“God help you,” her father says, when Ilze Berzins leaves Canada for a new life in Latvia.

She has been raised on her mother’s nostalgic stories of an idyllic rural life in Beki, the farm that was abandoned when her family fled during the Second World War. Berzins was two years old. Now, more than 50 years later, she has come back to test her mother’s dreams. Happy Girl is a memoir of her experiences.

Berzins is determined to make a place for herself. Evicting the drunken louts she finds camped out in her room when she arrives in Rīga, she begins a series of bitter confrontations over housing. Beki, the family homestead, is devastated and unrecognizable after years of Soviet occupation. The tenants there don’t appreciate her sudden appearance. It is clear that their dislike could turn very ugly indeed. Full of energy at the outset, Berzins acquires and loses a series of jobs and apartments in Rīga—and even makes some friends. Eventually, however, the daily struggles of life in Latvia begin to wear on her. Locals are contemptuous of her desire to live there. She is beaten up by a militia man outside her apartment building while neighbours watch; she receives scant attention when she complains to the police. It’s easy, she says, to start drinking in the mornings in Latvia. Alcohol is a necessary cushion between self and reality.

"Kauns! Kauns!" (Shame! Shame!) people yell at her over any misunderstanding and label her "Trakā arzemniece!" (Crazy foreigner) for her eccentricities. Berzins wears leggings, running shoes and baggy sweaters in the street—to the horror of the more formal Latvians. Her colleagues at the Latvian Academy of Art sneer at her methods: she teaches French by singing popular songs, English via "Phantom of the Opera." She refuses to throw her garbage into the trucks like everyone else and leaves it at the curb for someone else to deal with. By her own account, Berzins makes enemies easily. Many of her friendships seem to follow a predictable course of enthusiasm, followed by deterioration, then recrimination.

She is conscious that her expectations are unrealistic: "I just wanted the folks at Beki to disappear. Like they wanted me to disappear. I wanted things to be like they were in my mother’s stories… I wanted impossible things." The myth of Latvia she carries within her is strong. Still, she cannot help but question her mother’s memories of life there: "From early childhood on, we had been brought up on a Latvia that no longer existed, if indeed it ever did exist."

The Latvia she discovers is rife with government and police corruption. Organized crime flourishes. Bribery and sexual harrassment are endemic. The Hare Krishna in Rīga don’t dance or sing in parks; they are too busy feeding the poor who line up outside their temple. Beggars and pensioners hold placards telling of their plight, and the prostitutes on Marijas Street ply their trade with feet wrapped in newspapers. Meanwhile, mafiosi in leather jackets talk on cell phones in expensive restaurants.

"Neņem galvā," the Latvians say. Don’t let it get to you; literally, don’t take it into your head.

Berzins goes to Latvia expecting reunion, completion; instead she encounters incivility, hatred and violence. Nevertheless, she does experience moments of pure joy, usually in the fields of Beki. When she finally gives up her dream of living there and decides to return to Canada, her disappointment and sense of failure drive her to the very edge of herself.

The result of her disillusion is a funny, lively, painful book, somewhat marred by typographical errors and minimal editing. It is a book written in anger. Berzins, along with a whole expatriate generation, was promised a fairytale Latvia that only needed independence to exist again. The promise is still unfulfilled.

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

“It makes me feel happy.” A British executive of a prestigious international company said this when he heard the new Latvian Folk Music Collection’s Latviešu danči (Latvian Dances) playing as telephone on-hold music at his company. Overall, that is quite an accurate assessment of this disc.

To put it another way, the music on this album is, in two words, quintessentially Latvian. As ethnomusicologist Valdis Muktupāvels writes in the liner notes (in both Latvian and English, although a few of the English phrases are a bit awkward), Latvians love to dance. This love is truly evident in the joyous music on this disc.

The music was performed by a number of people, including Māris Muktupāvels (producer of this album) and Ilga Reizniece, both of whom are well known and highly respected in Latvian folk music circles. Other notable performers include Gints Sola, guitarist for the pop-rock group Jauns Mēness, and Mikus Čavarts, like Reizniece and Māris Muktupāvels a member of the folklore ensemble Iļģi. One surprise addition is Ilmārs Mežs and his family. Mežs, known in part for his research into Latvian demographics, also is lead singer for the folklore ensemble Eilenders.

Included in the liner notes are instructions (in Latvian only), written by Sniedze Grīnberga, for dancing the dances. It’s a wonderful idea, but does not work all that well. The directions particularly would not work well for two groups of people (other than those who do not read Latvian): those who are highly visually oriented and those who have no Latvian dance knowledge or experience. These people might be able to figure out only the simplest dances. I am quite visually oriented when it comes to dancing, never having been a big fan of written dance instructions with no illustrations because I have a very difficult time picturing the steps and formations. As for the dances on this disc, I was able to follow along the instructions mostly only to the dances that I have danced before.

