The venerable American Latvian ensemble Čikāgas piecīši, now in their sixth decade of activity, have re-released their final (to date) studio albums – Gandrīz mājās (1991) and Vai Debesīs būs Latvija (1995), released in 2011 as one CD.

Though continuing to tour well into the future (their farewell tour of Latvia was in 2011), these records are the last of their new output. With the release of these albums, all of their albums – from their 1960s records onwards – are now available on CD, and these re-releases continue to confirm what a truly remarkable, and varied, career this group has had.

As always, the Piecīši foundation has been Alberts Legzdiņš, who has guided the band and provided the bulk of songs since the group’s founding in 1961. Joining Legzdiņš are long time Piecīši members and collaborators such as Armands Birkens, Janīna Ankipāne, Uldis Ievāns, Uldis Streips, Lorija Vuda (Laurie Wood) and Alnis Cers, as well as a whole host of session and studio musicians.

The 1990s, with the reestablishment of Latvia’s independence, sees the Piecīši continuing to move away from the often biting satire of their earlier years, though by no means missing the humor that has always been a part of their appeal. The songs have become more sentimental, more reflective, and, particularly on Vai Debesīs būs Latvija reacting to the difficult times that followed the euphoria of Latvian independence, as many became disenchanted with the severe corruption and the direction Latvia was heading in those years, making these records somewhat more serious and weightier than those in the past.

It is telling that few of the songs on these records achieved the near-legendary status of earlier songs such as “Pazudušais dēls”, “Par mani, draudziņ’, nebēdā”, “Mūsu mīlestība” or even “Man garšo alus”. Particularly in Latvia, where Piecīši recordings had to be snuck in during Soviet times, the songs of the 60s to 80s resonated in Latvian society and helped keep alive the dream of Latvian independence. However, these final recordings do contain a number of gems and, if these truly are the last new recordings that the Piecīši will make (looking more and more likely with each year), then it is a fitting close to their studio career.

To be honest, this was my first encounter with the album Gandrīz mājās. The song “To skaidro ūden’ nejauciet” was familiar: a song from their 1989 Mežaparks concert performance, calling for the cleanup and rejuvenation of Latvia’s nature. The studio version of the song is still as topical today, with the excessive deforestation still occurring in Latvia today.

Also a treat on Gandrīz mājās are two more songs with lyrics by poet Valdis Krāslavietis – the lovely “Krāslava” and “Dziesma vasarai”. The group’s renowned humor can also be found in “Mister, Kurzemniek!”, a tropical song about the Kurland colony in Tobago, as well as “Latvietis latvietim”, a song about Latvians, who, though very small in number, continue to be at each other’s throats most of the time.

Though some may enjoy the involvement of children in both the concerts and the recordings of the Piecīši, as it may have some amount of charm, the results are not always successful. Case in point – “Mazais letiņš” – where the kids involved unfortunately sing off-key for most of the song.

Vai Debesīs būs Latvija – their final studio album – sees the songs become more reflective and sentimental (on this album, all songs and texts are by Legzdiņš). The hardships in Latvia during the mid 1990s are reflected in songs like “1989. gads”, where the positive energy generated by their first Latvian tour in 1989 has dissipated slightly, and the realities brought about by restored independence lead to questions such as “vai jāmaksā par brīvību tik daudz?” (must we pay so much for freedom?)

The plight of the Latvian nation and its low birthrate, a topic for songs throughout their career – such as “Tautas skaitīšana” and even “Sekss ir labs” continues to inspire songs like “Nāc, laimīte”. Particularly poignant is “Brālis un māsa”, a lengthy song about a Latvian family whose son’s and daughter’s lives head in dramatic directions, and their parents’ reactions. Memorable also is the tender gem “No Gaujas tilta”, featuring Armands Birkens’ renowned tender tenor voice.

On this one CD you get an impressive 26 songs, though, with the Piecīši staying mostly in their familiar three or four chord progressions, some of the songs do start to blend in with each other. However, simplicity has always been a key to the success of the group, so one cannot fault them for sticking with what they know. Other listeners may miss the sharper wit that their earlier recordings displayed.

As with the other Piecīši releases by Balss, the packaging remains pretty meager. No lyrics or any kinds of notes from the band, though there are a number of black and white photographs.

These final recordings provide a fitting epilogue to the studio recording career of the Čikāgas piecīši. Though perhaps these records have been unfairly underrated, compared to the “hits” of their previous decades, a number of songs still touch the heart and make the listener smile, and rare is the band that keeps that kind of listener interest over multiple decades. Though we are likely not to hear any new music from the band (though, granted, Legzdiņš himself remains an active songwriter – particularly notable is the 2004 musical “Eslingena”) these are worthy entries in the band’s discography.

Vēl patiesāk by the band Double Faced Eels was certainly one of the most unexpected yet pleasant surprises in Latvian rock music in 2010.

My first encounter with Double Faced Eels was their song “Zilais vālis,” which was a moderate hit in Latvia a few years back. Though the song was catchy, it struck me as one of those songs by a group that, for better or worse, do not take themselves all that seriously. It seems like I had the group all wrong.

