Hidden surreptitiously within the vault of human-musical knowledge called V-IMSLP, are definitions for nearly every form, pattern and function of music. Here is the entry for "Bad Sonata":
Bad sonata
There is one composer (and only one) known for writing not a single piece or movement in sonata form between the years 1801-1900. His name and dates: Alexander Scriabin, 1801-1914. As for his excuses--only one, his dog, прупъ *
Certainly прупъ was a mutt, not to mention an orthographically incorrect little thing; however what made him somewhat exceptional was the apparent manner in which he lay resolutely, and with great sarcasm, in Scriabin's lap for all the hours that the boy learned to play the piano, and all the years succeeding, during which the young man composed his Opus 1 through Opus 28.**
It is thought that Scriabin, raised unusually by two dentists, had an inordinate fear of bad teeth. Considering the coldness of Russian winters, teeth are liable to chatter; this is possibly the origin of such (mendacious?) gossip. Osip Mandelstam, by happenstance, was by the close of the century a great promoter of Scriabin's music, though he curiously never mentioned his older friend's penning exemption of sonata form. All this praise came at the other end of the 1800s, far from прупъ. Interestingly, if this is not begging the question (or a dog treat), Mandelstam himself wrote a great deal of Symbolist verse in sonata form between the years 1897-1904.
Why the dog is key to the story of Scriabin's compositional choice remains a unitary and suspenseful mystery. There is one. . .
If one does not write music in sonata form, then improvisation may be in order. And so Scriabin was variously the chef and server of the (non-son) rondo, the take-it-down-a nocturne, and what is considered his unique contribution to musical forms, the theme-and-theme.***
When Scriabin turned 99, he began writing in the sonata form, the first instance being his Piano Sonata No. 1, Opus 903, "Dedicated to the Memory of прупъcки." On first snout, it would be difficult to argue that this does NOT refer to прупъ, but digging deeper proves that Scriabin would never have used this word in relation to any creature near and dear to him--'прупъcки' when pronounced in the Lower-Neva/Petersburg-Cockney accent which the composer kept his whole life, sounds too painfully close to the Finnish for 'tooth decay'.****
There is one reference to an actual pet name used during прупъ's life: in an 1812 letter Scriabin wrote to his school friend, Timofey Donatovich Gorton, "he dotes and drools through all my peddling exercises, dear прупъюшьки!" which indicates a rather matted palate, if nothing else, distinguished Scriabin's relationship with his dog. Both their sets of teeth, we can be sure, remained gloriously clean, even through all the winters, to the end.
However, a modicum of source-material on the subject of the bad sonata remains, a tidbit, or perhaps tim-bit, as Timofey Donatovitch would no doubt prefer it said. It is possible that the name of the composer in this entry has been grievously dog-toyed in the letteral sense, and that his true name was not Scriabin but Scripachkin, a poor fellow who lived only 29 years, and had a simple but morbid fear of bad breath in dogs. If this tale in the alternate scholarship is to be believed, Scripachkin died in the winter of 1841-42, after taking a whiff of his dog пучкин's breath--becoming a gentleman execrably punned to the tooth, not yet having penned a single sonata, in truth.
* who lived from 1807-1838, if Boshvellvilli, Scriabin's Georgian biographer, is absolutely reliable.
**or through Opus 129, see Boshvellvilli, "In the House of Scriabin", Vol. 3, pp. 223-249.
*** Some commentators and master classicians argue that a theme-and-theme is perilously close to half-a-sonata, but Scriabin's most obtuse and ever polite supporters interpret this as 'halve-a-sonata?' and reply predictably, 'no thanks.'
****Scriabin's mother's background was Finno-Russo-Dental-Hygienist.
