There are operas that you only get to know when someone takes the trouble to dust them off, and Giants in the Earth by Douglas Moore (1893-1969) is a textbook example of this. Awarded the Pulitzer Prize in 1951, the opera then virtually disappeared from view for decades: no commercial recording available, hardly any performances, and at best a vague memory for those who experienced it live. That it now, seventy-five years after that award, finally receives its first commercial recording – and thanks to an orchestra from Sioux Falls, South Dakota, precisely the region where the story takes place – feels almost like poetic justice.
The atmospheric prelude sets the tone immediately. Before even one character has sung a word, Moore breathes in the vastness of the prairie, the hope of the pioneers, and at the same time the underlying threat of an existence that is continually tested by unforgiving nature. It is music that enters immediately and makes you curious about what follows.
The story is familiar to those who know Ole Rølvaag's novel (1876-1931). Norwegian colonists venture across the barren plains of Dakota in search of a new life. But while Per Hansa sees the expanse as a promise, his wife Beret experiences the same landscape as a source of fear and alienation. That fundamental difference in outlook drives the entire opera. Moore writes not a series of grand arias that stand apart from the drama, but an almost entirely through-composed work in which short lyrical passages, declamatory lines, and orchestral transitions flow seamlessly into one another. The music follows the natural cadence of the language, so the characters never seem to pose, but truly speak. This is further reinforced in this performance by exemplary diction: the English text remains intelligible throughout, making the libretto barely necessary to follow the drama.
Remarkably, the musical language sounds quite accessible. Although Moore later revised the opera, there is nothing to be heard here of the intractability that characterizes many operas from the nineteen-fifties and sixties. Moore does not seek modernist provocation, but opts for a lyrical, immediately appealing style that stands close to the American tradition of Barber and Menotti. Precisely for this reason, the question arises why this work disappeared from the repertoire for so long. The music sits pleasantly on the ear, yet possesses sufficient dramatic tension to hold the attention continuously.
What strikes most is how Moore gives each emotion its own musical color. The community is given warmth and togetherness, the humor of daily pioneer life sounds genuine and disarming, while Beret's doubts increasingly seep through the score. The first act convinces immediately through its natural alternation of lyrical moments and carefully built dramatic tensions. Moore makes both the domestic warmth of the colonist community and Beret's simmering fear tangible, without ever resorting to sentimental effect-seeking. The confrontations between Beret and Per immediately rank among the emotional highlights of the opera. Without grand theatrical gestures, Moore makes the growing alienation between the two characters palpable, sustained by an orchestra that subtly reinforces their inner tensions.
The second act brings more variety in atmosphere. There is room for lighthearted moments, for coffee, gifts and stories of new loves, but beneath that apparent lightness, the conflict between Per and Beret inevitably grows. It is precisely this interplay between warmth and threat that makes this act so powerful: Moore allows his characters moments of joy and togetherness, but constantly lets us feel that beneath the surface uncertainty and tension remain. When Per increasingly claims more land and Beret reproaches him for crossing moral boundaries, one of the strongest dramatic confrontations of the opera emerges. Remarkably, Moore has them singing almost alongside each other without truly reaching each other. Precisely this makes their relationship breakdown so poignant and painfully direct. The subsequent violent quarrel and Beret's bitter conclusion that they live "like animals" form an impressive build-up to the tragedy of the third act.
There the opera reaches its greatest dramatic power. It begins almost innocently with the marriage of Henry and Dagmar, followed by the preparations for the christening of Per and Beret's son Peder Victorious. The choir sings here with a touching homogeneity that underscores the tight-knit community. But precisely at that moment the drama shifts. Beret refuses to have her son christened and poses, in an intensely lived scene, the striking question: "How can we be saved?". From that moment on, the story takes on almost the character of a modern Biblical narrative. Drought ravages the land, a devastating plague of locusts destroys the harvest, and disease strikes. Beret experiences this succession of disasters as God's punishment for the unchristened child, a conviction that Moore increasingly conveys musically. Her inner turmoil belongs to the strongest passages of the opera: nowhere does the composer seek cheap effect, but he lets despair grow from a deep religious awareness. The chaotic struggle against the locusts is among the most vivid music in the score and marks the turning point after which the tragedy becomes inevitable.
When Peder Victorious becomes dangerously ill, that tragedy reaches its human climax. Beret insists, against all reason, on fetching a priest herself instead of a doctor. Per tries to stop her and sings in a touching declaration of love all that once brought them together. Ultimately, it is he who succumbs to her despair and braves the storm himself to fetch the priest, while Beret collapses spiritually. Without ever imitating Puccini or Strauss, Moore possesses here the same gift for building an inevitable tragedy musically irresistibly. The unresolved final chord leaves no comfort, only the icy stillness after everything is done.
What makes this world premiere recording so convincing is that nowhere does the feeling arise that you are listening to a historical reconstruction. Delta David Gier conducts with audible love for the score and never gives a hint that this work has been absent from stages for so long. On the contrary, the South Dakota Symphony Orchestra plays with the naturalness of an opera that has belonged to its regular repertoire for generations. From the atmospheric prelude to the dramatic finale, there is not a moment of hesitation or academic distance, but only the conviction of musicians who fully believe in this score. Perhaps the orchestra occasionally misses the very last touch of refinement that the greatest American top orchestras possess, but that small reservation pales completely against the enormous commitment, involvement, and musical conviction with which music is made here.
The cast is equally homogeneously assembled. Meredith Lustig gives Beret precisely the fragility and inner turmoil that the character requires. Her portrayal remains always human and believable, without falling into exaggerated pathos. Michael J. Hawk sets against this a warmly sounding, idealistic Per Hansa, whose optimism becomes increasingly tragic over time. Andrew Gilstrap impresses as Hans Olsa, while Sarah Nordin and the other soloists form an exceptionally equal ensemble. There is no outstanding star or diva who attracts all the attention; precisely because everyone places themselves entirely in service of the drama, this performance gains in eloquence.
Because it is a live recording, the applause between the acts is also preserved. This hardly disturbs; on the contrary, it strengthens the feeling that you are witnessing a special event and underscores how enthusiastically the audience received this rediscovery.
Pentatone finally deserves all praise for the recording quality. The warm, spacious sound allows both the orchestral details and the voices to come to their full advantage while maintaining the natural atmosphere of the performance. For a live recording, the technical finish is exemplary.
Giants in the Earth will perhaps not rewrite opera history. For that, it lacks the revolutionary ambitions of a Wozzeck or Peter Grimes. But Douglas Moore did write an opera that engages for two hours, in which human emotions are drawn with great conviction, and in which the quest of immigrants for a new existence proves remarkably timeless. That this opera received the Pulitzer Prize in 1951 seems after this performance anything but surprising. The South Dakota Symphony Orchestra and Pentatone prove with this exemplary world premiere recording that some forgotten works are not only historically interesting, but can still reach an audience today. Those who love honest, human-centered opera without frills will discover here not only a forgotten work, but a convincing opera that can finally be heard again.
