For nearly 40 years, Čikāgas Piecīši have been recording songs in their unique Latvian style, as well as playing to audiences all over the world. The Piecīši, although their number has rarely been five, have long been an institution and an important musical voice during the years that Latvia was occupied by the Soviet Union. Unfortunately for many of their fans, the records they released in the 1960s and 1970s have been long out of print and extremely difficult to find. And even when found, the years had taken their toll on the recordings, leaving the original releases scratchy and unlistenable.

Thankfully in this compact disc age, those great old albums have found a second life in digital format. These two compact discs collect four older albums: Sanfrancisko – Rīga, No Lielupes tilta, Vakarziņas and Čigākas Piecīši koncertā. These albums were recorded in a time when the prospect for Latvia’s future independance was very bleak. They paint a picture of what it was like to be a Latvian exile at that time, about people adapting to life in the United States and other foreign countries, while still never forgetting their Latvian origins.

Actually, three of the four albums reviewed here are not true Čikāgas Piecīši recordings. Sanfrancisko – Rīga and No Lielupes tilta are recorded solely by Alberts Legzdiņš and Janīna Ankipāne; Armands Birkens joins them for Vakarziņas. The only album that features the entire Piecīši ensemble is Čikāgas Piecīši koncertā. However, all the records fall under the Čikāgas Piecīši umbrella due to the presence of their leader and main songwriter, Alberts Legzdiņš. Legzdiņš is perhaps one of the greatest Latvian songwriters and lyricists, and these albums are a testament to that.

Čikāgas Piecīši draw influences from all areas, including Latvian folk songs and American instruments and sounds—such as the banjo and harmonica. Their songs range from humorous observations on everyday life to more melancholy melodies. A recurring theme throughout many of their songs is what it is like to be Latvian in the United States.

The oldest album here is Sanfrancisko – Rīga, a collaboration between Legzdiņš and Ankipāne released in 1969. Here the Latvian folk song influence is at its most apparent, as many of the recordings on this album are either Latvian folk songs or sound very much like them. The Latvian folk songs include “Es adiju raibus cimdus,” “Staburadze” and “Mans brūtgans ir jātnieks,” a song I remember singing in Latvian camp. A favorite on the record is “Es savai līgavai,” a Legzdiņš original. A recurring theme in Legzdiņš’ songwriting is the paucity of Latvians around the world. This theme appears in the song “Tautas skaitīšana.”

No Lielupes tilta, released in 1971, also teams up Legzdiņš and Ankipāne, for a very similar record as Sanfrancisko – Rīga, as it is also a folk song-influenced record. One of my favorite Latvian folk songs, “Nāks rudentiņis,” is performed here. Another favorite Legzdiņš original is “Piektdienas vakars,” a song about the adventures of the narrator and “Braunu kundze” (Mrs. Brown) while the narrator waits for ground beef to thaw in the sink one particular Friday night.

The track listing on Sanfrancisko – Rīga / No Lielupes tilta appears to have one error, as the song “Ezers tīruma galā,” although listed as being on the Sanfransisko – Rīga portion of the CD, actually appears later on the No Lielupes tilta portion.

Vakarziņas, originally released in 1970, contains some more melancholy moments. One of the sadder songs on the record is “Mātei dzimtenē,” a song about a mother in Latvia who in vain awaits the return of her sons. Vakarziņas also contains one of the most beautiful songs in the Piecīši library: “Līgo dziesma,” a song about the Latvian celebration of Jāņi (Midsummer). “Līgo dziesma” is a song urging mothers and fathers to teach their children all the songs of Jāņi so that they will never be forgotten.

The humorous side of the Piecīši also is very much alive and well on this record, as songs like “Man garšo alus,” a song with a well-known Latvian theme: beer, and how no other alcoholic beverage can compare to it.

Čikāgas Piecīši koncerta, released in 1975, as far as I can tell is a live recording of a Čikāgas Piecīši performance. I’m not entirely positive that it is a live recording, as the audience’s clapping and song introductions seems to be pasted together with the songs themselves. However, it is still a collection of great songs. This is the only album (of the four reviewed here) to feature the full Čikāgas Piecīši group. Perhaps one of the most famous Piecisi songs is “Pazudušais dēls” (The Prodigal Son), with words written by Uldis Streips about Latvians returning to visit Latvia after having left the country many years ago. The “Amerikāņu popurijs” (American Potpourri) on Čikāgas Piecīši koncertā is different than the one on the 1996 “best of” collection, Agrīnie gadi. This version contains a lengthy section about Latvian-American leader Uldis Grava. Another beautiful tune from the pen of Legzdiņš is “Es redzēju bālēliņu,” a song about young men going to war and how they leave behind loved ones, as well as how their great deeds are forever remembered in the words of folk songs.

