Unlike many pop groups, Prāta vētra goes out of its way to make each new record noticeably different than the last one. Perhaps due a desire to fully and unequivocally break with the past, on its latest album, Tur kaut kam ir jābūt, the band has gone off on a very unusual tangent, diverging completely with the styles of previous records and resulting in a rather baffling work.

Not content to simply recreate a previously used winning formula, the band likes to explore new avenues and to surprise listeners with new sounds and arrangements. Sometimes this can be a bit surprising (if not shocking) to the listener. For example, there’s the move from the light and catchy pop of 1999’s Starp divām saulēm to 2001’s synth-heavy and slightly darker Kaķēns, kurš atteicās no jūras skolas and then back to a guitar-driven sound on 2003’s Dienās, kad lidlauks pārāk tāls.

Četri krasti (2005), was one of the band’s weaker efforts. Outside of the title track and the songs “Pilots Tims” and “Kur milžu kalni liekās mazi,” there wasn’t much memorable or inspired on the record. So, with the tiniest bit of apprehension, I picked up Tur kaut kam ir jābūt.

Firstly, it is worth pointing out that the group has moved away from recording in other countries and using internationally known artists and producers. Songs on previous records had been recorded in Germany, Denmark and elsewhere with producers such as Steve Lyon. For Tur kaut kam ir jābūt, most everyone involved is Latvian. Also, this is the first album since Starp divām saulēm to be entirely in Latvian. Not a single song of the 13 tracks is in English (last I heard, the English version of the album is forthcoming and will be titled Fire Monkey). The album’s producer is Latvian hip-hop artist Gustavo (Gustavs Butelis), the album was recorded entirely in Rīga and album artwork was provided by Latvian painter Otto Zitmanis.

The core of Prāta vētra remains singer Renārs Kaupers, guitarist Jānis Jubalts, keyboardist Māris Mihelsons and drummer Kaspars Roga. Hired hand Ingars Viļums plays bass.

The choice of Gustavo as producer was certainly a fateful one, as it would appear the hip-hop artist had a significant influence on the sound of the album. Not only producing, he also provides lyrics and backing vocals on a number of songs. The drums and bass guitar are brought forward on these songs, with guitar buried further back in the mix, and the songs have a far more aggressive sound. For example, in “Ja tikai uz mani tu paskatītos” Kaupers urgently shouts the lyrics of the song, which contains some rather cringe-inducing moments such as “Mobīlais tavs, kas vienmēr ir zonā” (I will be your mobile phone, that always has reception).

That is followed up by the equally aggressive “Bronza,” which now has added distortion on Kaupērs’ vocals, also featuring backup vocals by Gustavo.

Much like on the Kaķēns record, guitarist Jubalts is rarely heard, which is unfortunate. Prāta vētra is at its best when the guitar is at the forefront. I remain convinced that the guitar-heavy Dienās kad lidlauks pārāk tāls remains the band’s best work, both musically and lyrically.

The new album’s first radio single, “Ai nu lai” (released in English as “And I Lie”), reminds me of some of the Rolling Stones’ work from the 1980s with attempts to make the music more funky (with varying results) and overly depending on backing vocals (on this song, provided by Gunārs Kalniņš and the GG choir).

One of the brighter moments on the album is the lyrically dense “Par podu.” To be honest, I am not quite sure what the song is about, but I enjoy the rambling lyrics and the simple yet captivating melody. Another enjoyable song is the title track, which has Kaupers singing a melody over sparse instrumentation and an interesting rhythm from drummer Roga, but the “rap” by Gustavo on this one detracts from the song itself.

Reflecting the eclectic nature of the songs, there is the Asian-sounding instrumental “Sīama” (featuring kanun performer Taner Sayacioglu), leading into the song “Es jau nāku,” featuring nei flute performed by Senol Filiz and guitar by Birol Yayla. Though a Latvian-Asian song could have been rather interesting to listen to, this winds up being one of the duller moments on the album.

Prāta vētra has been at its best with quirky yet catchy pop songs. Even the otherwise unremarkable Četri krasti had the poppy “Pilots Tims.” The only song on Tur kaut kam ir jābūt resembling a pop song is “Bēdz,” but even that song has some rather odd and distracting sound effects near the end.

