"[1] This statement originates in a conversation in which Scriabin, his common-law-wife Tatiana Scriabina, and Sabaneev discuss the ways that various animals "correspond to the movements of our souls.
"The insects that Skryabin had in mind while writing this sonata are not simply buzzing busybodies, but sun-kissed and sparkling with a dazzling gleam and an erotic delicacy as they caress with their gentle wingbeats.
Trills soon sweep into every corner of the music, and in the last pages they are transformed into a glorious reverberation, as if shimmering with pulses of glowing light and taking on lives of their own.
During the middle portion, the feverish buzzing rises to a ferocious climax that thrusts both hands' trills into the upper register of the instrument.
The very first, single-line gesture of the piece is not given again until after the richly-varied "recapitulation" has been made; it arrives quite unexpectedly, and is punctuated by a falling fourth in the bass that ends on C natural—a pitch that, in his last music, assumes great significance for Scriabin, who came to view it as a kind of cleansing tonal focus.
The Russian virtuoso Arcadi Volodos took the very unusual step of opening his Carnegie Hall debut concert with this Sonata, reflecting a daring approach to programming as well as a commitment to Scriabin’s legacy.