Sometimes the best way to absorb the events and flow of history is through autobiography, especially one that manages succinctness with an elegant style. The Amber Coast: A Latvian Family’s Journey by Ilse Zandstra, née Ilze Zālīte, is captivating at many levels.

The saga of one family’s contented life in Latvia rudely interrupted by the Soviet and Nazi occupations and then ejected like refugee flotsam to many countries is both similar and different from that of several hundred thousand Latvians who fled the Red Army and ended up in the West. The Zālīte family, with two children and carrying only minimal possessions stuffed in a few suitcases, was forced to leave Latvia to avoid a one-way trip to Siberia. They left their prized possession of an Opel Kadett automobile on the docks of Liepāja.

The post-Latvia odyssey was determined in large measure by the nautical engineering profession of Jānis, the sometimes gruff and wilful head of the family. His reputation as a competent and unusually loyal ship specialist became a guarantee of sustenance and survival in chaotic circumstances. The family settled first in Poland, then in Germany, followed by Sweden and finally Montreal, Canada. All these locations provided work in shipyards for Jānis.

The memories of the disruptive changes are recorded from the perspective of a small girl, called Ilzīte by her father, and from her extended interviews of father Jānis, together with information gleaned from letters, documents, clippings, photographs and testimony of a large bevy of relatives.

The major framework of the book and the catalyst for a renewed interest in the history of her family’s wartime and post-war experience was precipitated by a return trip to Latvia in the summer of 1990. Together with her father, Ilse was signed up for a trip on a special chartered Swedish ship, the Baltic Star, also known as “Happy Ship” and the “Baltic Bible Banana Boat.” At that time, Latvia was still a part of the USSR but undergoing profound changes that ultimately led to full independence one year later.

Valuable insights are provided by the initial clash of beliefs, values, ideologies and guilt placement as the Western branch of the family interacts with the relatives “left behind” in Latvia. Misunderstandings and disappointments from both sides reflect the experience of most Western Latvians on their first contact with the homeland.

The author’s keen eye for the subtleties of human interaction and body language provides much material for reflection on what a half century of separate Communist and Western socialization (brainwashing) can accomplish. The trip to Latvia becomes a catalyst for Ilse’s newfound interest in her own background: “My trip to Latvia awakened in me a desire to know more about my past and that of my family.”

Ironically, Ilse, like many immigrant children, had been reluctant to publicize her Latvian heritage, preferring to blend in with the local Swedish and then Canadian culture and language. She even rebelled at her parent’s insistence on using Latvian in conversations with her older brother, Peter. Yet, half a century later, the seeds of Latvian attachment, so adamantly inculcated by her parents on a reluctant soul, finally found a resonance in their daughter. This ancestral echo bloomed and renewed a curiosity about her Latvian roots and the fate of her extended clan both in Latvia and abroad.

Besides the incursions into various episodes of refugee life, tribulations and survival adaptations, the book provides a very detailed portrait of the indomitable patriarch, Jānis Zālīte. He is the type of individual who best represents the protestant work ethic and the Germanic attachment to ordnung. Indeed, his mother was of German origin and taught him this language and culture. His Latvian father, an upwardly mobile teacher, ended up working in Moscow where Jānis was born in 1907.

Throughout life, Jānis abided by the motto of his Latvian fraternity, Tālavija, “darbs ceļ vīru” or “work makes the man.” His type is also the ideal fountainhead of self-reliant entrepreneur who adapts to all curve balls thrown by unusual circumstances. His industriousness was best reflected in a Displaced Persons camp in Oldenburg, Germany, where he decided to start a woodworking shop employing 30 people rather than sitting and waiting for orders from the United Nations Relief and Rehabilitation Administration. The shop successfully created wooden clothes pegs, clogs, toys, benches and large solid suitcases for future expected moves. However, this example of free enterprise did not sit well with the bureaucrats and the shop was forced to close. Fortunately, at that point Janis received an invitation from a Swedish shipyard in Goteborg and the family left this deadend, crowded refugee camp.

There was also the other side to Jānis that permeates many of the conversations between father and daughter, best reflected by the phrase, “Do not interrupt, Daughter!” Indeed, this father-knows-best philosophy was very deeply ingrained in most Latvian families of that vintage. The author summarizes the essence of this cultural thread: “In many ways, my Father was much like his father. Both were strict disciplinarians, and both expected their orders to be obeyed without question. No talking back. No questioning authority.”

The book incorporates many vignettes of Latvian history and culture in a style similar to that of Modris Eksteins in his book, Walking Since Daybreak. Indeed, Ilse claims that she was inspired to write her own story after reading Eksteins book.

