Listening to Numbvision by The Hobos, a new Rīga pop-rock foursome, you might not think you’re hearing a Latvian band at all. Here are 12 tracks, all in English, that could well have been the work of a young but solid Middle American band.

That must be the charm and appeal of The Hobos, led by singer and lyricist Rolands Ūdris. Songs like “Christian (I’m Gonna Be)” and “She Sounds Like a Little Child” rose quickly in the Latvian radio charts when the album was released late last year.

But why? Put up against other bands that can be heard on the radio, The Hobos are nothing special. Despite the characterization of Ūdris as a poet, the lyrics on many of these songs are not all that outstanding. The musicianship is fine, but again not out of the ordinary. Then why was this album flying off store shelves at Christmas and why does the band continue to be a favorite for concerts? Perhaps because The Hobos prove that even in Rīga you can get good homemade North American pop.

Much of the credit here must go to Ūdris, who has spent some time on this side of the Atlantic, as you’ll quickly tell from his voice, which lacks the usual Eastern European twists on English pronunciation. But it’s also evident in the lyrics, which frequently feel like they’re written from an American sensibility, rather than from anything Latvian. Even the name of the band, The Hobos, makes allusion to a distinctly American character in a distinctly American era. (And, yes, we did check several dictionaries, all of which say the origins of the word “hobo” are unknown.)

Besides Ūdris, the members of The Hobos include Mārtins Burkevics on bass and background vocals, Egons Kronbergs on guitars and Vilnis Krieviņš on drums.

Of the dozen songs on this album, there are several standouts. “Christian (I’m Gonna Be)”—a song not about being born again—laughs at the facility with which some people change their convictions. “Reminiscence of a Funny Face” has a clown searching for greater meaning in his life. “Lululu,” another of those songs about the simplicity of love, is simply wonderful. And “Surrender,” featuring Alexander Sircov on a speaker-rattling bass, is a great tune even if the lyrics might be lost on some listeners.

In interviews in Latvian media, Ūdris and other band members have talked about the art of their songs. We have to agree that Numbvision is not just about being able to do a solid English-language album. These songs do have their pensive aspects, but we also believe that Ūdris could have applied himself a bit more to the craft of his poetry. The metaphors and similes used—for example, “she sounds like a little child,” the clown in the circus, “feeling like a hobo”—often seem too facile. Perhaps that’s because English is not his native tongue (we weren’t overly thrilled with the license he took in translating some of Renārs Kaupers’ lyrics on the English version of Prāta Vētra’s Starp divām saulēm album).

For a debut album, however, we also have to tell The Hobos, “Cepuri nost!,” for their efforts on this project. Earlier this year, Ūdris told the youth magazine S that artistic achievement is more important to the band than commercial success. These guys have the potential for both.

(Editor’s note: This article originally appeared on the SVEIKS.com site.)

That Rīga, our Rīga, might one day be seen as one of the more beautiful cities in Europe, seems perhaps hard to accept. Perhaps it takes an outsider to tell Latvians what they take for granted.

German photographer Rolf Reiner Maria Borchard provides the reader of this book, Riga, with such an outsider’s view. Borchard, who studied architecture and now is a professor at the Muthesius-Hochschule in Kiel, fills this coffee-table book with more than 100 black-and-white images of the Old City, with occasional forays into other districts of the Latvian capital.

The photographs are arranged in a series of somewhat disconnected mini-excursions through Rīga. Following an introduction to Rīga’s architecture written by journalist and architecture critic Manfred Sack (in English and German), the first image is of Āgenskalns Bay. Immediately after come two seemingly obligatory, tourist-like shots of the rooftops of Rīga taken from the tower of St. Peter’s Church.

But what Borchard supplies is not a tourist’s guide, nor is it a collection of "art" photographs. The book, after all, is a presentation of Rīga’s architecture, of its buildings flavored by Baroque, Art Nouveau, Stalinism and other styles.

What Borchard provides, in fact, is difficult to define. The photographs are at once the work of a technician, of an investigator and of a photographer. So many images are static, devoid of people (did he shoot most of these on a Sunday morning?), the better to see the buildings that after all are the subject. While the lack of life in these images is marked, the ability to stare at some of Rīga’s wonders is to be savored.

Borchard is not content just to show us the obvious; he walks into courtyards, ventures behind buildings and explores corners most tourists never see. Most images were taken on the east side of the Daugava River, but Borchard does also show us some of the interesting architecture found in old fishermen’s homes on Ķīpsala.

And he certainly understands the ability of the lens to capture angles and moments pedestrians seldom encounter. In one image, looking down Trokšnu iela in the Old City, the reader feels suspended just above the street. In an another, a Cartier Bresson-like view across the Dom Square toward the Rīga Stock Exchange, we see a young boy running but appearing to leap off a cafe’s fencepost. And in one surprising picture, Borchard wants to make a point about the English neo-Tudor style of the Great Guild and Little Guild buildings. He makes the reader not just look skyward, but crane one’s neck back in a most uncomfortable position.

