The world of Latvian classical music contains many treasures that are unfortunately known only to Latvians. Hoping to rectify this situation, in 2000 UPE Recording Co. released the album Latvian Millennium Classics. This was a collection of some of the best-known works in Latvian classical music, designed as an introduction to those—like me—less schooled in the genre. Realizing that just one collection could not possibly be enough, UPE released another, Latviešu klasikas dārgumi, in 2001.

This release again collects a number of well-known works by Latvian composers onto one compact disc. The major difference this time is that all the works on the record are performed by the Liepāja Symphony Orchestra, conducted by Imants Resnis. Latvian Millennium Classics had many different performance types (orchestral, solo instruments, choir), while all the tracks on this CD are orchestral.

Though there is quite a good deal of overlap between the two discs, having all the pieces performed by the same orchestra adds a flow and continuity to Latviešu klasikas dārgumi that was not present on the earlier record. The LSO is held in high regard in not just Latvia, but the rest of the world as well. This CD is a testament to that fact. The orchestra is able to bring out the best in just about any piece it plays, and is especially capable of doing tremendous justice to the works of Latvian composers.

The album starts off with two pieces by Andrejs Jurjāns, “Ačikops” and “Barkarola.” “Ačikops” is from the “Latvian Dances Suite” and is a tribute to Latvian folk dances in style and melody. One can almost imagine the folk dancers dancing around in circles and clapping along when listening to this piece. Just as on Latvian Millenium Classics, “Barkarola” features the beautiful french horn of Arvīds Klišāns.

No symphonic anthology would be complete without one of the most famous pieces of Latvian classical music, “Melanholiskais valsis” by Emīls Dārziņš. The melody is at once simple, beautiful and memorable.

Jānis Mediņš also gets two pieces on the album, “Ārija” and “Ziedu valsis” from the ballet “Mīlas uzvara,” an excellent sample from this prolific composer’s output. Mediņš had one of the richest portfolios of compositions, and these two pieces show why the Latvian people held him in such high regard.

The somber piece “Rudens” by Alfrēds Kalniņš is another highlight. The composition was completed in 1941, and, intentional or not, its dark melody foreshadowed the difficult times ahead for the Latvian people.

With Latvian Millenium Classics, I lamented the fact that two of my favorite Latvian composers, Jānis Ivanovs and Imants Kalniņš, were not included. I was very pleased to find that both composers were represented on this release. Their absence on the earlier release is more than made up for here, as the beauty of Ivanovs’ compositions are displayed in two pieces: in the second movement of his “Cello Concerto” and in fragments of the music from the film Salna pavasarī. The “Cello Concerto” features Agnese Rugēvica on cello. She is able to bring out the sublime beauty of the piece. Ivanovs’ “Cello Concerto” is one of my favorite pieces of Latvian classical music, and this performance of it only reinforces my belief.

Imants Kalniņš is represented by the second movement of his “4th Symphony,” one of the most popular symphonies written by a Latvian composer. Its unique blend of all kinds of styles has ensured this symphony a permanent place in the annals of Latvian music. Even though this symphony was written 30 years ago, it still sounds fresh, thanks to the skill of the Liepāja orchestra. It alternates between the playful and the aggressive, and the merging of these two styles is what makes this piece so dear to so many listeners.

Jānis Mediņš’ brother Jēkabs also gets a track here with his work “Leģenda.” This is another dark and sad piece, and it sounds almost mystical to me, as if it was trying to recall many an ancient Latvian folk legend with its music.

World-reknowned Latvian composer Pēteris Vasks’ talent is displayed by the inclusion of the “Cantabile for String Orchestra.” As the liner notes indicate, Vasks’ focus is more on human emotion, rather than on events or the current time. The liner notes also say that the “Cantabile” has to do with the expression of joy, but it sounds rather bleak to me! That is no matter, as Vasks is at his best when he is documenting deep sadness and pain, which few other composers can do as well.

Finishing off the album is one section of the longer suite “Kāzu dziesma” by Romualds Kalsons. Kalsons, along with Vasks and Imants Kalniņš, make up what are called the “new voices” of Latvian classical music, each with their own unique style and interpretation. Kalsons’ piece is one of celebration, and it is a fitting end to this celebration of Latvian classical music.

I particularly wanted to commend UPE for the liner notes (in Latvian and English) that accompany this album. They provide much more in-depth documentation about each of the composers and their works, as well as the Liepāja Symphony Orchestra. This is far better than the rather anemic notes provided with the Latvian Millennium Classics release.

Through almost 70 minutes of music, the Liepāja Symphony Orchestra traces the growth and evolution of Latvian classical music, through some of the best-known composers and their best-known works. This is a task of rather epic proportions, because there have been so many styles through the last 100-plus years of music in Latvia, and it is a difficult job for one orchestra to do it all justice. However, the LSO is well up to the task and the results are admirable. Latviešu klasikas dārgumi pays homage to all the great music that has already come, and leaves the listener in eager anticipation of what the next century of Latvian music might bring.

With Elvis Presley’s “All Shook Up” blaring, the camera swept across the surface of the Daugava River and, panning left, revealed the skyline of Rīga’s Old Town. Oh my, I said to myself, to actually see Rī;ga in a Hollywood movie! This was a treat. Too bad the rest of Red Hot wasn’t, well, so hot.

