Anyone who listens to a great deal of music, whether recorded or live, periodically encounters a musician who is not a “big name” or recognizable celebrity, but whose musicality and artistry belie their lack of international reputation.

So it is with the pianist Ilze Graubiņa. I listened to her recital program on this new compact disc with immense enjoyment and satisfaction, marveling I had heard so little of her before, and saddened that I will never have the opportunity to hear her play in person. She died at the beginning of this year just short of her 60th birthday, not long after this CD was released. Though familiar to many Latvians, she is not a household name. A daughter of the beloved Latvian composer Jēkabs Graubiņš (especially noted for his imaginative and elaborate choral arrangements of Latvian folksongs), her mother Ērika was also a pianist and her sisters are remarkable professional musicians as well.

A student of the noted Russian pianist and pedagogue Yakov Flier, among others, Graubiņa played with distinction at many international competitions, winning first prize at the 1964 J.S. Bach Piano Competition. She went on to record a number of discs for the Soviet Melodiya label and taught piano for many years at the Rīga Conservatory, with many successful pupils. She performed at many music festivals in the Soviet bloc during the Communist years, and in the last decade was able to tour abroad more widely, but never succeeded in establishing an international reputation.

A pity, for her playing is magnificent! On this recording she performs music from a variety of periods and styles. The program opens with an admirably clear rendition of J.S. Bach’s “Chromatic Fantasy and Fugue,” where she allows the music’s structure to unfold without fussiness. From the same period, but a world away in style, is the Italian-born Spanish composer Domenico Scarlatti. Graubiņa tosses off five of his elaborately ornamented sonatas effortlessly, easily matching the grace, poetry, and clarity of more renowned interpreters such as Pletnev and Pogorelich.

Also from Spain, though a century and a half later, is the music of Isaac Albeniz, represented here by the “Suite Espanola.” While its character has remained distinctive throughout many centuries of music history and has prospered under many approaches, the Spanish music of Albeniz’s late-Romantic sound-world is probably closest to most listeners’ sensibilities and affections. The poetic beauty of his evocations is superbly rendered by Graubiņa, and her playing concedes little to that grand dame of Spanish pianists, Alicia de Larrocha.

Closer to our own time, and in a completely different vein, is the “Ninth Piano Sonata” by Sergei Prokofiev, dating from the mid-1940s. With Prokofiev’s return to the Soviet Union in the late 1930s, his rather acidic and motoric style had mellowed into a lusher and more populist idiom, becoming even more nostalgic and gentler in the later 1940s. Listening to Graubina’s loving and sympathetic interpretation, I was struck by the transitional character of this sonata, straddling Prokofiev’s later styles. This work is also not as frequently heard as Prokofiev’s previous three piano sonatas, so its inclusion here is particularly welcome.

Recording quality in the Scarlatti, Albeniz and Prokofiev works is very clear and pleasant. The piano is well-balanced and clear but not overly bright, in a comfortable sound perspective. The Bach is somewhat more distant and muted—could this be a reissue of her earlier Melodiya recording of this work? No information is given on venue or dates for any of the performances. Packaging is utilitarian with notes on the performer, in Latvian and English, but not a word about the music.

As I said at the outset, an enormously enjoyable and satisfying program, pleasantly balanced and exquisitely played. This is a disc I will return to frequently with great pleasure, and with deep regret that this fine musician is no longer among us.

Now that the World Wide Web has made it possible for independent musicians and ensembles to internationally promote and sell their music and recordings more easily and effectively, any new release has a great deal of competition for potential buyers’ attention. As Latvian music becomes more recognized and popular on an increasingly crowded world stage, effective presentation of its heritage and artistry is vital in reaching out to listeners.

A recent album from the Latvian youth choir Balsis is musically excellent and well-recorded, but despite its professional appearance and attractive packaging, I wonder if the producers were not entirely certain of their intended audience, or perhaps the idea of marketing to other than Latvian buyers was an afterthought?

Formed in 1987, Balsis have garnered numerous prizes at choral competitions. Their current directors, Agita Ikauniece and Ints Teterovskis, are highly skilled choral professionals who have successfully maintained a high standard in their group’s level of performance, vocal technique and skill. The 40 singers produce a clean, supple sound and the youthfulness of their voices is not excessively shaded to produce an artificially mature sound. Perhaps due to the recording, the sopranos seem a little harsh in louder passages, but elsewhere the group maintains a pleasing blend.

The program is a varied one: 14 Latvian composers from several generations represented by 10 original compositions and six folksong arrangements, and three Estonians and a Lithuanian for good measure.

Some works are very familiar or widely recorded, such as Jānis Cimze’s arrangement of “Raven in the Oak Tree,” Lūcija Garūta’s version of the “Lord’s Prayer,” and Estonian Arvo Part’s setting of the Latin “Magnificat.” Works of several younger composers comprise a substantial portion of the program: Latvian-American Anita Kuprisa’s arrangement of “Sun, Attire Yourself in Silver” has become a Latvian classic on both sides of the Atlantic (with some added vocal effects in this version), and Jānis Lūsēns’ “Latvian Lullaby” is surely destined to become one as well. Other works are less frequently encountered. I was especially taken with Jāzeps Mediņš’ rarely-heard “Summer Evening” and Lithuanian Vytautas Barkauskas’ dazzlingly virtuosic “Kommedia dell arte.”

