Unlike the rest of the country, Central City was not done in by 9/11, the Dotcom bust, and the economic tailspin — those were just the finishing touches. It was legalized gambling that provided this new cross of gold, as huge conglomerates took over, crushed local businesses, built two dozen casinos in the tiny town, siphoned off profits for a couple of years, and then, when nearby Black Hawk and other towns gained the upper hand, crashed and burned, and left Central City with the empty shells of neon-lit Las Vegas temples. Of the 24 casinos flooding the place after the 1994 enabling legislation for the county, two remain, both doing poorly.

Central City Opera, which celebrated the town's gold-mining, hell-raising, mother-lode-gone-crazy days by commissioning Douglas Moore's Ballad of Baby Doe 50 years ago, went on to produce several other works about the area's history, culminating in this year's premiere of Henry Mollicone's Gabriel's Daughter, about the ex-slave Clara Brown, one of this town's most prominent citizens during its 19th century heydays. Given Central City's interest in itself as a subject, there may well be an opera in the future, dealing with the tragedy of these days. The text for the finale is being written in today's headlines: instead of trying to reclaim their town from the casino crash, the good, if befuddled, locals are pushing for a billion-dollar project to build a highway, connecting to I-70, to bypass casinos in Black Hawk and revive the "gaming business" here.

No such desperate, harebrained schemes in the opera house, only solidly professional productions, with some memorable high points. The first instance came unexpectedly at the very beginning of I Pagliacci, performed in an unusual double-bill with Enrique Granados' Goyescas. As the young baritone Grant Youngblood sang the Prologue, memories of Tito Gobbi came to mind. The powerful, warm voice cradled the audience, the singing came from the heart, the singer appeared as if possessed by the music, and yet every note was in place, every consonant projected clearly.

On the stage: not Youngblood, but Tonio, the crippled carnival actor, disheveled, bitter, rejected, vengeful . . . and utterly believable. But even so, Youngblood was only first among equals in a large group of explosively talented young people, in David Edwards' brilliant production. The English director treated the two works about love, jealousy and violence as two acts of one work, with the same cast, sets, costumes.

The production succeeded in making a vital, cohesive "real opera" out of Granados' glorious music, an "endless melody" that runs an hour, and resonates for days, sticky-sweet as it may be. Born as a suite of piano pieces, Goyescas was turned into a theater work with the barest of stories (jealousy, duel, death) just "covering up" the music. Here, thanks to Edwards, John Baril's merely passable orchestra in Pagliacci that caught fire in the Granados, Peter Harrison's intriguing sets, and David Martin Jacques' lighting, Goyescas became a memorable dramma per musica, a coup de théâtre.

It's difficult to imagine how much work had to go into the training and rehearsal of the students in the Bonfils-Stanton Foundation Artists Training Program, who were responsible for much of what made the double-bill work. Dressed as clowns (while the principals wore 1920s street clothes), the students provided the chorus, occasionally spreading through the house, they performed a fantastic choreography in slow motion, acted as the villagers in Pagliacci, the Madrid crowd in Goyescas. In both operas, chorus numbers provided climactic moments.

It's impossible to list Edwards' thoughtful, imaginative directorial touches (including a very meaningful kitchen sink, yes), but the end of Pagliacci must be mentioned. Concluding an opera about make-believe actors acting out a "real story," the Edwards directed the just-slain Nedda and Silvio stand up when hearing "La commedia è finita," shaken but already being themselves (the singers, not the characters), and walk off stage. There were no curtain calls before the intermission — the singers, who portrayed actors, who participated in a "real story," now became the singers again, getting ready for the next opera.

All individual performances in Pagliacci/Goyescas ranged from good to excellent, and all formed part of an ensemble breathing together. Emily Pulley, a scarily intense actress, sang a fine Nedda, graduating to a gripping, sensational Rosario, creating a standard with this performance. Adam Klein's Canio was heroic, a singer with a smallish voice attacking this heavy, exposed role (every note of which is known to the audience) without fear, and acquitting himself well. Javier Abreu (Beppe and a solo in Goyescas), Corey McKern (Silvio), Erin Elizabeth Smith (Pepa), and others all contributed mightily. And, icing on the cake, there was Youngblood (still in Tonio's rumpled white suit), singing Paquiro in the second half of the evening.

Elsewhere, lightning is not likely to strike twice. But this is Colorado, with mighty summer storms every hour, on the hour, so double hits are more possible, even in the opera house. And it did happen the next night, with a delightful production of Rossini's L'Italiana in Algeri. It took only a few measures of the familiar but tough and tricky Overture to know — at least, to hope — that something good is happening again.