Red Hot was director Paul Haggis’ 1993 take on a fairly familiar story line: teenagers buck authority to do what teenagers want to do. In this case, the setting was Soviet Latvia in 1959. A group of music students discover the forbidden fruit of American rock ‘n’ roll. But the film, as the videotape sleeve suggests, could just as well have been Footloose or The Commitments. In other words, if you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all.

Red Hot begins when a few 45 rpm records are smuggled into the country by Uncle Dmitri (Armin Mueller-Stahl), a seaman. He gives the records to his nephew, Alexi Fradis (Balthazar Getty). The records are ingeniously copied and the music spreads. Before long a quartet of students decides to turn a deserted industrial building into a rehearsal studio. Complicating the story are Alexi’s humble roots and his evolving love affair with Valentina Kirov (Carla Gugino), the privileged daughter of a highly placed but jaded KGB colonel (Donald Sutherland). It’s all just kid stuff until an overambitious KGB underling decides cracking a case of musical anti-Soviet propaganda might lead to his rise in power.

Admittedly, it is interesting to see acted out what scholars of culture in the Soviet era have noted: Western rock music seeped into the U.S.S.R. and was copied onto various media, including X-ray negatives. But beyond that the story is predicatable, the characters are wanting and the historical realism is skin deep.

Although the movie was filmed in Rīga (a number of scenes, such as one apparently filmed inside the National Library of Latvia or of the Dome Church, will bring nods of recognition), there is little that is Latvian about Red Hot. The characters are almost all Russians, although it appears the cast and crew counted few ethnic Russians among them. And about the only Latvians you’ll see are the back-bench actors who portray some of the students, jail guards and so forth. In one brief moment, the camera pans past a group of young musicians practicing the tune to “Tūdaliņ, tagadiņ.”

Careful viewers may catch an anachronistic glimpse of the radio and television tower on Zaķusala, visible as Alexi bicycles across the Daugava. Construction on the tower didn’t begin until 1979, two decades after the Red Hot story supposedly took place.

Still, the film no doubt provided a needed infusion of money and inspiration for local talent when Hollywood came to Rīga. For example, readers of the credits will notice that former émigré and now successful Rīga restaurateur Mārtiņš Ritiņš did the catering. Too bad the story is formulaic.

One odd thing about Red Hot has been its almost Soviet-style way of disappearing from filmographies and video stores. A search of the Web found only cursory information about the movie (one incorrectly categorizing this as a comedy), while few online stores seem to carry the film (one claimed the price was USD 93.65). This might suggest Red Hot is a “sleeper.” It’s not.

In July 1994, Bill Clinton became the first American president to visit an independent Latvia. As he spoke near the Freedom Monument, thousands of Latvians thronged to hear his words. Many more listened on radio or watched on television. Among them was Kevin, then a young midwestern American who had come to Latvia to visit his penpal. Jeff Keenan tells the story of that first visit in his book, The Main.

The following month we traveled to Latvia for the first time. The trip was hectic, requiring visit after visit to new and old relatives, excursions around Rīga and throughout Latvia to places we had only read about, and occasional jaunts to various institutions for business and research purposes. In short, we were busy.

Kevin wasn’t.

His first trip was made specifically to visit his penpal Māra and her family. The Main describes his two weeks with the family and his growing need to “find himself.”

Kevin comes across naive—and I’m trying to use that word objectively, without attaching to it the negativity that we often do. Here he is, a young man of 25 from northeast Iowa who is making his first voyage beyond the Midwest. Even before he’s out of the country, he is apprehensive and amazed by New York, where he has to change planes and airports.

I went to Latvia for the first time with baggage. Besides the overstuffed suitcase, there were three decades of accumulated history, family lore and black-and-white photographs etched in memory. I don’t think I went with a romanticized vision of what Latvia might be like, but I’m sure that what I saw was quite different from what Kevin did.

Kevin, without that baggage, also doesn’t find a romanticized—or even a romantic—Latvia. What he does find is simplicity, so much so that at times it begins to grate the reader: The home in Rīga where he stays is simple. The meals are simple. The people are simple.

But sprinkled through the book are hints that things are not so simple in Latvia:

Amazed by the simplicity he was experiencing, he questioned Mara about her everyday life.

“Everything seems very peaceful here in Latvia,” he said. “Is life always this simple?”

Māra explains about the lack of heat in her family’s apartment, about the loneliness and depression that some people experience. Still, Kevin continues to see Latvia as a peaceful and simple place. Perhaps it is, but The Main begs for Kevin to dig a bit deeper, to seek what the country and the people are really like. He has several opportunities to do so, but is reluctant to ask questions when they may reveal much to him.

At one point in this short book of 110 pages, Kevin puts aside a travel guide, realizing that it provided inadequate preparation for the Latvia he finds. It’s a telling moment, one that shows the effect of being placed in a different culture, even if for a while. Nothing you read is like the real thing.

Keenan’s book about a journey of self-discovery allows us to see Latvia through fresh eyes. I only wish he had looked a bit harder.