He was born into an educated household in Sontsovka, Yekaterinoslav Governorate, where his mother Maria Prokofieva encouraged music-making. Early exposure to piano and rural life shaped his vivid, storylike musical imagination.

By age five he was writing small piano works and improvising confidently at home, astonishing family and visitors. His mother carefully notated and nurtured these experiments, treating composition as a daily habit rather than a hobby.

The family brought him to meet composer Reinhold Gliere, who tutored him intensively during summers and corrected his early scores. Gliere encouraged bold harmony and clear structure, giving the young composer professional-level discipline.

He entered the Saint Petersburg Conservatory unusually young, studying composition, piano, and orchestration amid a competitive musical elite. Teachers such as Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov and Anatoly Lyadov exposed him to rigorous technique and tradition.

As a student he performed his own sharp-edged music in Saint Petersburg salons, cultivating a reputation for daring rhythms and biting humor. The city’s artistic circles debated his style, which challenged late-Romantic expectations and conservative taste.

His music for Diaghilev-connected projects led to the explosive The Scythian Suite, whose brutal colors and modern drive shocked many listeners. The uproar also signaled his arrival as a leading voice among Russia’s avant-garde composers.

He completed conservatory studies and won the Anton Rubinstein Prize, performing his own Piano Concerto in a display of steely virtuosity. The award boosted his standing as a composer-pianist capable of commanding major stages.

Amid the upheaval of the 1917 Russian Revolution, he wrote the Classical Symphony, reinventing Haydn-like clarity with modern wit. The piece showed his gift for combining elegance and surprise, even as the old order collapsed around him.

With official permission he departed for the United States, seeking broader opportunities during civil conflict and shortages at home. In America he performed as a pianist and negotiated with impresarios, learning how international audiences heard his style.

The Love for Three Oranges premiered at the Chicago Opera, blending absurdist theater with sparkling orchestration and memorable marches. The success established him as a major operatic voice and introduced his comic-modern sensibility to American audiences.

He married soprano Lina Llubera (Carolina Codina), whose cosmopolitan networks helped his career in European musical circles. Their life between concert tours and composing created both practical support and personal tension as pressures mounted.

In Paris, he presented large, modern works such as Symphony No. 2, pushing dense textures and industrial energy. The city’s vibrant scene around Sergei Diaghilev and Igor Stravinsky sharpened his ambition and competitive edge.

After years traveling between Europe and America, he resettled in the USSR, encouraged by promises of commissions and prestige. The move placed him under Soviet cultural oversight, forcing careful choices about style, subjects, and public image.

He wrote Peter and the Wolf for Natalya Sats at the Central Children's Theatre, assigning each character a distinctive instrument and theme. Its clever narration and orchestration made it a global gateway to symphonic sound for young listeners.

Although its path to the stage was complicated, Romeo and Juliet ultimately triumphed with sweeping melodies and dramatic pacing. The ballet proved he could write accessible, emotionally direct music while retaining modern bite and rhythmic vitality.

During World War II he composed patriotic and dramatic works while evacuations and rationing disrupted daily life across the Soviet Union. The conflict’s urgency fed large-scale scores, including the opera project War and Peace and concert works for morale.

In 1948, Soviet authorities condemned him for 'formalism' alongside Dmitri Shostakovich and Aram Khachaturian, restricting performances and income. The political campaign damaged his health and forced him toward safer styles, revisions, and compromised projects.

He died in Moscow from a cerebral hemorrhage, but public mourning was overshadowed by the death of Joseph Stalin the same day. Limited press coverage and scarce flowers at his funeral reflected the era’s stark priorities, despite his immense legacy.