Double Faced Eels play in a style that meshes rock music with certain funk elements, somewhat vaguely similar to a group like the Red Hot Chili Peppers. Founded in 2004, the group today is made up of Marka (Mārtiņš Gailītis) on vocals and guitar, Ronis (Ronalds Briežkalns) on percussion, Reinis Straume on guitars and backing vocals, and Kristaps Ērglis on bass guitar. Also performing drums on some tracks on the album was Dairis Petrauskis.

Before Vel patiesāk, the band released Zilais valis in 2005 and Kurš gribēja nogalināt Džūliju? Nezinu, bet trāpīja mums in 2007.

Starting with the strong opener, “Tu neesi viens,” on Vel patiesāk the group makes clear that this is meant to be a serious, heavy and even occasionally aggressive record.

To be sure, not all of the album is heavy and aggressive. In fact, one of the standout tracks here is “Ļauj man būt,” a subdued yet beautiful song.

On the whole, the songs on the album do give the impression of sadness and solitude, concluding with the thundering “Vientulība,” featuring Marka howling like a soul in torment. This song, as well as many other songs on the album, features lyrics by Iveta Priede.

Although most of the record is on a quite serious level, the group shows with its last track—a version of the C+C Music Factory song “Everybody Dance Now”—that it still has a sense of humor. Granted, the song is quite out of place with the rest of the album.

Double Faced Eels have made one of the most satisfying Latvian rock records in recent memory. Perhaps in an attempt to prove that they are more than just a band that writes humorous songs, they have chosen to show their “serious” side on Vēl patiesāk. I think it is has worked out quite successfully. The group certainly has a talent for musicianship as well as songwriting. The album was quite the revelation for me, and hopefully for others as well.

The distinguished and world renowned Baltic string orchestra Kremerata Baltica, led by artistic director and visionary violinist Gidon Kremer, in 2010 released a unique collection of string works entitled De Profundis.

Instead of focusing on a particular composer or style of music, the collection is of works by composers who were inspired to “cry out from the depths.” According to Kremer, they are works that cried out for a better world. The 12 works are by composers from many different centuries and styles—modern and classical, melodic and harsh, positive and negative.

Though Kremer writes in the liner notes that “it is not my intention to make De Profundis a political statement,” it is clear that it is. Kremer names the regimes of Saudi Arabia, Iran, Myanmar and Russia. He dedicates the collection specifically to Russian oligarch Mikhail Khodorkovsky – a political enemy of Vladimir Putin—and broadly to “those who refuse to be silenced,” and also writes about the corruptive power of oil.

That being said, politics is mercifully absent from the works themselves. As Kremer writes in the notes, the collected works “send their own individual message to the listener…appealing to their profoundest emotions.” The varied range of works is masterfully handled by Kremer and the Kremerata Baltica, and though the styles vary rather dramatically throughout the recording, the performances are always compelling and make clear the orchestra’s versatility and ability to successfully interpret works from hundreds of years of musical history.

For example, the earliest work on this album is the “Minuet No. 3 and Trios in D minor” by Franz Schubert, an early Romantic era composer who, in his very brief life, created some truly beautiful music. The prolific Schubert, though better known for his Lieder, also achieved success in other forms of music, as shown by this recording. Schubert’s wonderful sense of melody is brought forth by Kremerata Baltica.

Though many composers in the 19th century were beset with tragedy, one of the most tragic was Robert Schumann, whose promising piano performance career was cut short by a hand injury, and, in later years, mental breakdown. De Profundis contains Schumann’s “Fugue No. 6” from “Six Fugues on the Name B.A.C.H.” Schumann, though known more for piano works, also shows his versatility in the field of orchestral composition, with his Baroque style “Fugue,” interplaying all the instruments of the orchestra to form a rich tapestry.

Baltic composers are represented on this collection as well. Estonian composer Arvo Pärt and his “Passacaglia,” is performed in the composer’s distinctive deliberate, measured minimalist style, with the violins adding a level of tension to the piece. Lithuania’s Raminta Šerkšnytė is represented by the work that gives the album its title, “De Profundis,” an intimate yet ominous composition. Also performed is the picturesque “Flowering Jasmine” by Georgs Pelēcis of Latvia, featuring Andrei Pushkarev on the vibraphone.

Not just European composers are found in the collection. Argentina’s Astor Piazzolla’s “Melodia en La menor (Canto de Octubre), though an orchestral work, clearly displays his tango mastery.

As the works are of a rather varied nature, it would have been interesting to find out more about how Kremer chose them. The jumping back and forth through the centuries can lead to some jarring juxtaposition to the listener. Going from the German early Romantic Schubert to modern Hungarian Stevan Tickmayer and then to Soviet Russian Dmitri Shostakovich makes for a bit of a roller coaster ride. However, the performances are impeccable.

As was Kremer’s intention, all of the works here are intended to appeal to emotions. Although the works are in dramatically different styles, they all have a similar emotional heft. Kremerata Baltica and Kremer provide a truly expressive and vivid journey throughout the centuries.