San Francisco Classical Voice

After working his way up to second-banana organist at the local church while still a teen, Verdi attracted a local merchant as sponsor. The 18-year-old then set off to enter the Milan Conservatory, where he failed to pass the entrance exams. He had no real keyboard talent and "does not know music" — in the opinion of the professors. (Likely, if ironically, they were probably correct at the time.) It's always seemed to me an admirable mark of the man's innate passion for music and sheer genius that Verdi could will himself into becoming Italy's great operatic composer — apparently because he simply was an inadequate piano player.

All Verdi's earliest efforts — a few religious choral pieces, a bit of sketching toward possible operas — are officially listed as lost. He probably burned them himself. Oberto, which began to take shape in 1837, when the composer was but 24, took him a full year to complete — considered slow at the time. When he submitted it to La Scala's management, lo and behold, they accepted it. It was well, if not glowingly, received, and the young man suddenly found himself with an opera contract.

Five years and one failed opera later, Verdi's saw the premiere of his first major hit, Nabucco. He'd found his style. But it would require another nine years before the serious masterpieces began to flood Italy's stages: Rigoletto (1851), Il Trovatore (1853), and La Traviata (1853) — into his 30s. It was onward and upward from there. (Sorry, although I positively adore and idolize Verdi, I simply can't consider Ernani, Macbeth, or Luisa Miller important.)

Naturally, Oberto leans heavily on the popular models of the day: Donizetti and Rossini. Anyway, a first opera is no time to upset the audience with newfangled notions. The little overture, for example, is a mere potpourri of episodes drawn from airs and ensembles within the opera. There was no attempt at a symphonic-scale overture in sonata form. What follows is formula opera, with all the expected things occurring in the expected order — the open chorus of joyous peasants replaced here by a chorus of joyous courtiers. (Pippin's octet chorus sang very well throughout.)

The plot also sticks to the tried-and-true characters. The young Riccardo (sung by Michael Licciardello), soldier-Count of Safinguerra, has left his army and city-state to woo Cuniza (Karen Carle), the innocent young daughter of a wealthy neighboring state. He's a gold digger. (Pippin observed that "with everything to gain, who could fail to call it love?")

But Riccardo has left behind his beloved Leonora (Nan Haemer), unmarried but with his child. She, in turn, is the daughter of the exiled Count of Bonifacio, Oberto (Ralph Wells). At last — the title character! Still in love with Riccardo in spite of everything, Leonora has followed him to Curia's castle — wherever that is. (As Pippin observed, "We've met the like of Leonora before, in Mozart's Elvira" [via Don Giovanni].)

Of course, the ultraconservative Daddy Oberto shows up as well, spouting blarney about the importance of honor and vengeance. Leonora spills the beans to Cuniza, who is operatically upset by all this and, in purest operatic nobility, offers to break with Riccardo. Riccardo repents, confesses all, and tries to make peace by offering to marry Leonora. But Oberto insists on a duel, which the reformed Riccardo tries to avoid, even after an avalanche of insults. The old man draws first and is promptly run through. (Again, shades of Don Giovanni.) It all ends badly of course, with Riccardo in flight as the two women attempt to console each other — with choral support.

Very early Verdi requires a degree of tolerance, but it remains Verdi. There are good tunes throughout, and now and then suggestions of the Verdi to come. Riccardo's big aria in Act II strongly hints at the composer's future. Here and there the harmony turns to subtle harmonic dissonances, especially in the ensemble writing. Yet we also have to accept that, besides such segments, much is clichéd. Oberto's heroic exposition on honor is set as merely an unexceptional polonaise. The choral writing, though pleasant, is consistently fleeting, everything quite short, perhaps hinting at Verdi's constant concern for brevity. But there's rarely enough time to score points.

The performance as a whole lacked some of the polish of last week's Falstaff. Orchestral intonation was a constant bother, and the major male leads — Licciardello and Wells — tended to bellow. I was reminded of the Sir Thomas Beecham anecdote about when he stopped a Carmen rehearsal to remind the baritone that he was supposed to be representing the toreador, "not the bull!"

The one utterly winning vocalist was Carle, an elegant, technically secure Cuniza who can act with style. Haemer offered a fine voice, as long as she didn't have to climb into the highest soprano register. When that happened, the voice turned frizzy and shrill. And after three hours, her finale began to loose pitch focus as her voice tired. You can force for only so long.

In so lively acoustics as Meyer Auditorium's — a lovely and extremely comfortable venue, by the way — Licciardello's constant full-voice exaggerations proved downright unpleasant. I noticed a very well-behaved 2½-year-old girl holding her hands over her ears when Licciardello was letting it all hang out. Ah me, the candor of youth.

Pocket Opera will close their season at 3 p.m. on Sunday, July 1, again in Meyer Auditorium, with a repeat of Falstaff — the far better opera and Pippin's better performance.

(Heuwell Tircuit, composer, performer, and writer, was chief writer for Gramophone Japan and for 21 years a music reviewer for the San Francisco Chronicle, previously for the Chicago American and Asahi Evening News.)

©2001 Heuwell Tircuit, all rights reserved