Although most of Britten’s major operas are established on the international circuit, Death in Venice has yet to claim its rightful place. Hopefully, this new recording in Richard Hickox’s Britten series – the first audio set since Decca’s original, conducted by Steuart Bedford and made nine months after the premiere – will help advance its cause. The performance is beautifully played and recorded, and in its all-important central role reunites Hickox with Philip Langridge, so compelling in their earlier set of Peter Grimes.

In vocal terms Britten tailored the role of Gustav von Aschenbach so perfectly for Peter Pears’s inimitable tenor that it is unlikely any other singer will find it an easy fit. A few years ago Langridge might have been more adept than he is now at handling some of the high-lying lyrical lines – he is audibly discomfited by ‘The wind is from the West’, as if he really is trying on somebody else’s role for size – but the compromises in this department are worth making for a singer who is so penetrating in his dramatic insight.

Langridge has proved himself uniquely adept at revealing the inner workings of self-aware characters – think of his Shuisky in Boris Godunov, Loge in Das Rheingold or Captain Vere, and now in Aschenbach he has another. Hardly a page of the score passes by without his vivid delivery of the words seeming to open up some new dimension of the role. As the drama deepens, Langridge progressively strips the soul of Aschenbach bare – a path that leads from proud self-discipline, through angst and helplessness, and finally to surrender. There is something of the tragedy of King Lear in this blow-by-blow degradation, except that Aschenbach’s humiliation remains an entirely private affair.

Pears may always remain supreme in certain aspects of the role – the patrician demeanour of the man, for example, and his telling contrast between the ‘spoken’ and ‘sung’ elements, delivering the piano-accompanied recitatives with the eloquence of a master Evangelist and phrasing lyrical melodies with an incomparable command of legato. But Langridge’s Aschenbach is every bit as fascinating and he has thought his way through to an emotional truth of his own.

His two main colleagues, also found on a live Glyndebourne DVD (ArtHaus), perform to an equally high level. Alan Opie is still in his vocal prime and all seven of his multifarious Dionysiac characters are sharply delineated, especially the avaricious Hotel Barber. Opie has been unaccountably neglected by the record companies and here at last he gets his due.

The excellent Michael Chance is more ethereal as the Voice of Apollo than James Bowman and for that reason is preferable by a whisker. The many smaller roles are taken by members of the BBC Singers and there is little to choose between them and their Decca predecessors.

As always, Hickox takes his time over the score, but there is less sense of self-indulgence than in some of his earlier Britten recordings. (The longer timings on the Chandos set include two pages omitted as an optional cut by Bedford.) Working with a City of London Sinfonia which had the experience of live concert performances before the recording sessions, Hickox draws playing of high quality and generosity of feeling. Add an exemplary choral contribution from the BBC Singers and a typically atmospheric Chandos recording, and there is no reason to resist. After their titanic Billy Budd this is the next most desirable release in the Hickox/Chandos series of Britten operas so far.