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Many Latvian folk groups, including Tautumeitas, have even learned and begun to perform Ukrainian folk songs too.<\/p>\n
Over ice cream and tea at a pizza joint in R\u0113zekne, a small city in Latvia\u2019s far east, Juris Zal\u0101ni, a folk musician and co-founder of a non-profit folk production company called Lauska, explains that after the invasion of Ukraine, he reconnected with a Ukrainian folk musician who had fled her home near the Russian border. Zal\u0101ni later hired the musician to help teach Latvian folk groups how to properly pronounce the words to Ukrainian folk songs. The experience, he says, underscored the fragility of the folk tradition and freedom. \u201cIt can disappear very fast.\u201d<\/p>\n
In early March, in B\u0113rzgale, a tiny town in eastern Latvia, the municipality\u2019s administrative building is abuzz with nervous tension. About 150 Latvian high school and middle school students sit in the auditorium hall awaiting the results of their tryout for the Youth Song and Dance Festival, which will take place this July. <\/p>\n
Most of the students haven\u2019t changed out of their dancing costumes. Both boys and girls wear vests over loose white long-sleeve shirts. The girls dressed in long woollen skirts that flowed to their ankles; the boys sported grey trousers. On their feet, many have fastened bast shoes, which are traditionally made of tree bark, up to their lower calves. <\/p>\n
Each school\u2019s group have been preparing for this day for months, practicing several times per week, often for up to two or three hours per rehearsal. The scores they receive will determine whether they will dance in front of tens of thousands of spectators at the Me\u017eparka stage in Riga, at the festival\u2019s biggest concert. <\/p>\n
The room goes quiet as the judges start to announce the results. Again and again, a pattern repeats: charged silence, then eruptions of cheers and hugs. If one of the groups is unhappy about their score, it isn\u2019t evident by their elated reactions. <\/p>\n
Afterwards, the teens swap out their national garb for t-shirts, sweatshirts, and jeans. <\/p>\n
Outside, I asked a few of them about how resistance is core to folklore culture and the divisions between the \u2018traditional\u2019 sect and stage dancers. They seem pretty uninterested in the political implications of their performance. <\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m just proud of my team,\u201d says one student named Rihards, whose group have earned a first-place designation, meaning they have a good shot at not only receiving an invite to the festival, but also a prime spot in the concert. Another dancer in his company, Gustavs, adds: \u201cNow we\u2019re sigma.\u201d <\/p>\n
This is the next generation of Latvian folklorists. Only thirty-four years post-independence, the country is navigating the challenges of a globalising world, in a complicated geopolitical moment. But as Zal\u0101ni, the head of the folklore production non-profit says: \u201cThe essence of folklore is that it always changes.\u201d<\/p>\n
Jack Styler is a freelance journalist.<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n Buy your copy of Huck 81 here<\/a>.<\/strong><\/em><\/em><\/p>\n Enjoyed this article? Follow Huck on Instagram<\/a> and sign up to our newsletter<\/a> for more from the cutting edge of sport, music and counterculture.<\/strong><\/em><\/em><\/p>\n Support stories like this by becoming a member of Club Huck<\/a>.<\/strong><\/em><\/em>