyweight songwriters, including lyricist Račs, former Līvi guitarist Ainārs Virga, singer-songwriter Mārtiņš Freimanis of Tumsa, as well as singer Lauris Reiniks, former Double Faced Eels bassist Eduards Veinbrants and drummer Mārtiņš Miļevskis of group h2o, among many others. Performers on the album include Tomass Kleins (another former Līvi guitarist), keyboardist Zigfrīds Muktupāvels and guitarist Uģis Tirzītis (both of bet bet). The credits read like a who’s who of Latvian music.

With such a team behind it, one would expect the album to be quite good. And it is! Šomase’s voice works well with this type of music. The rock music gives her strong vocals a more natural and appropriate setting.

The CD comes with a largely forgettable DVD, with a few clips from her performances on the talent show “Dziedi ar zvaigzni.” They include rather ordinary talent show performances of songs like Randy Newman’s “You Can Leave Your Hat On” and Lou Bega’s “Mambo No. 5.” Of interest is the interpretation of the Līvi hard rock hit “Dzelzsgriezējs,” which switches from the hard rock original to a lounge interpretation.

Some may say that there isn’t much original on this CD, and, with the army of songwriters employed to make the record, it would be more of a surprise if the album wasn’t a hit. However, compared to a lot of the dreary and dull pop music that is currently being recorded in Latvia, this is significantly better. Certainly it will be interesting to find out if Šomase can develop her own songwriting talents (she has a partial credit on only one song, “Vai tu zini”). It might also be worthwhile to gather a set backing band. Many of the songs were recorded by completely different lineups.

All things considered, I quite enjoyed listening to this album. The songs are catchy and fun, and far more memorable than the ones on Pasaule ir skaista. The fact that many of the songs feature actual musicians (rather than computer programmers), with some songs even featuring real drums, is a big plus. Šomase has made a recording that stands apart from many of the other recent albums released by young singers and is well worth a listen!

In the discography of Latvian music, one of the most glaring omissions has been the availability in digital format of American group Trīs no Pārdaugavas’ albums.

With only Circeņu kāzās—the trio’s album of songs for children—available on compact disc, it seemed as though the rest of Trīs no Pārdaugavas’ classic albums would never make it onto the digital medium. Finally, nearly two decades after the trio’s final recordings, the complete catalogue has been released on an expansive three-CD set entitled Reiz dziedāja. Having these songs on CD, rather than old scratchy and banged up vinyl records, was worth the wait.

Trīs no Pārdaugavas—made up of New Jersey area singers and guitarists Felkiss “Liksis” Ērmanis, his son Mārtiņš Ērmanis, and Vilnis Baumanis—began its work in the late 1960s. Actively performing and recording up until the early 1990s, the trio released a total of six albums and two compilations that included new songs. Mārtiņš Ērmanis died in 2000 and Felikss Ērmanis in 2004.

Reiz dziedāja gathers the albums Trīs no Pārdaugavas, Zilā jūriņā, Dienu virpulī, Mīkstās mēbelēs and No tālām robežām, as well as the new songs released on the compilations Tēvzemei and Ar rozi un ar prievīti.

The collection is a testament to Trīs no Pārdaugavas’ talent, as well as the trio’s significance in the Latvian-American community. Along with the Čikāgas piecīši, Trīs no Pārdaugavas was one of the most visible, active and beloved Latvian-American groups. The trio even gave a concert in Rīga’s Mežaparks, attracting tens of thousands of listeners.

Why was the trio so beloved? I suppose the reasons include the band’s singing and harmonies (particularly Fēlikss’ resonating voice), Baumanis’ arrangements, and the original songs (with lyrics by Baumanis) that often were about Latvian life in the United States. Or, perhaps, they were just three regular guys who came together and brightened the lives of many listeners. The music certainly is not flashy, nor does it need to be. With just three voices and three guitars (and the occasional bass guitar, percussion and piano), they were able to produce many memorable songs and melodies.

One can trace the evolution of the ensemble through this collection. The trio’s first album, the self-titled Trīs no Pārdaugavas, has a more traditional feel to it in that many of the songs were old Latvian standards, such as “Lulu,” “Lakstīgalu naktī” and “Vēstule no tāluma.” There is also a heartbreaking rendition of the Latvian folk song “Jūras māte,” where the harmonies and the transition from major to minor give the song a particularly emotional feeling.

The influence of American culture was inescapable and can be heard on the trio’s recordings. Witness the songs from Zilā jūriņā, many of which feature an almost hippie influence to them, such as the Baumanis original “Mēs gribām rokās sadoties.” There is also the melancholy “Tauta tālumā,” another Baumanis original that laments the seemingly sad fate that awaits the Latvian people, both abroad and in Latvia—at that time still well under the thumb of the Soviet government.

I like that Trīs no Pārdaugavas did not take the easy route and play well-known Latvian standards. For example, you won’t find such tired songs as “Pie dzintara jūras” or “Še kur līgo priežu meži.” Instead, the trio performed long-forgotten classics such as “Labāk glāzes pilnas liesim,” originally by the pre-World War II Latvian group Brāļi Laivinieki, as well as the tender gem “Klusi klusi ratiņš rūc.” I also like the trio’s arrangements of other songs, to the point where I think the group’s versions are superior. A personal favorite is Trīs no Pārdaugavas’ version of Raimonds Pauls’ “Kamola tinēja,” originally performed by Imants Skrastiņs in a half-sung, half-spoken manner, but now transformed into a beautifully tender song.

During the 1980s, with Baumanis at full strength as a songwriter, the trio recorded a number of classics, such as “Ratiņš” and “Kaimiņš”.

The group’s recording career closed in the early 1990s, with Latvian independence almost in reach.  Songs again reflected the era—including “Šņāc un krāc,” “Pārkārtošanās” and “Latvijā – 1990,” which is about the trio’s experiences performing in Latvia in 1990.

The three CDs gather an impressive total of 70 songs. Included is a very informative booklet that has all the lyrics and also notes by Baumanis on many of the songs. Besides defining some of the Latvian-American jargon used in some of the songs—such as vīkends for weekend, pārtija for party, and kvadrātpieres for squareheads—Baumanis also clarifies some of the lyrics that may not make immediate sense to some listeners. For example, the song “Latvieši kopš seniem laikiem” mentions two Greeks, one of whom stole away with Jacqueline (a reference to shipping tycoon Aristotle Onassis) and another who drinks wine in the White House (a reference to disgraced former U.S. Vice President Spiro Agnew). If I were to find any fault with this collection, it would be that it would have been great to have even more notes from Baumanis on these songs. That would have made for some very fascinating reading.

Even though the trio played its last shows and recorded its last songs at the beginning of the 1990s, and even though two of the three members of the band are no longer with us, the group and its achievements are by no means forgotten. These timeless songs formed a significant part of the fabric of diaspora Latvian life. We are fortunate that Trīs no Pārdaugavas even existed, let alone performed and recorded. This is absolutely essential listening.