Jazz for Jeep

A jazz musician’s journey to the blazing cities of Ukraine

It’s been almost three years since the people of Ukraine began fighting for their country — for the chance to live in peace and build their future. We, their near neighbors, try to help in whatever way we can: some donate money, others collect supplies, while others still organize educational or awareness events online. Everyone finds their own way to cope with this trauma and contribute to a brighter tomorrow.

One of our jazz colleagues, trumpeter Kristians Kalva, has found several ways to take part in this effort — and, hopefully, help bring the war to an end sooner. When Kristians reached out in the middle of summer about performing at the charity concert «Jazz for a Jeep», I immediately said yes. Later, I learned how many people had agreed to join, and I was overjoyed. It’s clear that at the beginning of the war, when everyone was in shock, there was a huge desire to do something. That’s why the first big concert at the Congress Hall felt so powerful and grand.

But as time passes, fatigue sets in — for everyone, first and foremost, for those living through the war directly, but also for us. It’s not because we stop caring; it’s simply how the human mind protects itself. We grow used to the constant stream of news, and our own daily lives and worries often demand more immediate attention.

So, when I saw the list of musicians who agreed to perform at this latest event, I felt hope awaken again. The concert concluded with a magnificent brass band performance and words of gratitude from the Ape and Alūksne Community Foundation, Kristians, and the other participants. The jeep that had stood all evening in the M/Darbnīca courtyard set off for Ukraine — and so did Kristians himself. As he put it, he wanted to help «with his hands,» not only through music. Here’s what he told me about that decision.

How did you start engaging in these activities — fundraising, and especially deciding to drive a Jeep to Ukraine personally? Was this your first mission? How did it all begin?

For several years, I’ve had a very good friend, Pāvels Čornijs, a volunteer with the Alūksne and Ape Foundation. He’s from Alūksne and runs the foundation’s convoy division. For two years, I wanted to join one of their convoys, but work always got in the way. I asked him to let me know in advance about his next trip. This summer, around Midsummer’s Day, I finally joined — we delivered 10 vehicles to Ukraine.

Ten? How is that possible with only nine drivers?

One of the vehicles was an old Soviet-era fire truck. A driver took it from Alūksne to the Ukrainian border, then switched to another vehicle, while someone else drove the fire truck across the border. Once inside Ukraine, it was loaded onto a trailer and transported to its destination. This convoy was a record — never before had so many vehicles been delivered at once.

As I mentioned, I had agreed to participate in advance. We spent just over a week on the road, a few weeks before the charity concert we were planning.

I kept in touch with Pāvels, who wanted to organize a brass band concert in Alūksne. I asked how the fundraising was going, and he told me they were short on funds. We had long discussed holding a charity concert, so I arranged a venue and began gathering musicians — one by one, day by day.

How many people ended up participating?

I was amazed by the musicians’ response. Many are not accustomed to playing for free, but when they heard about the concert’s cause, everyone agreed without hesitation. Thankfully, in our music community, no one said things like «it’s complicated» or «it’s not our problem.» About 95% of the people I contacted said yes right away.
The concert had five parts. The first two featured jazz duos — students from the Dome Choir School, then two musicians from the Academy, including guitarist Emīls Knubis. After that came the main jazz concert, a two-part performance featuring a brass band assembled from musicians across four professional Latvian orchestras.

As I understand, you didn’t quite reach your fundraising goal that night?

Right — we raised about 70–80% of the target. Later, we analyzed why. We had very little time to promote the concert, appear on the radio or TV, and spread the word. If we’d had more lead time, things might have gone differently.

That concert specifically raised money for one of the ten vehicles, right?

Exactly. The event raised funds for one specific jeep out of the ten in the convoy. The foundation had already paid for it in advance, and we brought it from Alūksne to Riga to show people exactly what their donations were going toward.

How did you come into contact with the foundation?

Through my friend Pāvels. He constantly posts updates on Facebook, and I’d already seen some of their creative campaigns. One was called «Borscht for a Jeep», where Ukrainian refugee women cooked and sold borscht to raise funds — they met their goal in just a few hours. Another was «Beer for a Jeep», organized by Pāvels’ friend, who runs a craft brewery, Alūksnes alus. For each beer sold, part of the proceeds went to the foundation.