Did I say black-and-white? I meant gray. Or perhaps silver. The images don’t lack contrast, but about the only snappy whites you’ll find are of the paper on which the plates are printed. The first time I paged through Riga, this bothered me, perhaps because I had just returned from the city and its gray winter. In fact, many of the photographs in the book were taken in winter. On reflection—and perhaps this is the power of gray—the initial drabness of these photographs is soothing, drawing the reader in, forcing one to look at details.

I’ve gotten over the gray, but the final pages of the book remain unsettling. The first pages of Riga present us with almost a matter-of-fact "this is Rīga" introduction, but the last pages show us several of Rīga’s best known cemeteries, focusing particularly on memorial sculptures. Why? One has to read the comments (in English and German) to the photographs to find the answer. The last two images, from the Forest Cemetery (Meža kapi), reveal the power of these sculptures that are not mere headstones. Says the photographer: "A friendly paradox: the living drawing strength from their dead."

One of the veteran and most well-known groups of the Latvian rock scene are Jumprava, who have been recording and releasing albums since the 1980s—and creating many recognizable Latvian hits along the way. Popular songs include “Baltā” and “Peldētajs,” which achieved first place in the Mikrofons song competitions in 1990 and 1991, respectively. And the recently released retrospective album Labāko dziesmu izlase is a hit as well, selling many copies and introducing and re-introducing many to the songs of Jumprava.

To be honest, I have not heard much of Jumprava’s work and am not very knowledgeable of their history. I know that they have released many albums over the course of their career, but the only album besides this one that I am familiar with is the 1998 release Laika atšķirību romance (which was a great album, by the way). But listening to Labāko dziesmu izlase I realized how many of their songs I was familiar with. Not only had I heard the aforementioned “Baltā” and “Peldētajs,” but I had heard the song “Lietus” from the Mikrofons 89 collection, as well as the song “Ziemeļmeita,” which can be found on the obscure Melodiju stafete Nr. 8 record, released in 1988.

This is not the only Jumprava collection available; a compact disc of their earlier work, Jumprava 88/90 has also been released. The song selection on Labāko dziesmu izlase and Jumprava 88/90 are very similar, as there are eight songs that are the same between the two collections (actually, two of the songs from the 88/90 collection have been remixed for the Labāko album.)

The best way to describe Jumprava’s music is “keyboard rock,” as the dominant instrument in almost all of the songs on this album is the keyboard. That’s fine, but it would be nice to hear more guitar sometimes! Regardless, the selection of songs show a Latvian group at the peak of its songwriting ability.

The collection also borrows heavily from the 1998 release Laika atšķirību romance, as there are five songs from that album—which is not at all a bad thing! One of my favorite Jumprava songs is “Pastorāle”, with a great keyboard intro, a very catchy chorus and the haunting voice of Marija Grauba that closes out the track. Other favorites from Laika atšķirību romance are “Ēna” and “Jaganatha,” both of which reappear on the latest release. “Jaganatha” features an Indian feel and, like “Ēna” and “Lēna upe,” is based in part on the work of Nataradža.

One of the questionable inclusions from Laika atšķirību romance is “Auto.” Besides not being a particularly good song, it includes yet another example of why some Latvian groups should avoid writing lyrics in English: “This is my servant and this is my car, I want to drink and I drive to the bar.”

The older songs withstand the test of time well. The quirky hit “Peldētajs,” details the story of someone who swims the crawl stroke on his back from Ventspils to the island of Visby (a rather long distance!). This song references the movie Peldētajs, apparently the same as the 1981 Soviet film Plovets by director Irakli Kvirikadze.

“Lietus” is another great song, written at a time when the movement for Latvia’s independence was getting louder and stronger. It appeared on the Mikrofons 89 collection, on which practically every song was about the topic of freedom, renewal and unity. The singer’s sentences about what pains him are written in chalk on the street, but are washed away by the unending rain.

The two newly remixed songs, “Šeit lejā” and “Vēl jāgaida” are nothing special. I have not heard the original version, so I cannot compare them, but the remixing has not added much to the song.

Thankfully the packaging contains the lyrics to all the songs (although the printed lyrics are not in the exact order as they appear on the CD, which is slightly annoying), but not much else. It identifies the band members on the front cover, but doesn’t specify what instruments they play. It would also be nice to know when the song was recorded, as well as what album it originally appeared on, but those are just minor complaints.

Overall, it is a great CD, both for those who are unfamiliar with the work of Jumprava and need a good introduction to them, as well as to those who are familiar with their work, as it collects all of their best songs onto one CD.