Giordano's Marina rediscovered

In the spring of 1883, the Milanese music publisher Edoardo Sonzogno launched a competition which would end up changing the face of Italian opera: composers under thirty who had not yet had a work performed professionally were invited to submit a one-act opera in any style, with the top three entries receiving a fully staged production at Sonzogno’s expense.

If the joint winners of the inaugural competition sank without trace (Luigi Mapelli and Guglielmo Zuelli, anyone?), the opera which scooped the top prize in 1890 remains one of the most popular in the repertoire: Mascagni’s Cavalleria rusticana, often credited with ushering in the age of verismo.

But the rookie composer who came in at No. 6 ended up doing pretty well for himself out of the experience: Umberto Giordano’s Marina prompted a separate commission from Sonzogno, and just a few years later his masterpiece Andrea Chénier would cement his place in operatic history. Following the discovery of the autograph manuscript for Marina in an archive at Yale University, the opera received its belated premiere in Milan earlier this year, with the live recording issued on Decca today.

Just 21 and fresh out of college, Giordano was one of the least experienced of the seventy-plus entrants when he submitted Marina, but the score is no mere journeyman piece: Giordano already displays a seemingly innate understanding of how to write for voices, alongside an imaginative approach to orchestration and strong dramatic instincts within the confines of the one-act format.

Set in the mountains of Montenegro during a conflict with Serbia, the plot centres on the forbidden love which springs up between the eponymous heroine and the Serbian fugitive Giorgio who arrives on her doorstep seeking sanctuary after the murder of his father (at the hands of Marina’s brother Daniele, as it later transpires, to avenge his killing of their father). There are shades of Die Walküre from a dramatic perspective in these early stretches, but the music itself seems to draw inspiration from late Verdi whilst also taking small but assured steps into a brave new harmonic world.

The opening offstage chorus of Montenegrin fighters psyching themselves into victory is hair-raising stuff, and speaks of a young composer determined to grab the jury (and hopefully his eventual audience) by the scruff of the neck: there are echoes of Verdi’s recently premiered Otello both here and in the boisterous brindisi led by Marina’s suitor Lambro (who turns out to be only slightly less villainous than Iago by the time the curtain falls).

But it’s the arresting writing for the two lovers which confirms Giordano as the real deal, and in terms of technique and temperament one could hardly wish for better exponents than Eleonora Buratto and Freddie De Tommaso. Buratto in particular is magnificent throughout, sounding completely under the skin of this complex woman who still smarts from a lack of maternal affection but has no desire or capacity for intimacy until Giorgio erupts into her life.

Her opening scena showcases a real old-school Italian spinto voice, with plenty of bite in the chest register and laser-beam top notes which suggest that Turandot might figure in her future. She’s also immensely touching in the Puccini-ish ‘Conobbi appena mia madre’ towards the end of the opera, when she opens up to Giorgio about her childhood: this is a finely crafted aria indeed, and deserves to find a place on recital albums in future.

De Tommaso is absolutely in his element with this music, though perhaps a shade less technically consistent than his partner: the bold big finish of his second-scene aria reportedly generated a real frisson in the live performance but may have warranted a second take had this been a studio recording. The baritones Nicholas Mogg and Mihai Damian are well contrasted as Daniele and Lambro, the latter bringing plenty of dark swagger to his pugnacious drinking song.

The Orchestra I Pomeriggi Musicali play out of their boots for rising star Vincenzo Milletarì, who has evidently spent much time getting fully inside this long-lost score. It’s difficult to imagine a stronger case being made for a piece which emerges as essential listening for anyone with even a passing interest in the history of Italian opera.