But you’re not from Alūksne yourself, are you?

No, I’m from Riga. However, I wanted to support this foundation because of how it operates. Their approach is different — every vehicle is personally handed over to the individual who will drive and use it for a specific mission. The cars vary: jeeps for frontline transport, minibuses for moving soldiers, and smaller cars for carrying documents, medicine, and other essential supplies. Each one has a clear purpose and a real person behind it.

And you’ve been to Ukraine twice yourself?

Yes. We had wanted to go before, but given the war conditions, sometimes the soldier or recipient can’t reach the border or city. That’s why our organizer, who plans the entire trip, works out the route we should take.

He figures out logically what will be the fastest and most efficient. During the previous trip, the situation was relatively calm because we didn’t drive through the hottest areas. This time, the jeep went from the Carpathians through southern Ukraine to the Donetsk region. We were in Pokrovsk and then went to Izium, which had been under Russian occupation for several months at the very beginning of the war. From Izium, we went straight to Sumy, which is only a few dozen kilometers from the occupied territory.

As a result, it was a large loop around Ukraine, along the parts that were still passable. We were also in Nikopol, where the situation was complicated due to the proximity of Russian forces. During the trip, we had to keep a distance between cars so it wouldn’t look like a convoy, because there had been cases where other volunteers driving close together became a target, and Russian artillery fired at them. That’s a significant objective for Russian forces — to disrupt aid to Ukraine and instill fear so that no one dares to help.

It’s important to say — so the reader understands my shock right now — that my eyes are the size of half my face from this information. You’re saying you were literally in a war zone?

I don’t remember exactly which city it was, but I slept well and didn’t hear anything at night, though Russian Shahed drones were flying overhead. Our friends filmed them; they have a very distinctive sound. In the morning, during breakfast, a soldier texted Pāvels to say that another Shahed was flying toward us. We looked out the window to see if it was true. And then we saw it — it flew right over our heads, maybe 70 meters up, and we even filmed it.

What do you do in that situation?

We listened to hear if it would cut its engine and drop nearby. Thank God, it flew past — but yes, it was about 70 meters above us. In Pokrovsk, you could constantly hear artillery fire.

Once, when we were changing the jeep’s tires, I heard an explosion that came quite close. At that moment, Pāvels and I looked at each other and, in some unprintable words, agreed it was time to leave.

I can’t even imagine… Did you have someone with you to ensure you were doing everything correctly, so you wouldn’t accidentally drive somewhere unsafe?

Various websites are showing where fighting is happening and where it’s safe to go. Across Ukraine, in the war zones, there are checkpoints where the army and police check cars before you enter. Closer to dangerous areas, a soldier from the unit we’re delivering to meets us and guides us in. To get to Pokrovsk, for example, we debated several times whether to go.

Wait, so logistically — if you drove there with nine cars, that means that on the way back, after you delivered all of them, you had nine drivers without vehicles?

Two of the drivers took the train to Lviv, then crossed into Poland and flew back to Riga. The rest of us, including me and Pāvels, traveled back in our private van, which had the word «Volunteers» painted in giant Ukrainian letters across its sides.

Before going, didn’t you have any doubts — like, wondering if you were crazy to go into a war?

During the first trip, I wasn’t scared; I was excited.

Adrenaline?

Yes, the adrenaline really hits when you’re there. The excitement came from a desire to help — not just financially, but with my own hands. On the previous trip, we collected a significant amount of humanitarian aid. I brought different snacks, because soldiers love snacks. I brought things they can’t get easily in Ukraine — like wild game meat. Those kinds of products aren’t readily available there.

When you realize there’s no turning back, and you know you don’t want to let down anyone in the convoy, there’s this sense of commitment. You let go, listen to music, and just drive.

What did you listen to on the way?

I have my own playlists that I usually put on to stay motivated and alert. They’re full of different inspiring tracks that lift my mood — mostly jazz pieces.

Did you bring your trumpet?