It is commendable that the group continues to explore new avenues in its songwriting and sound and does not continue to recycle the same formula. It would certainly be dreadful to have to listen to an album made up purely of songs similar to earlier hits like “Brīvdienas nav manas laimīgās dienas” and “Spogulīts.”

Listeners well acquainted with songs like “Starp divām saulēm” and “Es gribu” may be a bit shocked by the new direction of the band. However, this latest venture of Prāta vētra’s winds up being slightly too eclectic for its own good, with uneven focus.

In the end, it is not much fun to listen to. It reminds me of efforts by other groups to prove that they are “mature” songwriters, in order to impress their critics (and, at the same time, alienating a certain section of their fanbase). Looking at some other reviews of the album, it seems that I am in the minority here, so your mileage may vary. The record certainly isn’t bad. Production and performance remain top notch, but I find this album, due to the divergent styles of the songs, difficult to listen to and missing the off-beat humor that many of the band’s earlier songs had.

The group, which remains Latvia’s most popular ensemble, has taken a big risk with this album. I am not sure it has paid off.

Pete Anderson (or Pīts Andersons in Latvian) is one of the most unusual musicians in Latvia. His latest album, Brass-a-Billy, is an excellent collection of classic songs as well as Anderson originals. The album’s title comes from the style of music Anderson performs: a combination of brass instruments with rockabilly melodies.

Anderson’s entire career is based upon the concept that rock music pretty much reached its peak in the 1950s, and certainly a very strong argument could be made for that theory. The music Anderson plays glorifies that era, a time when music and lyrics were simple, fun and exuberant, and much of the angst of today’s music was nowhere to be found. Even in deepest, darkest Soviet times, Anderson was performing this style of music and was just about the only person in Latvia to do so.

His biography is at times tragic and at times inspirational. Playing rock-and-roll, not to mention songs in English, was frowned upon by the Soviets. Anderson was called before the State Security Committee many times, and one time the committee even threatened his family if he didn’t give up doing what he was doing. Fortunately, with time the situation changed and he was able to continue doing what he did best. Anderson has also performed in many different countries, including the United States, Great Britain and all over Europe.

On Brass-a-Billy, Anderson provides all the vocals and is joined by an impressive list of musicians. All the songs are in mildly accented English, but there is not much else that would indicate they are performed entirely by Latvians. If the goal is to authentically recreate a 1950s sound, that is quite the accomplishment.

Included on the compact disc are songs like “R-O-C-K” by Bill Haley and the Comets, “Little Sister” by Doc Pomus and Mort Shuman, “Am I Blue” by Grant Clarke and Harry Akst and many others.

Anderson also has a few originals on the album, including “Brassabilly Boogie” and “Red Corvette,” which seamlessly fit in with the classic tracks of the past.

Also included on the CD are two bonus tracks, “Calling all Comets” recorded in 1989 and “Jump, Jive an’ Wail” recorded in 1990—long before Brian Setzer had a big hit with the song. The CD also has the music video for “Jump, Jive an’ Wail.”

It is refreshing to hear a record that is so very unpretentious. Anderson’s goal is to play good old rock-and-roll, without any of the moroseness and misery that creeps into a lot of modern music. The music, as well as Anderson himself, is unabashedly retro and a blast to listen to from beginning to end.

Rare is the town in Latvia that so actively promotes itself as a place of music as does Liepāja. In guide books, marketing materials and brochures, Liepāja goes out of its way to remind readers of the importance of music and how very many musicians come from there, not to mention that it is the home of the always excellent Liepāja Symphony Orchestra. Along with the beach, the sea and, of course, the prison, music is one of the most compelling aspects of visiting Liepāja. Who can argue, when even composer Imants Kalniņš (among many others) states that Liepāja is the rock music capital of Latvia—not even Riga can compete.

Because it is home to so many great musicians and so much great music, it seemed only natural that an almost yearly music festival would be held in Liepāja. Appropriately dubbed Liepājas dzintars, the festival began in 1964 and celebrated its 30th anniversary in 2006 with a massive concert. In honor of this long-running tradition, MICREC at the end of 2007 released a two-DVD set celebrating the festival. The exhaustive collection features one disc with various performances throughout the years, as well as a short documentary feature on the festival. The second disc collects highlights of the 30th anniversary show.

