Even though they are one of the biggest Latvian rock acts, Līvi’s back catalogue has long been out of print. Albums such as Iedomu pilsēta and the self-titled Līvi are available only on vinyl, if at all. And as with many other Latvian artists, not all the group’s early songs were released on proper albums, but appear on multi-group collections such as the old yearly releases from Mikrofons.

Fortunately, Līvi’s older songs are no longer just on scratchy records. The 2002 compact disc release, Līvi Zelts 1, is a compilation of songs from earlier in the group’s career.

This is not the first Līvi compilation. The first was Karogi, a 1994 recording that was one of the first CDs of Latvian music released in Latvia. However, that compilation was incomplete, skipping over the group’s earliest history—the Ēriks Ķiģelis years. Līvi Zelts 1 is a more thorough overview and a welcome historical document of one of the most important Latvian rock groups.

The 18-track album includes one new song. “Vairogi” is a march-like song with lyrics that return to the group’s 1980s patriotic style. The song doesn’t really grab my attention, what with its spoken verses. It’s also a bit out of place, as it is a new piece on a compilation of songs that are all 15 or more years old.

The true “gold” on the album are the songs from the Ķiģelis years, which to my knowledge are released for the first time on CD. A number of these songs were re-recorded for the Līvi album Bailes par ziņģēm, but on this CD you get to hear the songs as they were originally recorded.

Presumably due to the limitations at the time they were recorded, some of the songs have a somewhat rough quality, even scratchy at times. But don’t let that discourage you. Though they may sound a bit outdated, these songs can still be treasured today. One example is the song “Bailes par ziņģi.” The audio quality is less than excellent, but the song itself stands up to the test of time.

One of the most popular of Līvi’s earlier songs is “Zīlīte,” which I first heard on the Mikrofons 82 record. A critic in the music magazine Mūzikas saule called this a “modern Latvian folk song” and I cannot think of a better term. It is certainly one of the classics of modern Latvian rock music.

Also on Līvi Zelts 1 are a few songs from the 1986 album Iedomu pilsēta and the 1988 self-titled album (by which time Ķiģelis had tragically died). A favorite from the self-titled album is “Dzelsgriezējs.” That album also contained one of Ķiģelis’s last compositions, the beautiful “Kad saule riet.”

Perhaps the group’s biggest hit, “Dzimtā valoda,” also is included on this compilation. “Dzimtā valoda” was the most popular song in Latvia in 1985, in part because it is a very patriotic song. Lyrics such as “Vienā valodā raud visi ļaudis” (all the people cry in one language) likely struck a nerve in final years of Soviet Latvia.

The major disappointment in this collection is the packaging. It takes the concept of “let the music speak for itself” to the extreme. What I would have thought to have been a golden opportunity to provide some historical notes and pictures of Līvi throughout the years is wasted on the minimalistic packaging. There isn’t even a booklet, just a list of songs and that is it.

Particularly frustrating is the fact that there is no mention of who was in the band when each of these songs was recorded. Līvi have gone through many lineup changes throughout the years. In some songs it is Igo (Rodrigo Fomins) singing, in others it is Ķiģelis, in others it is Aivars Brīze, and in others I have no idea who! It would have also been nice to have the lyrics.

Packaging aside, this collection of songs from Līvi’s early years is invaluable for any student of Latvian rock music. Great thanks has to be given to MICREC for releasing many songs that until now had been lost in its vaults. Hopefully this signals the start of releasing all of Līvi’s music onto CD. The group has many unreleased tracks and songs that were not on any proper album. Presumably calling this album Līvi Zelts 1 indicates the possibility of a Zelts 2. This CD not just contains some of the greatest Latvian rock music ever written, but also shows the rise of Līvi and how they became one of the most important and beloved bands in Latvia.

As a young devourer of all things musical, I was fortunate that my family had friends in Latvia who would send us many of the latest recordings. One of my favorite releases was Mikrofons 81, which covered the best songs of 1980, including “Dāvāja Māriņa” by Raimonds Pauls, “Princesīte” by Kaspars Dimiters and “Zelta dziesma” by Ivars Vāgners, among many others.

