This is the third recording in the Latvian Folk Music Collection by UPE Recording Co., and, like the first two (Pagānu gadagrāmata and Latviešu danči), is a very nice one indeed. Biruta Ozoliņa sings songs of her native Latgale (the eastern part of Latvia), accompanied by the kokle, which is a stringed folk instrument similar to a zither, played throughout the eastern Baltic region.

This recording is very traditional compared to the first in the series, Pagānu gadagrāmata, except for a couple of modern-sounding chords here and there.

Ozoliņa is best known as a former member of the folk group Iļģi, and in this group her high, light voice nicely complemented Ilga Reizniece’s distinctive lower and fuller voice. Alone on this recording, though, something almost seems to be missing. The liner notes say that Ozoliņa no longer performs, but now only sings alone and for herself. If you sing for yourself, you will, of course, sing the songs that you like. There’s no question about what type of songs Ozoliņa likes! They are all calm and gentle, with beautiful melodies. Bolta eimu is a very contemplative recording. It is not a performance, but rather a meditation. Some more critical ears might even call it background music.

Because the songs’ lyrics (all except one, “Zvīdzi zvīdzi sērmais zirdzeņ”) are from a young woman’s point of view—dealing with various aspects of courtship and marriage—they fit nicely with Ozoliņa’s voice. Her voice is amazingly clean, clear, light, simple and almost fragile. The songs are also very simple, and in this simplicity, I believe, is all the beauty of Latvian folk music.

All of the songs are in the Latgalian dialect, which might take some getting used to if you speak Latvian. Latvian speakers who have little experience with it may find some of the words hard to understand. For those who don’t speak Latvian, the one-line English translations in the liner notes may make the songs sound overly simple or trivial. Unfortunately, this is all too common a problem in translating folk songs in general. As a result, the translations cannot convey the complexities and poetry of the traditional texts—the cultural context, symbolism, mythological parallels, and deeper meanings of many texts are lost.

My husband’s only comment about this compact disc was that it all sounded the same. He says that about most of my folk recordings, but for once I had to agree with him. Maybe what’s missing is variety. All of the tracks sound very similar. One song, “Zyna Dīvs, zyna Laima,” is sung a capella, but in my opinion there could have been more, since Ozoliņa’s voice stands well enough on its own. In another song she uses a considerably lower tone, which is also a nice change. The four tracks recorded in 1998-99 (“Jau sauleite aizalaide,” “Apleik kolne saule tak,” “Treis mōzeņas mežā gōja,” and “Muns bōleņš karā gōja,” with the rest from 1987-92) have a slightly different sound to them, but not enough to be called “variety.”

My own taste in Latvian folk songs leans toward the calmer, more melancholic melodies, and there are plenty on this recording. (In Latvian music, a minor key does not necessarily indicate a sad song. This seems to be common in Eastern European folk music.) I don’t mind a whole recording of the same type of music—especially because I like it—but I know people who will complain.

Some might find the lack of variety in Bolta eimu boring, but for connoisseurs of the calm, melancholic melodies and Latgalian dialect this is a wonderful recording. As for me, it is a treat to have a whole CD devoted to Ozoliņa and “her” type of songs.

One of the all-time classic Latvian rock groups must be Pērkons, which has been releasing albums for more than 15 years. Thankfully for all of the many Pērkons fans, MICREC has released two compact discs with many of the group’s top songs. The most recent is Dziesmu izlase #2, 1985-1987.

In the summer of 1990, I had the good fortune to be able to participate in a Latvian music camp in Canada. The camp was organized by the renowned Latvian-American musician and composer Dace Aperāne, and Latvian musicians came from all over the world to participate. Among the musicians invited was Juris Kulakovs, the keyboardist and music composer for the famous Latvian rock group Pērkons.

Working with such a respected musician was quite the thrill. I wasn’t too familiar with the music of Pērkons at the time, having only heard one song, “Zaļā dziesma,” off the classic Mikrofons 88 collection. The song still today remains one of my favorite Perkons songs, and one of my favorite songs by any Latvian group.

During the closing show of the music camp, all the campgoers joined in and performed “Gandrīz tautas dziesma” with orchestra and choir! Quite an experience.

Around that time, Pērkons had released two of its albums—Labu vakar and Klusā daba ar perspektīvu—in the United States in cassette format and I was able to pick up a copy during the music camp. Though the sound quality of the recording wasn’t the best, and there were a few mistakes in the song listings, this was a tape I would continually listen to ever since.

During a trip to Latvia in the fall of 1998, I picked up the official Latvian cassette release of the two albums—this time with much better sound quality and the correct track listing. And all over again I began to listen to this tape all the time.

And now this collection of songs finally makes the transition to CD format—and what better format to hear these Latvian rock music classics in?

The CD is the second in the Dziesmu izlase series from Pērkons. The first CD, Dziesmu izlase #1, released in 1994, represented the years 1981 and 1982, and this CD represents the years 1985 to 1987. (Editor’s note: MICREC tells SVEIKS.com that “with luck” a third CD might be issued to complete the collection.)

Two songs were lost in the transition to CD—I’m assuming because of the space limitations of the CD format—“Sastrēgumstunda” and “Kā pasakā.” This is unfortunate, because “Sastrēgumstunda” is a favorite of mine.

Dziesmu izlase #2 contains Latvian songwriting and musicianship at its finest. Memorable songs include:

• “Gandrīz tautas dziesma” with faux folk song lyrics.
• The aforementioned “Zaļā dziesma,” a song dedicated and written for Greenpeace, showcasing the beautiful soprano voice of Ieva Akuratere.
• The catchy humor of “Baletomānija,” featuring Kulakovs on his only lead vocal performance, and also Akuratere making a very off-key performance!
• “Cik pulkstens,” which details the end of a relationship when two people are unable to express their feelings for each other.

Other favorites include “Mana dienišķā dziesma,” “Labu vakar” and “Slidotava”.

Many of the songs are very catchy and the group displays a growing maturity in its songwriting style and lyrics. A few of the longer songs drag a bit. “Lampas un zvaigznes” goes on for a bit longer than it should, and “Neatvadīsimies” is a bit repetitive, but these are just minor criticisms of this excellent CD.

Bonus points for including in the CD packaging all of the lyrics as well as previously unreleased photos of the band. But you have to wonder who was offering the band fashion advice in the photo on the inside back cover!

All in all, a great CD from a great band. Grade: 5 (the highest grade available in Latvian school – for those who might not know!).

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

“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.)