In the event, Hal France conducted an entire evening of exemplary Rossini: straightforward, with consistent tempi, flawless balances, and not for a moment giving in to the temptation to overplay dynamic contrasts. When France — who conducts orchestras in Utah and Florida — comes to one of those fff explosions or the peak of a crescendo, there is a rightness about the sound; the music is almost subtle, never excessive or crude. So often Rossini comedies are played for circus music; not here. Throughout the performance, the orchestral balance with the singers was outstanding, although the young, enthusiastic chorus at times could not be prevented from impersonating the Mormon Tabernacle or the Red Army Chorus.

France had a fine orchestra to help realize his vision of a "musical Rossini." The string sections were relentless and enduring, the brass shone in the second act, and the woodwinds were simply splendid, paced by Lisa Martin (oboe), Catherine L. Peterson (flute), Stephanie Zelnick (clarinet), and Jill Dispenza (bassoon). I admit that it's unusual to report about the orchestra first in a production headlined by the force-of-nature Richard Bernstein as Mustafa, with a terrific young mezzo and exceptional tenor in a fine cast, David Gately's crowd-pleasing direction, Michael Anania's hilarious set (populated by animal-cutouts), and the driving energy and thunderous reception — but I found the subtle graces of the musical performance compelling.

Besides France and the orchestra, credits should go to Thomas Getty and Sean Kelly for musical preparation, and to John Baril — the conductor for Pagliacci/Goyescas — who is the chorus master. (If he'd only turned the volume down on his troops, all would have been perfect.) Well, yes, there was Bernstein. Think of a combination of Yul Brynner, Attila the Hun, and Bert Lahr's Cowardly Lion; add manic energy, overpowering presence, and a voice shaking half the county. May be just as well to rename the piece "The Bey of Algers," which is not to say that Bernstein performed apart from the ensemble. He didn't, but he is just too big for a small house. Vocally, he was accurate and entertaining, although some of the sheen of prior years was missing.

If it weren't for her 100% female appearance (and some fabulous outfits, coming either from the Washington Opera or the additional contribution of Alice Marie Kugler Bristow), Viktoria Vizin, the spectacular Isabella, may be mistaken for a male mezzo in drag. Perhaps better described as a female baritone, Vizin packs unique power in the lower range (in a way quite different from Marilyn Horne), she is solid through the entire extended range of the role, and can even reach the high notes comfortably. Accurate and projecting well, she makes for a remarkable singer, although there is an element of self-consciousness in her performance that's still holding her back.

No such problem for Brian Downden, the Lindoro, my favorite in this exceptional cast. A young man of small stature and proudly exhibited premature male-pattern baldness, Downden gives the impression of being supremely comfortable on stage, and — more importantly — he sings without the slightest effort. Here's a lyric tenor who could go to the top of the genre and stay there for any number of years. His is a voice — flexible, right on the money, and with beautiful clarity — that doesn't get old.

In comparison with the other productions, Gabriel's Daughter was somewhat of a disappointment, mostly because of the quality of the work. On the one hand: a saintly ex-slave, still much beloved in Colorado more than a century after her death. Among tributes to Clara Brown, Gabriel's Daughter joins the stained-glass window depicting her in the state's capital. On the other hand: a pleasant, likeable work, but less memorable than its subject, an opera of exposition, explanation, episodes, scenes . . . and then more exposition. From the Kentucky auction block, where she was separated from her family, to a liberated slave's journey to Colorado, to her becoming a famous member of the community, Brown's story is fascinating, but in this presentation, it was lacking in true dramatic impact.

Mollicone's music — tuneful and bouncy in the genre of Broadway, epic-film soundtrack, and some of its fellow contemporary operas — and William Luce's poetic libretto are well served by Central City's strong, talented corps of singers, musicians, and technical staff. They have earned the highest marks in the daunting business of creating and presenting a new opera. It is not damning with faint praise, just presenting an honest balance sheet, to say that some excellent parts do not add up to the whole of that exciting, mysterious gestalt a great opera represents.

John Moriarty, who is responsible for getting the project started, conducted; Michael Erhman staged the work on Michael Lasswell's minimal but effective sets. Lori Brown Mirabal sang the title role of impossible demands, constant presence and a great deal of singing over the opera's three-hour length. Handicapped only by an excessively "operatic" diction, Mirabal turned in a gripping musical performance. Other members of the large cast are given only brief, multiple roles. The chorus was outstanding once again.

The Central City Opera season runs through August 10. For information, www.centralcityopera.org.