One song that was a favorite of mine was “Tik un tā” by Uldis Stabulnieks. The song is the title track of a recently released compilation of Stabulnieks’ work, the fifth in MICREC’s series, “Latviešu populārās mūzikas izlase.”

Though a mellow song, “Tik un tā” stayed with you due to its simple melody sung by Stabulnieks, as well as the lyrics by Māra Zālīte, which were borderline patriotic (with words like “Mums viņa ir visskaistākā, tik un tā,” or, “Just the same, to us she (Latvia) is the most beautiful”)—still a bit of a no-no in 1980.

According to the Latvian music magazine Mūzikas Saule, “Tik un tā” was the most popular song of 1980 and should have been awarded first prize, instead of that year’s winner, “Dāvāja Māriņa.” Tough call for me, as “Dāvāja Māriņa” is just about my favorite Pauls song. I can see how it could be close. Besides, a rigged election in Soviet Latvia? Say it ain’t so!

Because most of the songs from that era have not been available on compact disc, and I don’t go that frequently into my vinyl archives, “Tik un tā” faded from memory as the years went by. But upon hearing that MICREC had released a comprehensive collection of Stabulnieks’ best works on a CD simply titled Tik un tā, I picked it up on a trip to Latvia.

Prior to buying the CD, I only knew the title track. I had no idea what to expect from a full CD (70-plus minutes) of 25 songs by Stabulnieks. I am glad I bought it, because it is full of original and catchy songs.

Stabulnieks composed all of the music on this album and he sings on almost all the songs. The bulk of the songs on this CD were taken from his two LP records,  Tik un tā (1985) and Svētki daudzskaitlī (1986).

An unexpected but very pleasant surprise was learning that “Tik un tā” was not the only song I knew by Stabulnieks. A song that was a favorite of mine in my pre-teen days, but since then had been forgotten, is “Solījums.” I had originally heard this song on the Mikrofons 82 record, but I had not known that it was performed by Stabulnieks. The song again shows his ability to write an appropriately beautiful melody to match beautiful lyrics, this time by P. Zirnītis. Though it is a simple love song, the words are quite moving.

The variety of styles contained on this CD also shows Stabulnieks’ versatility. Whether it is the Middle Eastern-tinged “Alibeka” (written for the Leļļu teātris), or the folksongy “Dziesmiņa par buciņu” (from the theatre production Aug buciņš, lauž radziņus), or the satirical “Dziesmiņa par diplomātiju,” or the comedic “Ananās” (from the musical comedy Svētki daudzskaitlī), Stabulnieks is adept at writing the appropriate music to fit the lyrics and the mood.

The variety of styles on the CD does detract from the flow a bit. I’ve also never been a fan of overly liberal use of strings in pop songs, but where the strings are used in Stabulnieks’ songs, they are tastefully done.

Some of the songs also have a Raimonds Pauls influence, mainly due to some of the lyrics being written by frequent Pauls collaborator J. Pēters, as well as Margarita Vilcāne and Ojārs Grīnbergs showing up to sing on “Margarita” and “Zirgu tirgus.”

The booklet that comes along with the CD reprints the original liner notes that came with the Tik un tā vinyl record, as well as a new write-up by Gunārs Freidenfelds, both of which provide for some interesting reading about a composer for whom information is not that readily available. Unfortunately, no lyrics are included, but there are a few pictures.

MICREC deserves great thanks for reminding all of us what a great composer and talent Stabulnieks is. This CD hopefully will raise his profile to a loftier perch, where he so clearly deserves to be.

Among the many things that Kaspars Dimiters can list on his resume—besides singer, songwriter, guitarist, drummer, arranger and producer—is “social commentator.”

Ten years after, now that the euphoria of independance has given way to the reality of life, Latvia has its share of problems and difficulties. Of course, many of us who live outside of Latvia, and who at best spend only a few weeks a year there, still have the perception that Latvia can be a bit of a fantasy place: full of people singing folk songs, drinking Latvian beer, dancing folk dances, and generally having a pretty good time.

Much of the new music in Latvia adds to that impression, especially the abundance of schlager, simple songs that almost always are about love, but sometimes about beer.

