‘Cross-over’ albums are generally frowned upon. Those that follow 
                classical artists cringe at the efforts of their idols to ‘dumb-down’ 
                their art for commercial purposes. Those that sit on the other 
                side of the fence reject the patronising efforts of well paid 
                star artists to ‘formalise’ their repertoire. Someone really should 
                have drawn the line nearly 25 years ago when Bernstein recorded 
                his tragically miscast West Side Story with Carreras and 
                Te Kanawa.
                There is certainly 
                  something about Ian Bostridge that suggests an affinity with 
                  Noel Coward. That image of a fey, young Englishman, excellent 
                  with words, gives us some hope. But the reality is somewhat 
                  different. Having seen this particular artist in concert performing 
                  Schubert, I have to confess to finding him aloof, overly formal 
                  and most definitely unsuitable for repertoire such as that represented 
                  on this disc.
                One example will 
                  suffice. In ‘Poor Little Rich Girl’ Bostridge sounds so ill 
                  at ease with the word ‘jazz’ that you seriously begin to consider 
                  whether he actually knows anything about that particular genre.
                Plus sides? Well 
                  it is certainly good to hear this neglected repertoire sung 
                  with such a fine voice. Jeffrey Tate makes a sadly rare appearance 
                  as accompanist and does a lovely job.
                Unfortunately this 
                  was a project doomed from the start. We really need to cease 
                  believing that the ‘classical’ industry can ‘improve’ musical 
                  theatre numbers by virtue of fine voices. It didn’t work with 
                  that West Side Story album and it certainly doesn’t work 
                  here. There is musical theatre repertoire out there that would 
                  sit well with Bostridge; why doesn’t someone record him in the 
                  music of Ivor Novello? Surely that is a more suitable and more 
                  neglected body of work.
                Such judgements 
                  are a matter of personal taste, of course, and those wanting 
                  a second opinion might do well to refer to Ian Lace’s excellent 
                  review 
                  of the original issue.
                Owen E Walton