On the first trip, people tried to convince me to play, but I really wasn’t in the mood. We were in a town called Hrushivka, very close to the front line, and we had to hide the cars — especially the military-green ones — under trees so that drones couldn’t spot them. We all waited until a soldier came out, called his unit and the drone operators to check the skies, and only then could we safely eat. When you’re asking whether the skies are clear and if it’s safe to walk outside, you’re not thinking about playing music — you just want a quiet lunch and to move on.
This time we were in the same town again, delivering a car to another soldier. It was the same situation. Since I understand the language, I heard him say, «Call me if anything happens in the sky.» Every time he picked up the phone, I felt uneasy — not exactly scared, but alert, listening and thinking how we’d react if something happened.

Were there any other musicians, or were you the only one from the jazz scene among the volunteers?

From the professional musicians — what we called the «Midsummer Convoy» — there was also Gvido Brenčevs, a teacher and conductor from Rūjiena. Several people had studied at music schools. In total, there were four trumpet players.

What was the average age of the group?

I was the youngest in every convoy.

How old are you?

I’m 25, but the average age of the participants was between 25 and 40. On the previous trip, participants ranged from 25 up to 75 — there was even a Home Guard soldier who’s now retired.

Did this trip give you any special inspiration?

When you’re there, you just focus on the road and staying aware — there’s no time for inspiration, really. You live moment by moment, trying to keep calm and alert. But when you get home, the first day feels strange; you almost can’t believe you’re home again after spending over a week surrounded by that team.

I think my girlfriend is already tired of it, but I’ve started listening to a lot of Ukrainian music in the car. The inspiration, perhaps, is to remind people who feel tired of it all that it’s not fair. Our fatigue is nothing compared to what they’re going through. We shouldn’t compare our problems with theirs — the scale is entirely different.

During the trip, I said that if I could help again and again — whether I were a millionaire or not — I’d do everything to help ordinary people. For example, we stayed in a small town called Izium with a family who had been living in their basement for 2 months. They have a small private house with a tiny cellar in the garage. They hid there while the Russians occupied the town. After two months, when they finally decided to step outside to enjoy a bit of sunshine, a missile hit. Their child was killed by shrapnel at that very moment, and the mother was hit in the back.

We stayed in that house for the first time, but some of the guys had been there before, so they already knew the story. Sitting in the kitchen, I saw holes in the tiles — they said they were from shrapnel. We went outside, and there wasn’t a single undamaged building left in the town. You look at that, and you feel it — it’s incomparable to anything we experience here. One country is trying to destroy another, while the other is defending itself with incredible dignity. I have to say — Ukraine fights back very politely.

Inspired by all this, I’m definitely not stopping with charity concerts. I want to rethink how they’re done — so they don’t all feel the same.

Mhm. You could also film a concert, for example, and sell it? Like, record a live show and sell it to raise long-term funds?

I would gladly do that! I was shocked by our jazz concert — I never imagined so many people would agree to donate their time, work, and equipment just to play together. It was a fantastic example of how people can truly unite for a good cause. Even the sound engineer was a last-minute call — he agreed to help, and everything went perfectly.
Of course, I wanted to record our jazz concert — if it had been indoors, it would’ve been technically possible. But since it took place outside, it wasn’t really feasible. Still, the idea is excellent, and I think we could definitely do something like that for future concerts. I feel that at the beginning, many people organized charity concerts — big ones — but now I don’t really see that happening anymore. Sadly, when I reached out to the same people who participated before, the response was much smaller.

It’s a bit disappointing that some people might have used that moment to promote themselves under the banner of a good cause. War shouldn’t be a reason to advertise yourself.

Yeah, that doesn’t sound very… humane.

My values have changed a lot. When you start realizing that many of the things you buy daily are unnecessary — that they’re just status items — your perspective shifts. After my first trip, I really wanted to help but didn’t know how. At the time, I didn’t have much spare money to donate. So I chose one trumpet from my collection, auctioned it off, and donated the proceeds — enough to buy another car for the convoy.

You can donate 5 euros a month, or organize jazz concerts, auctions, or other creative activities. I was amazed that after the concert, people continued to write to me, saying they wanted to donate more, both musicians who performed and non-musicians who were in the audience. It was phenomenal.

I plan to continue organizing concerts and raising funds to keep this momentum going. The faster we act, the sooner the war will end.

Let’s hope so.