Taking his cue from this, Dimiters in October 2001 released his 11th album, Ai, Latviya (note that the “ja” in Latvija is replaced by the Russian “ya” letter—the backwards “R”). Although the album’s melodies do seem to have a sound schlager foundation, the lyrics are full of biting commentatry about the state of affairs in Latvia today.

Probably the only trait that this album shares with the satirical pop group Labvēlīgais tips is the fact that these lyrics were written for and likely only understood by Latvians living in Latvia. They refer specifically to certain people and events, and the lyrics themselves are loaded with Latvian jargon that few outside of Latvia will understand. However it is not all impenetrable, as the album, though not painting a particularly flattering picture of Latvia, provides for some good listening. Dimiters pulls no punches, and it is clear that he is speaking his mind and not caring if the listener likes it or not. Such honesty is refreshing.

It is more than likely that I have misinterpreted some of the lyrics along the way. Even with the help of Latvian-born friends, some of these songs are still a mystery to me! Due to my own foreign-born Latvian status, I am likely not the best person to review, or even appreciate this album, but I find myself listening to this record quite often, if only because of its simple melodies, honest lryics and matter-of-fact delivery.

The album opens up with “Latvju mežcirša dziesma jeb Zelma,” a song about a Latvian lumberjack whose beloved Zelma has gone off to Amsterdam. The woodcutter calls Zelma, only for her to tell him, “Mīļais esmu prostitūta, ne vairs jasmīns koši balts” (My love, I am a prostitute, And no longer a bright, white jasmine). The melody makes the song almost dancable, though its subject matter is less encouraging.

A major problem in Latvia is alcohol abuse, and alcohol makes an appearance in many of the songs on the album. The song “Kosmonauts” in particular, is about use and overuse of alcohol, describing how many people drink to become a “cosmonaut,” sailing among the stars in their drunkenness. “Iedzēris varu kā kosmonauts ar zvaigznēm un Venēru parunat” (When drunk I can talk with the stars and Venus like a cosmonaut). This song strangely reminds me of the Čikāgas Piecīši song “Man garšo alus,” a song about the same subject matter. But Dimiters takes a far more critical view of it.

The title track, “Ai Latviya,” comes across as Dimiters’ ode to the Latvia of today, how so much has been experienced, so much has been suffered, and there still is a long way to go before things get better. It is clear from this song that Dimiters does care very much about Latvia, even though it appears hopeless at times. He even compares Latvian progress to a bat’s progress: “Kā akli sikspārņi mēs tumsā redzam ceļu” (Like blind bats we see our road in the dark). Hopefully some progress will be made, even if slowly.

Dimiters has no love for the government of Latvia, and he unleashes some of his most scathing lyrics in the song “Intervija ar ministru” (Interview With a Minister). Taking the government to task for lies and corruption, Dimiters frequently and cynically uses the words “godīgi sakot” (speaking honestly), when it is clear the minister is doing anything but. Even more sarcastically Dimiters sings, “Cik labi mūsu ministram būt neaizskaramam” (How nice it is that our minister is untouchable).

The closes with a “country” version of “Ai, Latvija.” This is likely a dig at American country music, and general foreign influences (of which Dimiters is not particularly fond of). Not just limiting his criticisms to his lyrics, the art (created by his sister, Kristiāna Dimitere) on the compact disc itself has the word “Latviya” in the same typeface as used by the Laima chocolate company—perhaps a slight jab at the commercialization of much of Latvia.

Again, there’s a good chance I have missed the point of much of what he is saying. But that is one of the things that is great about Dimiters—the lyrics are extremely important, befitting his position as social commentator. It does make the listener stop and think. Though sometimes the blunt speaking takes you aback, the honesty of the lyrics is refreshing, in that someone is not afraid to speak their minds about the problems today.

Not every day is Jāņi in Latvia, and life is not as cheery and simple as schlager music sometimes suggests. Ai, Latviya is an honest, warts-and-all picture of Latvia. The situation is not completely hopeless, but there is a lot of work that needs to be done. Such a record would not have been possible 20 years ago, but now that the Iron Curtain has fallen, and Dimiters has been freed of any kind of restrictions, he is able to record and say anything he wants. Music listeners are better off for it.