Here’s a pianist who once had all the hallmarks of a Chinese piano superstar: early success at a major competition (first prize in Warsaw at the age of 18), a handy nickname (Prince of the Piano) and an elegant appearance to go with it. He also had an artistic image that set him apart from other Chinese success stories: if Lang Lang revelled in being the greatest showman on earth, Yundi (formerly known as Yundi Li) could be considered mesmerisingly introvert and enigmatic.

But then two years ago his meteoric rise crashed and burned, and his career went into hibernation. Allegations about his private life were sufficient to see him expelled from China’s official Musicians’ Association and removed from the reality TV show on which he was a star. There followed an almost two-year silence.

This new album marks his comeback, with a project that takes him back to basics: a clean sheet, as it were. Sadly, it seems Yundi has taken the idea of the blank canvas too literally, with performances that are largely faceless and impersonal, as if wearing a white mask behind which all charm, wit, drama and joy are effaced. His is a Mozart of laser-cut clarity and exactitude, impeccably sustained melodic lines and clear-cut structures – enthralling, if you value such things above all else. There are some subtle inflections in the slow movements, but only thin rays of Yundi’s romantic pedigree filter through the mesh of over-calculation. I couldn’t help wondering what the point of such a recording is if the pianist has nothing to say. And this not a Cordelia-esque ‘nothing’ – one that runs deeper than frivolous self-expression; rather it is one where nothing comes of nothing.

Alas, a quick glance at the reception of Yundi’s previous recordings suggests that this inscrutability is not just a result of his two-year silence. It seems that for him technical perfection has always been in danger of becoming an end rather than a means. It all starts with copy-and-paste exactitude in the repeats of the A major Sonata’s theme and variations: a skill in its own right, perhaps, but hardly a musically edifying one. Gradually I found myself not so much craving more imagination in the repeats as wishing he had just left them out altogether. The Alla turca finale is supremely even-textured and immaculately shaped, but again straitjacketed in rhythm and lacking in thrill.

Similarly, the A minor Sonata favours poise over urgency and drive. Admittedly there is a degree more care and intimacy in the slow movement, allowing some Chopinesque shadows to emerge, and the C minor Fantasia and Sonata shows Yundi temperamentally attuned to the quasi-orchestral textures. Yet even here, a certain self-imposed formality keeps the music at arm’s length.

Given the ordeal Yundi has had to deal with, I so wanted this recording to be a celebration of defiance and resistance. But that may have to wait for different repertoire and a degree of aesthetic reorientation.