The Yellow Sofa by Glyndebourne’s current composer in residence, Julian Philips, is FWW’s latest directorial venture. It is the world premiere of the piece- at the end of its four performance run- and I was lucky enough to see it- for free no less. That’s the compensation for shelling out (mostly)extortionate amounts for a Glyndebourne ticket, you get this gem- performed in the Jerwood Studio around the back of the famed opera house- thrown into the bargain. As part of the Jerwood Chorus Development Scheme, it provides a supporting act of sorts before the main showdown, but I would probably go for this supporting act alone.

Julian Philips

The opera- in which a tainted yellow sofa is the powerful centre point- is based on a short novel by the Eca de Queiros-Portugal’s most distinguished novelist- and is all about the corrosive, destructive nature of sexual jealousy. This is not high tragedy though, there’s plenty of comedy and a happy ending so you won’t leave in too sombre a mood. Set in the 19^th Century, it follows the story of Godofredo, a well-to-do, whose life gets tipped on its head when he arrives home from work one day to find his wife Ludovina doing the dirty with his friend Machado…on the yellow sofa. Husband and wife part and Godofredo ruminates, plans his revenge with some charismatic friends, and ruminates some more. Only time can tell the outcome.

It’s a neat work with elegant touches. Having the yellow sofa personified by a buxom redhead (Martha Bredin) with a touch of the wanton harlot about her, worked wonderfully to betray Godofredo’s increasing torment and to evoke the powerful sexual charge of the yellow sofa- the furniture on which the act was performed has become the act itself. All ten of the young singers, who work as a tight knit ensemble, confidently breezed through Philips’ demanding score, and the Britten Sinfonia, under the precise baton of Leo McFall, were similarly adept. Particularly memorable were the guitar duet and the violinist who extracted herself from her fellow players and became part of the action on stage.

In fact, meta-theatrical devices ran rife in this opera- a guaranteed entertainment. When within The Yellow Sofa, another opera is about to start, McFall leaves his post and re-emerges as the conductor within the opera (are you still with me?) a flamboyant, hair tossing specimen, who then gets the orchestra to play the first few bars of L’elisir d’amore, Glydebourne’s headline act that evening. Masterful. Needless to say the audience (and I) didn’t get the joke.

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