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When Ian Bostridge sang Janácek's haunting 30-minute narrative--half song-cycle, half operatic miniature--for a pretentious National Theatre staging somehow stretched by Deborah Warner into a whole evening event, the pianist was his regular accompanist Julius Drake. And if you listened with your eyes shut it was wonderful: a partnership that begged commemoration on CD. For this release, though, Drake has been dropped in favour of the more fashionable and high-profile Thomas Adès who, you might think, justifies the switch through the distinctive, thoughtful musicality of his playing. Something of a Janácek specialist, he fills up the remainder the disc with a selection from the composer's autobiographical miniatures for piano: pieces that read frustratingly like scribbles in a margin and need all the atmospheric detail Adès can supply (as he does, with a vengeance) to communicate. But it's
The Diary of One Who Disappeared that will sell the disc; and saving reservations about Bostridge's ability to sustain the sexual charge in music heavy with the dark, destructive power of love, it's beautifully done, with the intensity and sharp verbal intelligence we've all learned to expect from so immaculate a singer. --
Michael White