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  No composer embodies the fin-de-siècle spirit better than Scriabin, and no piece of his expresses it better than Vers La Flamme (Towards the Flame), played here by Christopher O’Riley. It was written in 1914, the year before he died. The music seems to grow in one unbroken emotional crescendo from oppression to ecstasy (though in fact the form is shrewdly plotted. Scriabin was very sane when putting notes on paper). It’s overwhelming, in a claustrophobic sort of way, and I can never decide whether I love it or hate it. But I wouldn’t want to be without it.