One of the more amusing tracks is “Sekss ir labs” (Sex Is Good), which is a song about procreation sung to the tune of a Latvian children’s song. As introduced on the record, the song is meant to be taught to children at a young age to decrease the low childbirth rate among Latvians. And how can you argue with a line like “Gliemeži ir pacietīgi, eži dara uzmanīgi, vāveres uz katra zara, Dievs zin kā to čūskas dara” (“Snails are patient, hedgehogs do it carefully, squirrels on every branch, Lord knows how snakes do it”)?

The major complaint I have about the CDs is the packaging. There is very little of it. Besides the album cover and list of songs (and, in the case of the Sanfrancisko – Rīga CD, a brief statement from both Legzdiņš and Ankipāne) there isn’t anything else! Lyrics are especially missed. Many times I can’t really catch what is being sung. Legzdiņš being the great songwriter that he is, I think it would be of benefit to many to have the lyrics available. And because Čikāgas Piecīši have such a lengthy and interesting history, pictures and stories from their past would be fascinating, too.

Packaging aside, these are great records, and I recommend them highly. Hopefully the interest in these CDs is great enough to warrant the re-release of the other Cikagas Piecisi albums. I’m especially waiting for Mēs, puisēni, an album I used to listen to over and over again when I was a little kid. I still have the severely battered vinyl record somewhere.

These records show a great group at the height of their songwriting and performing, and still sound great today, almost 40 years later.

(Editor’s note: This article orginally appeared on SVEIKS.com.)

After a visit from his grandparents, many sugary foods and being cooped up in the house for a long, rainy afternoon, our two-year-old was definitely overstimulated. He was having a tantrum just as I put this compact disc in to listen to for the first time. By the third or fourth song, he had quieted down and was playing and babbling by himself. I like to think it was this music that calmed him. And it really might have been. After all, these are lullabies, time-tested melodies that are specifically meant to calm a baby.

The first song on this newest album in the Latvian Folk Music Collection, Šūpuļdziesmas (Lullabies), is slow to develop. But, then, lullabies are supposed to put you to sleep, aren’t they? I don’t mean that as a criticism—actually, I think this is a beautiful recording! This album is produced by Ilga Reizniece and Māris Muktupāvels, both of the post-folklore group Iļģi. Although Iļģi have moved on to much more modern and upbeat renderings of Latvian folk tunes, this album reminds one of their earliest recordings. It is simple, traditional, meditative and, above all, very calming.

Šūpuļdziesmas sounds very “live”—it often seems like you’re right there on the bed next to the child being sung to. The singers sometimes repeat verses, improvise, hum—just as any mother does when her child has not yet fallen asleep by the end of the song.

Many of the songs are accompanied by only one instrument. A full third of them are sung a capella. A couple of the songs, for example “Aijā, Ancīt’, aijā,” are new arrangements, but most are just simple, straight-forward lullabies. It is, for the most part, not the typical lullaby repertoire that most Latvians in North America heard as young children, but they are all bona fide traditional Latvian melodies and texts. The liner notes tell of the hope that these lesser known lullabies will not take the place of our “old favorites,” but rather inspire us to learn new ones.

The lullabies on this album are sung and accompanied by well-known musicians in the the Latvian folk and folk/rock scene. My favorite is Biruta Ozoliņa, who has a whole album (Bolta eimu) devoted to her music in the Latvian Folk Music Collection. Her voice just seems so perfect for this. She sings, as usual, in the Latgalian dialect. I was happy to hear “Aijā, žūžu, lāča bērni” and “Pele brauc, rati čīkst” sung by men and fathers. When a child’s name is called for in certain lullabies, the singers name their own children, giving the songs a truly personal touch.

My only complaint about this album is the use of the synthesizer on a few of the tracks. It’s fairly inconspicuous on the first and last songs, but I really don’t like the trite New Age feeling of calmness that it is trying to evoke on “Velc, pelīte, bērnam miegu.” It’s a beautiful song, but the accompaniment kind of ruins it.

Interestingly, songs No.1 (”Čuči, guli, mazbērniņš”) and No. 12 (”Čuči, guli, mozi bērni”) are so similar that I had to compare them several times before figuring out that they are two different melodies. No. 1 is in fact a song that Iļģi recorded back in 1987 and 1989. The arrangement, though, has changed a bit. Those older Ilgi recordings of lullabies placed more emphasis on the instruments, and the vocals were more arranged. Their lullabies back then seemed to be arranged more for performance than the Šūpuļdziesmas album.

I tried playing this CD several days later when our son was again in a really irritable mood, this time specifically to see if the music would calm him. And it worked again! This time, about half way through the album, he even said, “Mamma, I want to be in that song.” Wow!

