In 1917, as World War I raged, most of Paris’s theaters and concert halls were closed due to the fighting. Painter Émile Lejeune took matters into his own hands. He decorated the walls of his studio with original pieces by Picasso, Matisse, Mondigliani, and more to host a concert.
The evening featured the music of Arthur Honegger, Georges Auric, and among others, Erik Satie. It was the first step in the formation of the collective of French composers who came to be known as Les Six. Satie was not one of the six - his relationship with them was ever-changing. But despite his fluctuating support of this collective, he served as a focal point for them. He introduced most of them to each other, and like Debussy did for him, he was kind of their artistic dad.
That same year a ballet that hit on all the artistic ideals of Les Six premiered in Paris. Parade had a scenario by Jean Cocteau, choreography by Leonide Massine, sets and costumes by Pablo Picasso, and music by Erik Satie. As far as 20th century artistic pedigrees go, that’s a pretty strong one. And the premiere caused a near-riot Rite of Spring style with detractors yelling “Sale boche!” (“filthy German!”) before they were drowned out with applause. The definition of a sensation. How could it not be? Just LOOK at it!
Last week I kicked off my monthly review of classical music’s new releases with some thoughts upon the centennial of the death of Erik Satie. And since then, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about him. Maybe it’s the prevalence of AI, the need to please algorithms, or my age being the point at which I’m ready to join the “we do not care club.” But the stranger my/our world feels, the more I think I can understand Satie’s offbeat approach to life, gritty as it might have been. It didn’t always work for him, and I don’t recommend his whole lifestyle. Regardless, there are plenty of lessons we can take from his willingness to be different.
You’re most likely to know Satie from a set of piano pieces he composed much earlier in his career at the age of 22 - just three years before the above portrait. Looking at the ennui on display, it’s easy to believe Trois Gymnopedies were written by that guy sitting at the fireplace.
It was a quiet yet iconoclastic statement. Compared to the lush music of Debussy, Saint-Saens, Faure, and especially the German Romantics, these suspended and sparse lines were a revolution. They didn’t compete with the noise of the world, nor did they even bother to try and fill any single room. They were more like whispers in a crowded cafe.
“I am for music that we do not listen to deliberately, music that creates an atmosphere.” - Erik Satie
80 years before Philip Glass, a taste of minimalism. One that would last to influence more than Les Six - mid 20th century composers like John Cage seemed to completely understand and embrace the feeling of floating along that was found in Satie’s music. Gymnopedies didn’t immediately make Satie famous. Surely the struggling cafe pianist would be shocked to know that they have lasted, though likely dismayed to know they had been so generously orchestrated by Debussy.
He did seem to know they would be his signature though, both figuratively and literally. When listing his name and title he was known to write “Erik Satie – gymnopédiste.” Though that doesn’t even make into the top ten of his eccentricities.
He was barely making a living as the conductor at Paris’s famed Le Chat Noir, residing in a tiny apartment that was so high up he could see Belgium from his window. Unbeknownst to his friends before his death, he accumulated the following:
84 of the same gray velvet/corduroy suit (number varies depending on source)
two grand pianos, stacked on top of each other
over 100 umbrellas
dozens of un-sent love letters
Plus, a huge collection of unpublished works. One of which was Vexations, an unmeasured line of music that the performer is meant to repeat 840 times. The first performance, organized by John Cage in 1949, lasted 18 hours. The audience was charged $5 for entry, but refunded 5 cents for every 20 minutes that they stayed. A 2020 performance by Igor Levit lasted around 12 hours.
Odd behaviors like only eating white foods (mostly omelettes and rice) might have made Satie difficult to be around. Though as someone with celiac, I also wonder if he just couldn’t process gluten and ate as blandly as possible to cope. But other experiments might have made him insufferable. By 1892 he was maneuvering around Paris in priestly garb, having founded L'Église Métropolitaine d'Art de Jésus Conducteur [Metropolitan Church of Art of Jesus the Conductor].
“Why attack God? He may be as miserable as we are.” - Satie
It might be the only cult with any notoriety that never recruited anyone, and never even tried to. Upon founding the church, Satie immediately began excommunicating people. Which made little sense, as he was the church’s only member. But he worked in broad strokes, targeting “evildoers speculating on human corruption.” I suppose that’s fair enough. And he wrote music for his church - his most famous “liturgical” work for the institution is a Mass for the Poor.
But much of Satie’s catalog isn’t masses or anything nearly so large. Short piano works. What they lack in duration, virtuosity, or intensity, they make up in depth and meaning. Often off the wall, yet entirely relatable. For example, Satie loved dogs.
"I want to write a play for dogs, and I already have my set design: the curtain rises on a bone." - Erik Satie, to playwright Jean Cocteau
Préludes flasques (pour un chien) [Flabby Preludes, for a dog] was quickly rejected by publishers, but made it into the world in the late 1960s.
Before that, as he had struggled with an artistic crisis, Claude Debussy suggested he pay more attention to form. So, Satie did, literally. Trois Morceaux en forme de poire [Three pieces in the shape of a pear] was presented back to Debussy as something that, in Satie’s words, could not possibly be shapeless by any definition.
Stories vary on whether Satie had voluntarily left the Paris conservatory, or if he was compelled to leave by the professors who called him “lazy” and “insignificant.” Either way, it was no fit for him. Conservatories expect a certain amount of unquestioned conformity, even today. That wasn’t exactly Satie’s strong suit.
“My role is not to be a servant to tradition, but to question it.” - Satie
And that’s the point, isn’t it?
Looking back at 1917, Satie was unafraid to take a formal style and apply a merciless parody. The same year as Parade and the first meeting of Les Six, he also published a pastiche of classical form. Sonatina bureaucratique.
Right from the top, it’s easy to tell what Satie was aiming for. The first movement is titled Vivache (instead of “vivace”) - “vache” being the French word for cow. The formalism that he couldn’t bear at the Paris Conservatory, completely mocked, while showing he was perfectly capable of cooperating. The soul-crushing monotony of being in an office (“bureacratique”) being the metaphor. Conservatory training? Might as well be filing and sorting.
It couldn’t have been easy being forced to leave. But instead of hanging his head, Satie used it for inspiration. May we all be so wise.
His wasn’t a settled time in Paris. Sure, art was alive in the Belle Epoche, but that’s rarely a sign of a people who are comfortable - it shows that people have something they need to say. The musical establishment revered Wagner and Brahms, and then France was at war with Germany. The Eiffel Tower, phonograph, cinema, and cars all quickly entered Parisian life.
A sharp wit toward any artistic obstacle might seem like an uncaring reaction from Satie. But in so many ways, it’s a reflection that requires a serious mind behind it.
For Satie, integrity was king. He rarely sold his music, he did not chase popularity, and not one note was superfluous. I don’t think Satie wrote a single piece of music in the hope that it would bring audience adulation. He doesn’t seem to have cared. In a world where every piece of approval feels like currency - every ticket sold, every social media “like,” every follower added - the memory of Erik Satie is a breath of fresh air.
“I have never written a note I didn’t mean.” - Satie
The most powerful thing we can do today isn’t boosting our numbers. It’s creating something authentic. Making something that is ours - as strange and beautiful as it might be. That’s enough for all of us.
-Colleen
One more, just for fun. Or to not be cared about at all: