I recently spoke with a friend whose father had just passed away. She told me about returning to her hometown and about her struggles to convince her own mother that it would not be “improper” to include one Latvian folk song as a part of the memorial service. All of this took place right here in Latvia, among normal Latvians, and goes to show how far removed from their own traditional culture many have become.

And so I am very glad that Skandinieki—the best-known Latvian folklore ensemble—has released a recording of wake and funeral songs. The compact disc, called Veļu upe pārplūdus’ (The River of Spirits is Overflowing), contains 24 songs and dances from all parts of Latvia. The collection is a good representation of the hundreds of songs devoted to death and funerals. Please don’t dismiss this CD just because it’s funeral music. This is very important listening material! Plus, it’s not as somber as you might expect.

The texts may be sad, but they are also profound and comfortingly clear-sighted. Interestingly, many Latvian dainas (folk verses) describe death, wakes and funerals from the perspective of the deceased. The deceased may tell those who have remained behind how to prepare for the burial, how to decorate the cemetery, or how to sing and dance at the funeral feast. Yes, dance! An essential part of a Latvian funeral is ritual dance. One of these rituals is the stamping out of the deceased’s footsteps (pēdu izmīšana), so that their spirit may rest easily and not return to the land of the living. An example of this practice is included on the CD, “Nominu, nodeju māmiņas pēdas.” Another funeral dance or game is “Sieviņ brauca mežās,” in which a blindfolded participant must guess who his fellow dancers are.

Other songs of note on the CD are “Dedzan man skalu” about the death of a fisherman and “Vakar māti glabājām” and “Kas tevi šaukie,” both sung in rarely heard dialects. “Zin, Dieviņi, kālabati,” “Jūdzat bēŗus, jūdzat raudus,” “Divejādi saule tek” and “Dzīvoš’ ilgi, nedzīvoš’” are fairly familiar melodies and texts, but the rest of the CD will probably be completely new material for many listeners. The melodies alone of “Viena pati balta puķe” and “Te ganiņi ganījuši” are beautiful enough to make your heart break. “Eim’ pašas māsiņas” is another dance. “Visi ciema kukainīši” is not only upbeat and in a major key, but it even pokes gentle fun at the legions of insects that are awaiting the singer’s death. Talk about a healthy attitude towards death! Near the end of the CD is a Liv wailing song, which does not at all fit in with the reserved manner of Latvian funeral songs. It’s sung so convincingly, though, that it’s fascinating to listen to—almost to the point of being uncomfortable.

Some of the songs on Veļu upe pārplūdus’ have kokle, ģīga or violin accompaniment, but the arrangements are all very simple and the main focus of the CD is definitely on the voices, melodies and texts. Skandinieki is a large group and consequently tends to have a pleasant choral sound. Ten different singers are featured on the CD, with the voices of the directors Helmī and Julgī Stalte being particularly powerful and full of character. Again, don’t be frightened off by the seriousness of these songs. If you allow them, they will give you great comfort and strength, even if you are not in mourning.

By the way, my friend’s mother later grudgingly admitted to her that the inclusion of the folk song in her father’s memorial service had been appropriate…and even very beautiful and moving.

Each of us has a life story, each with a different color and texture, with moments of joy and moments of despair or sadness. Older Latvians’ lives in particular are full of trauma and often tragedy as the Latvian people have been subjugated by neighboring forces in the first decades of the 20th century as a result of two world wars. This was followed by even more tragedy as families were torn apart again in the 1950s by mass deportations from Latvia and at the same time emigration of thousands of families to the United States, Canada, Australia and various countries in Europe.

One way of documenting these biographies is by recording the oral histories of individuals. This way a physical recording or written transcription of a person’s life story can be passed on to future generations. Just as Krišjānis Barons recorded Latvian folksongs in the 19th century, there are many researchers continuing his job and adding much more to the documentation of people’s lives.

One project involved in this is Dzīvesstāsts (Lifestory), undertaken by the Institute of Philosophy and Sociology at the University of Latvia. Called the National Oral History project, its aim is to record the life stories of people with a connection to the nation of Latvia “regardless of the ethnicity or nationality of the interviewee who is an inhabitant of Latvia or where—even outside Latvia—this lifestory is recorded.” The material collected via these interviews provides resources to various fields of academic research: sociology, social and cultural anthropology, linguistics, individual and social history, ethnology, and folklore psychology. The Dzīvesstāsts project has a partner, “Dzīvesstāsts – trimdā” (Lifestory – Diaspora), with coordinator Maija Hinkle in the United States organising interviewers who, in contrast to the project in Latvia, work independently, thousands of miles away from one another, according to the Web site.

A similar project homes in on an even more specific group, the refugees from Latvia living in German Displaced Persons’ camps after World War II. The project, called DP Albums, invites people to send in testimonies as well as photographs of life in these camps. The team involved in this project is an eclectic group all too young to remember the events but keen to document them as they are part of their heritage. Funded by various foundations and associations with an interest in supporting Latvian cultural heritage projects, this is one project with a “use-by date,” as those who remember the DP camps age and pass away.

An interactive virtual encyclopedia project is Latvijas ļaudis uz 21. gadsimta sliekšņa (Latvia’s People at the Turn of the 21st Century), where individuals are invited to add biographical data about people who have “contributed to promoting Latvia’s freedom and growth. The people, who are the real wealth of our country, will write a book about themselves, thus creating a collective portrait of the country.” Collating Latvian biographies since 2002, the project is partially funded by the Soros Foundation. The biographies that can be seen there so far are a real cross-section of the community, both those Latvians living in Latvia as well as those who have lived outside Latvia for the past six decades. Many are people with a recognizable name, outstanding each in their particular field, while others have been “quiet achievers” who have made a significant contribution nonetheless.

All these projects have helped to document the personalities, both big and small, that have helped to create the mosaic of Latvia and its people. Each person and family has their own thread to add to the complex tapestry of Latvian history.

A promotional photo of the band Higinsoni shows two masked Santas, one military man and a wig-wearing “I ‘heart’ NY” T-shirt-sporting mystery man. Whatever first impressions this may suggest, it turns out the band’s debut compact disc Uzmet garu! is just another modern take on traditional Latvian folk songs. It actually doesn’t get more normal than this.

Higinsoni (Zoltāns, E Minor, Blokis and Tēvocis) are a self-proclaimed four-man ethno-punk-metal band from Latvia—or Sweden. The album insert (as well as Web site) says Higinsoni, the grandsons of Latvian emigrants, arrived in Rīga toward the end of 2005 and, after a few month’s hardships and a side job of stealing light bulbs only to resell them at the market, wound up in the music business. One can guess the information is largely fictional—the band’s Web site updates happenings and events that seem too outlandish to be true—but the “information” is entertaining enough. Unfortunately, their music doesn’t match the animation of their write-up.

The album started out well enough, with a peppy ska-goes-death-metal rendition of “Mīlu mazo Lulu.” This song will doubtless bring up memories for people other than myself, as “Lulu” was a song often sung at the weekly Gaŗezers vasaras vidusskola campfires in Michigan. The opening is played by an accordion, which sets up that intimate campfire feel. Then the ska-punk beats kick in, followed by some heavy metal guitar and screaming, gravely vocals. For a first track it’s not spectacular, but so far it had my attention, which is what counts.

The album’s second track, “Kur gaismiņa,” flat out did not impress me. Unlike “Mīlu mazo Lulu,” this is a traditional folk song.  However, the track was a disappointment. It sounds like the band is trying too hard to achieve…whatever it is the band is trying to achieve.

That being said, the beginning of the third track, “Div’ dūjiņas,” made me very nervous. It’s happened before. Bands will lull you into a false sense of “this CD is good, we promise!” with track one, and then it’s all the same the rest of the way through. “Div’ dūjiņas” redeems itself quickly and becomes a less depressing version of the popular folk song. The track is overall well executed and the instrumental break is even catchy.

Track four keeps up appearances with “Līgo.” A bit of a tribal-sounding intro and nicely harmonized vocals balance out the heavy metal break in the middle of the song. “Līgo” shows Higinsoni at its highest point in the album. The song is not only the best track on the album, but it is the most originally done out of all of the covers. It even has a hint of Korn toward the end, accompanied by a very James Bondesque bass guitar line.

From this track on most of the songs are a monotony of synthesizer, heavy guitar and vocals.  It’s one of those albums that starts to drone on after a while. The attention span of a person can last only so long, and once the rhythm and sound patterns are exhausted, it’s over. 

Two more tracks should be noted: “Tur es biju tur man tika” and “Mērkaķītis.”

“Tur es biju tur man tika” is worth mentioning because it strikes me as one of those songs that are heard anywhere Latvians and beer can be found. The track starts off calmly and sweetly enough, then rails into the good old “Šur tur, it nekur, krodziņā zem galda!” Another point of interest in the song is toward the end, where a musical break closely resembling George Michael’s “Faith” is heard. If anything else, Higinsoni isn’t oblivious to catching the attention of listeners familiar with classic riffs.

“Mērkaķītis” is another one of those songs sung at Latvian children’s camps. What surprised me is that Higinsoni decided to go with the “clean” version of the song:

Manu mazo mērkaķīti, ū-ū-ū,
nepaliec par vientulīti, tu tu tu,
noglaudīšu tavu galvu
sasukāšu tavu spalvu
došu tevīm mazu bučiņu.

If you don’t know the “unclean” version, then you probably didn’t go to a Latvian kids camp.

I can think of a handful of my friends who would get a kick out of this album for a party scene, but I don’t think that it would make a reoccurring appearance. It doesn’t offer anything that permanently catches one’s attention, that stays on the mind days or even hours after listening to it. I would hope that if the band puts out another album, Higinsoni will explore its abilities and try to shake things up a bit more. The band comes across as a highly creative group of guys, and it would be nice to see that creativity applied to the music.