Like Stravinsky and Prokofiev before him, Dmitri Kabalevsky cast his gaze across the Baltic Sea towards France, although unlike them his inclinations were generally towards musical conservatism. Had his world been a kinder one, his lightness of touch and skill at crafting melodies could very well have made him a latter-day Russified Massenet or Chabrier. Reality was otherwise, of course. Instead he spent a significant portion of his career squandering his considerable talents on musical agitprop, although not without also composing a number of works which have managed to nudge their way onto permanent places in the concert hall and recording studio.

Pianist Michael Korstick, whom CPO has kept busy with various recording projects (including two previous Kabalevsky programs), presents here a compilation of all of the composer’s piano preludes, some of which are well known in piano pedagogy, but are otherwise on the periphery of the performing repertoire. The centerpiece here are the Twenty-four Preludes, Op. 38, which according to the informative liner notes by Charles K. Tomicik, was composed at the height of World War II in 1943. One would never guess: This joyful and guileless music betrays nothing of the harrowing times from which it emerged.

Each prelude uses a Russian folk melody as its basis (including an unexpected appearance from Stravinsky’s The Firebird in Prelude No. 13), which the composer develops into miniature tone sketches. Among the most delightful are the étude-like Prelude No. 12, the skittering Prelude No. 23, and tongue-in-cheek martial color of Prelude No. 24. Whether listened to individually or as a whole, Kabalevsky’s Twenty-four Preludes exude an easy-going charm rare in music of the 20th century.

Serving a more didactic purpose, but no less a pleasure to listen to are his later set of Six Preludes and Fugues, Op. 61 which cleverly makes sophisticated musical principles appealing for children to play. Take a listen to the wistful little chorale which makes up “Becoming a Young Pioneer,” or the closing fughetta of “A Feast of Labor.”

The end of the disc turns back the clock to the beginning of Kabalevsky’s career with his Opp. 1 and 5, consisting of three and four piano preludes each. The mood of these works are heavier, their idiom more searching than the preceding ones; both sets being strongly redolent of Myaskovsky and Scriabin, and leaving one wondering how the composer would have developed his talents had he not become an enthusiastic proponent of “socialist realism.”

What is remarkable about Korstick’s recordings for CPO are their consistently high quality, with none of the featureless workman-like qualities that are often the poison pill in these sweeping recorded surveys of neglected piano repertoire. His warm touch and sympathetic performances, with great care lavished upon phrasing and textural color (abetted winningly by CPO’s excellent engineering), are perhaps the finest these works have yet been treated to on records.

Could CPO and Korstick be persuaded to look over the piano works of Mikhail Nosyrev, Vladimir Shcherbachev, Nikolai Rakov, or the still criminally neglected Gavriil Popov next? One can always dream.