The dialogue for the most part is punchy and easy to follow. Stylistically a major contribution is the author’s almost poetic capture of certain emotional events that most Latvians hold dear. For example, her description of the Latvian Song Festival in 1990 on the eve of Latvia’s independence, in an outdoor stadium with over 200,000 attendees and 20,000 singers is a classic of concentrated visions and emotions:

All of a sudden, a loud hum fills the air like a giant swarm of bees as the singers start to limber up their vocal chords. First and second soprano,alto, tenor, and bass, their voices vibrate in an ageless, mystical Ooommm. Folk songs are my homeland’s prayers, its collective memory, its history and lament, even its armour during times of siege or occupation. The refrains can be poignant as the end of summer, or as happy as sunlight dappling white birches. Music is the voice and mood of my people, with one recurring theme, love of their country, and tonight is a night for unrestrained patriotism, for celebration. High up on a specially erected platform and looking no bigger than an insect, a white-gloved conductor stands; with a leap and great sweeping motions of his arms, he starts up the twenty-thousand massed choirs. Sweet notes burst from the singers’ mouths. The conductor sways this way and that, and the music follows him. He spreads his arms wide, and then lifts them, and the melody swells, filling the night with music. The audience is enthusiastic, rivalling the best rock concert crowd. We clap and cheer and shout bravo, over and over.

The book is of obvious interest to all Latvians and a great resource for children and grandchildren of Latvia’s refugees. It is a great source for Latvia’s inhabitants whose knowledge of the exodus of their brethren is woefully inadequate. More importantly, the book has the literary and psychological qualities that can be used as a base of study by all those who want to delve deeper into the psyches of new arrivals in a new land.
One can of course question certain sequence divisions of the book and the purposely stilted phrases attributed to Latvian relatives in the homeland. Another edition of the book should very definitely include an introductory scheme outlining all names and their relationship to the main characters.

The book will suscitate introspection and comparisons for many Latvians abroad. It will bring back memories and may be a catalyst for conversations between generations. In any case, the book is “a good read”” and very entertaining in its own right and should help to provide valuable context to those interested in researching Latvian history, culture and interpersonal relations.

One of the most memorable concerts that I attended in 2009 was the September solo performance of pianist Vestards Šimkus at the Rīga Great Guild. What made this night particularly notable and significant was the fact that Šimkus was performing, for the first time, all four parts of composer Pēteris Vasks’ cycle Gadalaiki (The Seasons).

This was the first time the compositions were performed as a whole, with “Zaļā ainava” (Green Scenery) and “Vasaras vakara mūzika” (Music for a Summer Evening) enjoying their world premiere that night. I wasn’t the only one to be impressed by the concert: The performance was given the “Best Concert Award” as part of the Latvian Great Music Awards.

Due to the historical significance of the evening, it was also recorded for release on compact disc. Produced by the Latvian Concert Agency Latvijas koncerti, the recording of the performance was released in 2010 by the German label Wergo, which has already released a number of Vasks’ works on CD.

Šimkus has already made a worldwide name for himself. In addition to being awarded for performing this cycle, he also received a Latvian Great Music Award in 2002 for his victory at the Franz Liszt competition in Los Angeles, as well as for performances at the Latvian National Opera and at the House of the Blackheads in Rīga.

Vasks, internationally the best-known Latvian composer, was considered to be an “enemy of the state” during Soviet times in Latvia (due to being the son of a Baptist minister and a non-party member) and was forbidden from studying at the Riga Conservatory, though he was able to study in Vilnius, according to the CD booklet.

The first movement to be composed in the Gadalaiki cycle was “Baltā ainava” (White Scenery) in 1980, followed by the second movement, “Rudens mūzika” (Autumn Music), in 1981. Both were composed for his friend Tālivaldis Deksnis, a distinguished Latvian organist.

The third movement, “Pavasara mūzika. Quasi una sonata” (Spring Music), was first performed in Stockholm by pianist Bengt Forsberg in 1996. After hearing Šimkus perform this work in 2004, Vasks was so impressed that he was inspired to compose the final “season” in this cycle, “Zaļā ainava”  (Green Scenery). The final piece in this cycle, “Vasaras vakara mūzika” (Music for a Summer Evening) was composed in 2009.

As with much of Vasks’ compositions, the music itself is designed to evoke imagery through sound, rather than focusing on melodies and harmonies. In fact, all of the pieces except “Zaļā ainava” and “Vasaras vakara mūzika” are metrically free—they do not have time signatures, giving them an almost improvisational feel. This could potentially make these piano works difficult to listen to for some, but I think they provide a very rewarding and enjoyable experience to the listener.

“Baltā ainava” begins with quiet melancholy, a peaceful winter scene, a sense of meditation indicating a new beginning of a year—perhaps even a sense of hibernation, of something preparing to wake up.

That awakening comes in “Pavasara mūzika” (a particularly demanding piece that provides a way for Šimkus to display his technical skills), which depicts the arrival of spring, with a thunderous conclusion.

The first section of “Zaļā ainava” is full of constant activity and energy, which then changes to a slower, more subtle view of the season, with Šimkus effortlessly making the very drastic transition between the energetic opening and the nuanced conclusion.