For you Latvians out there, this album will give you some simple, fresh ideas to expand your lullaby repertoire (in case you’re sick of “Aijā, žūžu”). Sing them to your child, your dog, yourself or your significant other.

For everyone else, put this CD in at the end of a long day and just enjoy the relaxing music!

Recently a superb recording has come out featuring Latvian folk music played on bagpipes. The album, Dūdas Latvijā (Bagpipes in Latvia) sports a picture of a young, bagpiping lad in the arch of castle ruins. It is an excellent compilation of Latvian songs ranging from majestic, energetic and uplifting music to matter-of-fact and haunting pieces. This album is the most recent addition to UPE Recording Co.‘s Latvian Folk Music Collection and is a welcome one. While some may complain that there are no English translations of the songs, something better rewards the reader. It is a wonderful essay, written by world-class ethnomusicologist Valdis Muktupāvels, explaining about bagpipes in Latvia.

Bagpipes always have their majestic appeal; some like them more than others. This fact holds true to the chagrin of bagpipers’ neighbors. Referring to its loudness, one bagpiping enthusiast bluntly put it, “How else can you have something as loud as an electric guitar but with no cord?” Having won an international audience with younger audiences with such groups as Dead Can Dance, this instrument hides its long folk history in Latvia. What has been forgotten is that large numbers of festive bagpipers would congregate, playing through the night on the hills and shores of Latvia

Since this long bagpipe tradition has a vivacious presence still found in Latvia, Dūdas Latvijā is an album that conveys many moods. Near the beginning there’s a nice beer-drinking song with warm-hearted camaraderie, “Alus dziesma” (the Beer song) sung by Vidvuds Mednis and friends. Midway in through this song are some interesting refrains, sounding like the chanting and singing found in American Indian pow-wows. Later music in the album, like in the selections “Vaidi” (performed by Valdis and Māris Muktupāvels) and “Dūdu sauciens” (played by Rasa) transports the listener to other eras. A slow version of “Garais dancis” (Long dance) evokes a stately and majestic promenade of kings and queens. The whole album creates a feeling of movement and energy even in its tenderest, quietest movements, as in the song “Mildas dziesma” sung by Iļģi.

One foggy night in Old Rīga I walked home, having helped close a bar. Snow silently had fallen a few hours earlier and the air had warmed up again, bringing together in springtime a rare snow and fog. Both snow and fog were catching light and creating a soft omnipresent glow. It was in muffled, foggy, early morning air that I first heard the haunting, beautiful sound of bagpipes in Rīga. Two bagpipers, with what I later learned were bagpipes common to Central Europe, played at the base of “Milda,” or the Freedom Monument. They played as a slightly amused police officer and I watched. I could only stand in amazement and observe in admiration. After blurting out how I always wanted to learn the bagpipes, the players gladly introduced me to a third set of bagpipes. It was magical. Consequently I have learned enough about bagpipes to deeply appreciate this smaller cousin of the Scottish bagpipes. I easily hear when bagpipes are used, even in the most unexpected and delicate of songs like “Mildas dziesma” (Milda’s Song) Eventually, I got my own bagpipes and am now trying to slowly relearn music. With that, I should be considered a biased judge in rating this album, but a discerning one all the same.

So, what awaits the audiophile who listens to the whole collection?

Much! One song, “Pīmiņ, brōļ’” near the end of the album impressed me with its brotherly love, sung in the Latgalian dialect. The piece played by Rasa, “Aiz Daugavas vara dārzs,”; at first sounds like medieval music brilliantly coming alive and it then carries through with a delightful melody that can happily stick in one’s ear. Towards the end of the CD there is a collection of songs that convey a type of sentiment and emotion that only bagpipes can, a contemplative, yet fierce awareness. In the beginning there’s a playful, carnival, festive feel heard in “Dūdu sauciens.” A summer ball held in the fields with its own homespun music is conjured up from “Dūdu balss un zaglis” (Bagpipes’ Voice and Thief). The hypnotic song “Dūdas balss” (The voice of the bagpipe ), played by Grodi, feels mysterious and seems almost Arabic. It could be like what one might hear for the music inside a sheik’s tent where he was being served his pleasure. Contrasting that song’s sultry feel, we hear a cheerful chorus sing in “Ai, dū makaidū.”

Bagpipes can voice a heavy, foreboding and ponderous message that can put off some people. Yet bagpiping can vary and create expressions of joy, beauty, freedom and wildness. Dūdas Latvijā does this. The songs on this album create a warm, energetic air, good for a gathering of friends. While heard at keg parties or at funerals or at parades, the best bagpipe music is what you can play at home and with friends. This album does this and so much more. Dūdas Latvijā gets a “two thumbs up” in my judgment.