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Is there a more singular composer than Alexander Nikolayevich Skrjabin (1872-1915)? Light years away from those of his Russian contemporaries, his original trajectory is that of an incandescent comet in the musical firmament of his time, whose thousands of lumens are suddenly extinguished at it's zenith... all because of the ridiculous insect bite to which he succumbed. An exalted Icarus, captivated by the infinite and yearning for mystical ecstasy, traces his first steps within the legacy of Fryderyck Chopin (1810-1849). His youthful works, bearing in their refined lines the seeds of his boundless creativity, find under Clement Lefebvre's touch an expressive power and a poetic motion of rare elegance.