While there is obvious structure in the ordering of the music (original Latvian compositions followed by other Baltic composers’ works and concluding with folksong arrangements), a lack of contrast in mood during the first half of the program creates an overall effect that could be characterized by some as contemplative and by others as soporific. On the other hand, the concluding folksongs are generally more upbeat and vigorous. More overall variety in the pacing of the program would have been welcome.

Some introduction to the composers would have been helpful in the booklet, too, especially when the bilingual packaging makes this disc more than a commemorative souvenir for a limited audience. Perhaps as an afterthought or supplement, there is a more extended general commentary on the group and this album on the choir’s well-designed Web site, though the English version could be more idiomatic. I also wonder which conductor conducts which piece? Neither the album nor the Web site offers any clue.

More annoying is the listing of composers’ first names with only an initial or abbreviation, and the lack of birthdates for folksong arrangers. Composers deserve to have their full names listed, and respected musicians whose shaping and enhancement of folk melodies and texts is often equivalent to the creation of entirely new compositions shouldn’t be looked upon as second-class musical citizens. There is no good reason for perpetuating such Soviet-era practices, familiar to collectors of old Melodiya LPs.

This is a well-sung, sensitively interpreted program of fine music and these criticisms are not intended as a condemnation of the album—I have no hesitation in recommending it on musical grounds. But skimpy or incomplete information can lead to a lost opportunity to cultivate listeners who might otherwise be enticed into further exploration of Latvian music. Sometimes we Latvians can be our own worst enemies in the way we present ourselves and our artistry to the world at large, which is much more eager and willing to honor and embrace us than we may suspect.

“In order to become universal, one must first become national…To study, to immerse oneself in the spirit of one’s own people until you feel a part of the whole—that is my goal.” So spoke Hungarian composer Bela Bartok, who redefined how the elements and character of a folk tradition could be internalized to inspire music universal in expression.

Volfgangs Dārziņš (1906-1962), son of beloved Latvian Romantic composer Emīls Dārziņš, shared that belief. His volume of 200 Latvian folk song arrangements stands as a testament to his conviction. Written as a vocal line with accompaniment, they can be performed either by solo voice with piano accompaniment or as piano solos. However, the brevity of these settings (generally a single stanza, often only a few measures) requires some imagination for a satisfactory presentation in performance.

On Volfgangs Dārziņš: 100 latviešu tautasdziesmas Latvian composer and pianist Imants Zemzaris has selected 100 of these arrangements. He has arrived at a very satisfying solution by grouping them into sets by subject to highlight their similarities and differences in a way that presents them as little suites—lullabies, burial songs, sun songs, everyday life, etc. In the past, many singers and pianists have performed and recorded them in strophic fashion, simply repeating each setting depending on the number of verses in the text, with variation achieved through dynamics, tempo and nuance.

So what are they like? Brief, even fleeting bits of mood, established through very personal, highly varied settings. Dārziņš did not elaborate or develop these melodies, nor did he set individual verses to reflect the textual character of each verse. He did make more than one arrangement of some tunes, but these are alternative views of the music, rather than unified variations. In all, they are his personal reaction to the character of each melody, the message of the text. Aphoristic as they may be, Dārziņš packs a world of emotion and power into each few seconds through allusion and suggestion, often in dense, highly chromatic visions. His view of each tune brings out unique colors and often unsuspected characteristics in these mini-suites, much like gazing at facets of a gem from different angles.

It’s often difficult to point to a specifically Latvian character here. Bartok, the Spaniard Federico Mompou, and the “Russian” period of Igor Stravinsky come to mind at times, with the postimpressionism of Maurice Ravel often close by. Some even hear the influence of Carl Orff. If you’re expecting the tonal beauty and tame dissonances of Jāzeps Vītols (who also set 200 Latvian folk songs in a similar format) or Emīlis Melngailis, this music will surprise you at times. But repeated listenings reinforce the feeling that Dārziņš’ more modern, laconic and individual approach is just as valid and rewarding. If not for his status as an exiled “nonperson” during Latvia’s Soviet occupation and premature death at the age of 56 he would certainly be more widely known on the world music scene.

Imants Zemzaris obviously loves and admires these miniatures and his fine technique allows him to effortlessly toss off technically demanding passages with a well-judged palette of tonal color, variety and fantasy. Compared to a private archival tape of the composer playing some of these same arrangements, Zemzaris’ approach is remarkably similar, but more technically assured and vastly better sonically. However, this recording is very close and emphasizes the brightness of the piano. A more mellow instrument might have taken the edge off the clanginess of some very percussive sections. But this is a personal preference and is in no way meant as a criticism of Zemzaris’ playing or musicianship.

An important release, providing a fresh glimpse into the music of a modern Latvian master. Now, how about Dārziņš’ other solo piano music, and the two piano concertos?