This then leads into “Rudens mūzika,” which also has a very quiet beginning but then grows into a stormy crescendo, concluding with imagery of snow appearing once again, returning the listener to the landscapes of winter.

Finally, there is “Vasaras vakara mūzika,” initially calm, later emotional, but in all an engrossing portrait of a summer evening.

The CD also includes extensive liner notes on the works, as well as in-depth biographies of both Šimkus and Vasks, by Christopher Schlüren (in both German and English).

On a different note, I must also commend the work of the recording engineers, including recording producer and editor Normunds Šnē and recording engineer Andris Ūze, Having attended the concert myself, I recall that there seemed to be a perpetual maelstrom of coughing fits going on throughout the concert, even in very quiet sections. I was quite astonished that none of that thunderous noise has made it into the recording, at least not that I can hear.

Besides being a historically significant release, it is an impressive memento of that memorable evening in September 2009 at the Rīga Great Guild. With the able hands of one of Latvia’s brightest young piano talents, guided by the prowess of the distinguished Vasks, this CD captures some of the finest works in the composer’s oeuvre and makes for very rewarding and captivating listening.

While other Latvian-American ensembles of the late 20th century performed popular and traditional tunes, Kolibri made its mark by performing Latvian folk songs, often with its own arrangements.

Though the ensemble has long since ceased active performance, it certainly has not been forgotten. A collection of Kolibri’s folk song arrangements and performances entitled Kolibri atskatās / Kolibri Reminisces was released in November 2009.

Formed in Boston in 1976 and most active through the 1980s, the ensemble made a name for itself with its professionalism, its unique arrangements of folk songs, and for raising the profile of Latvian music in not just the United States, but also worldwide. Kolibri made a number of appearances on American radio, articles about the ensemble appeared in the press, and it even performed at Carnegie Hall. Kolibri’s career, which included four albums, came to an end in the early 1990s.

The ensemble featured a number of distinguished Latvian-American composers. Some of the ensemble’s songs even became popular Latvian choir material. The best example is Anita Kuprisa’s arrangement of the folk song “Ģērbies saule, sudrabota,” which remains a staple of the Latvian choir music repertoire and frequently is heard in song festivals (and is a piece most all choir singers can sing by heart).

Other composers in the ensemble include brothers Mārtiņš and Pēteris Aldiņš, as well as Imants Mežaraups. The group also performed arrangements by noted composer Andrejs Jansons. A number of artists performed with the ensemble through its existence, including Līga Aldiņa, Juris Broks, Pamela Ambrose, Lalita Saliņa, Laura Padega-Zāmura, Pēteris Sils, Jānis Ozols and Ruta Dambis-Ruice.

What I particularly like about the arrangements on Kolibri atskatās / Kolibri Reminisces is that many of them are of folk songs that are heard less often, even obscure. Kolibri shines new light on these long-forgotten melodies. For example, the album opener, the Latgallian “Malni muni kumeleņi” (a song originally written down by composer Emils Melngailis), is a rousing tune with some beautiful kokles work arranged by Pēteris Aldiņš.

Kolibri’s use of flute and percussion give many of the songs an almost Renaissance music feel to them, such as on “Šūpļa dziesma” by Pēteris Aldiņš and “Tu māsiņa, es māsiņa” by Mežaraups.

It is also a treat to hear the original version of Kurprisa’s arrangement of “Ģērbies, saule, sudrabota.” The song also has a non-traditional beat—5/8—something not often encountered in Latvian folk songs!

Though most of the arrangements on this record are on the shorter side, there are a few “long form” works, for example the nearly 11-minute-long “Vedat mani dziedādami!,” which is actually an arrangement of multiple Latvian funeral songs.

The album closes with three different interpretations of the folk song “Sidrabiņa lietiņš lija,” by Pēteris Aldiņš, Kuprisa and Mārtiņš Aldiņš, respectively, with each composer offering their own unique interpretation of the winter solstice song.

In addition to the great music contained on the compact disc, there is also a wealth of information on the ensemble and the songs, in both Latvian and English. There are biographies of the group and its members, as well as some notes on each song, which are particularly interesting to read as they give an insight into the composition and arrangement process.

In the 1970s and 1980s, there was a rebirth of interest in Latvian folk song interpretations not just in Latvia, but also in the diaspora. One of the ensembles at the forefront of this movement was Kolibri. Kolibri atskatās is a particularly significant and enjoyable document of the period.

With the wealth of talent offered by members of the ensemble, it is actually not much of a surprise that they were able to make such great music together. Providing a fresh look at these ancient melodies, Kolibri made a name for itself as one of the definitive folk song interpreters in not just the United States, but worldwide. Taking its place among other Latvian folk song performers such as Iļģi and Skandinieki, Kolibri is one of the most important Latvian-American ensembles, and Kolibri atskatās is a particularly satisfying collection of the group’s arrangements, with many beautiful and memorable performances.