The first DVD offers many fascinating glimpses of noteworthy and perhaps lesser known artists performing at the festival. The bulk of the clips are from 1991 and later, but there are plenty of interesting older clips, such as “Baletomānija” performed in 1987 by the Ensemble of the Region of Tukums (so called because the band at the time could not go by its real name: Pērkons). There is singer Ieva Akurātere’s historic and moving performance of “Manai tautai” from 1988, with many in the audience singing along and in tears. Particularly interesting is an all-too-brief clip from 1964 of the group Zvaigznīte (featuring Uldis Stabulnieks on piano and Gunārs Rozenbergs on trumpet) performing “Rotaļa.” And, of course, there is the inevitable performance of the Liepāja anthem, “Pilsētā, kurā piedzimst vējš,” performed by Menuets in 1994. I’ll probably have all of Liepāja breaking down my door for this, but I really could do without hearing the song for a long while. The title is repeated way too many times in the song for my tastes.

It is not just Latvian artists who performed at Liepājas dzintars. Many international artists appeared, too, including Dva Samoļota from Russia, performing “Bambula” in 1991; Mciri from Georgia performing a folk song in 1991; the New Murphy Band from Estonia performing “Let’s Twist Again” in 1992, and Išjunk Švieša from Lithuania performing “Opapā” in 1994.

Children get into the act as well. Children’s group Auri performed “Melanija” in 1991 (featuring Lauris Reiniks, who, although maybe at most 10 years old at the time, already had a breathtaking mullet). The Children of Liepāja in 1992 performed “Vīrs ar vijoli.”

At just under an hour, the documentary Es būšu, ja tu būsi (I Will Be There, If You Are There) is a very short overview of the history of the festival, including clips from interviews with many of the artists and the composers of Liepāja. The film is in Latvian with no subtitles and is directed by Svetlana Rudzīte.

I must say that one of the first things that strikes you when viewing the documentary is how old everyone looks now. Tumsa’s lead singer, Mārtiņš Freimanis, in his early 30s, is by far the baby of the bunch. Since the documentary is so short, it is too brief to do a proper history of the event, and limits the artists to rather brief sound bites. Overall, the documentary is slightly unfocused. But there are plenty of interesting tidbits, such as Freimanis recalling his pants getting pulled off at a concert, as well as Valdis Vikmanis, the former director of the Leipāja School of Music, giving his impressions of composer Imants Kalniņš as a student. Zigfrīds Muktupāvels, singer for Zodiaks and bet bet, also tells a story of how while he was a student in the music school (and, as he puts it, not a particularly good student), Vikmanis gave him a ruble to get some food since he was tall and thin and needed to keep his stomach working.

And that’s just the first DVD. The second DVD has highlights of the 30th anniversary show. Many of the performances are backed up by the Liepāja Symphony Orchestra, including the winner of the Best Vocalist award at the very first Liepājas dzintars in 1964, singer Zdislavs Romanovskis, who sings “Baltijas jūra.” Many performers and award winners at previous Liepājas dzintars festivals returned for the anniversary concert, including Zodiaks performing “Taisnība,” Credo performing “Sāpe,” Menuets performing “Alvas zaldātiņi,” Pērkons performing “Kamēr es tevi mīlēju” and Līvi performing “Dzelzsgriezējs.”

Sound and video quality is generally good, but on the first DVD, due to the fact that much of the footage is very old, the video is often grainy and the audio also uneven. Sadly, not all years were recorded or archived, so there are many great performances at the festival that are lost forever. Though I would like to have seen more clips from before 1991, the overview is still very thorough. On subsequent viewing, I usually skip over the children’s acts, the non-Latvian acts and some of the lesser songs—composer Uģis Praulinš, performing with the group Vecās mājas in 1991, and Ivo Fomins, performing with the group Libau in 1992, would go on to far bigger and better things.

It is hard to believe that even at two full DVDs, this is just the tip of the iceberg. Liepājas dzintars is one of the most important and longest running music festivals and this two-DVD set amply collects many of the highlights of this significant Latvian event.