However, on a purely musical level, this is absolutely fantastic music. The second track, “Cūkas driķos” is one of the more rousing versions I’ve heard and I had an almost irrepressible urge to begin dancing down the hallways of my office when I heard it. The tracks with vocals make you want to sing along at the top of your voice. The 15 dances chosen for inclusion on this disc offer a nice variety: some are fast, others are slower, some have vocals, others are instrumental. Most Latvians will be familiar with at least a couple of dances, such as “Tūdaliņ, tagadiņ” and “Mugurdancis,” which are classics that children learn at very young ages. Yet there also are tracks that will be new to many listeners.

Another enjoyable aspect of this disc is that dancers were a part of the recording. Not only does the listener hear the wonderful music, but also the actual dancing. In other words, it is very much a live recording. For those of us living outside of Latvia, at times this disc is as close as many of us will come to an authentic evening of Latvian dancing, singing and merrymaking.

This disc will make Latvians feel Latvian to the depths of their souls (and to tips of their toes) and it will give non-Latvians a greater appreciation of Latvian culture. Naturally, this is the somewhat biased opinion of a former dancer who is crazy about both Latvian dance and music, but if a half dozen co-workers from around the world at my office enjoyed Latviešu danči, I am certain all readers will as well.

On the three-hour automobile trip to a Jāni celebration in mid-Wisconsin, our passengers included two twenty-something au pairs from Latvia. Figuring they might be starved for the latest music from back home, we took along a few newer compact discs: Prāta Vētra’s Starp divām saulēm, The Satellites’ Piens and, just for kicks, Guntars Račs’ retrospective Dienas. We thought these two young Latvian women especially would be eager to hear the latest Prāta Vētra recording. Nope. “Put in that Račs CD!,” they begged.

Even if you’ve never heard of Guntars Račs, if you’ve listened to popular Latvian music you most likely have heard his song lyrics. Does your CD or tape collection include anything by the group Bet Bet (which includes Račs)? Do you have something by the guitar rockers Līvi? How about something by Igo? Chances are you’ve heard one or more tunes penned by Račs.

Dienas pulls together 16 of Račs’ best-known songs from the past two decades. Most have been released earlier. Songs include:

• “Diena,” performed by Račs himself in a new recording backed by the rest of the Bet Bet crew.
• “Piedod man,” performed by the group Līvi from Liepāja. The track is taken from 1997’s Bailes par zinģēm.
• “Vakara vējā,” performed by Bet Bet with lead vocals by Zigfrīds Muktupāvels.
• “Tikai tā!,” performed by Liepājas brāļi.
• “Vai ar to tev nepietiek,” performed by the pop-rock group Jauns Mēness, led by Ainars Mielavs. Recorded in 1988 when Račs was the drummer for the group.
• “Es esmu vēl dzīvs,” also performed by Jauns Mēness and, like the song above, recorded in 1989 but not previously released.
• “Vējs,” by the long-time group Zodiaks.
• “Pūt, vējiņi,” also by Zodiaks.
• “Ozolam,” another one by Līvi.
• “Dzīve ir viena,” by Olga & Tango.
• “Lietus,” by another long-time group, Credo.
• “Bumerangs,” by Igo (Rodrigo Fomins), another singer from Liepāja whose career is just as notable as Račs’.
• “Vētrasputns,” performed by Varavīksne.
• “Romance,” performed by Neptūns and not previously released.
• “Kapteinis,” performed by the jazz singer Laima Vaikule.
• “Tā ir jānotiek,” performed by Zvaigžnu koris.

“Once about a hundred years ago,” music critic Klāss Vāvere writes in the liner notes, “some journal proclaimed Račs as the new hope of national poetry. Even though I never read poetry journals, I read his verses and concluded: here’s a sensible fellow.”

Reading the lyrics in Dienas (and the liner notes thankfully include them) we encounter simple thoughts wrapped in visions found in nature. For pop songs, it’s a wonderful formula. In the liner notes, Račs explains himself: “The wind blew me here from Liepāja and therefore it’s no wonder that my songs are about the wind, the setting sun and love… I am truly happy about all that is going on with me and around me at the great threshold of the millenium.”

Račs has good reason to be happy. He’s a successful pop song lyricist, he’s a successful drummer (usually performing for Bet Bet), and he’s the successful marketing director for Latvia’s top recording label, MICREC. Raitis Sametis, who produces the music e-zine Kieģelis, has tagged Račs one of the 10 most influential people in the Latvian pop-rock music scene, particularly for his efforts to make Latvian artists known outside of Latvia.

Račs also was honored during the Latvian recording industry’s “Gada Balva 98” awards ceremony in April when the song “Par to (raudāja māte)” was named the best schlager style song of last year. Račs wrote the lyrics and Raimonds Pauls the music. The tune perhaps is best recalled as the theme song for the 1998 film by director Jānis Streičs, Likteņdzirnas. We almost wish the song was on this album, if for no other reason than to offer a counterpoint to the generally fast-paced tunes.

As for the songs that do appear on the album, about the only one worth criticizing is “Diena.” The song itself is good, but the studio performance here is embellished by a couple of special effects that don’t add anything to the presentation and seem to be included only because digital technology allows them.

This one point aside, Dienas is a worthy addition to any collection of recorded Latvian music.