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Listening to Satie's dreamy, timelessly beautiful Gymnopedies, one could hardly imagine
that their composer was a man more characterized during his lifetime - and after - by
his eccentricities than his music. Yet, until recently, more attention has been paid
to such items as the 84 identical handkerchiefs and 12 identical velvet costumes found
in his wardrobe after his death than to his pioneering art, his influence on Debussy,
Ravel, and Cage, or his foreshadowing of the minimalist aesthetic that would emerge close
to a century after his birth.
This misplaced emphasis is not difficult to understand, as the complexity of the man and
its fascinating manifestations are, initially, more easily understood and immediately
entertaining than his compositions. It has been, perhaps, more inviting to visualize
the two grand pianos Satie stacked one on top of the other in his Arcueil apartment
(the upper one was used to store correspondence and magazines), than to contemplate
listening to a piano piece entitled
Genuine Flabby Preludes for a Dog. Or to peruse his exquisite calligraphy of space ships,
dirigibles, chateaux, and castles, than to cue up his
Sonatina Bureaucratique.
The shift in focus from the man to his art, and his change in status from musical humorist
and dilettante to innovator can be traced to a Satie Festival organized in 1948 by another
iconoclast, the American composer, John Cage. He had heard Satie's "Vexations," a three
minute piece written on a single sheet with the instructions that it be played 840 times
and, in New York in 1963 organized a performance of the piece that involved ten pianists
playing in two hour shifts over a period of 18 and a half hours. Not only was Cage deeply
affected by the experience, but such diverse artists as Yoko Ono and John Lennon reported
that their week-long confinement to bed to protest the Vietnam War was inspired by the
Vexations experience.
Since then, Satie's music has become performed more frequently, recorded, and re-considered
in the informed light of a half-century. We have come to understand and value more highly
his musical output, whose proscribed scope stands in stark contrast to the gigantic proportions
of works by his German contemporaries, including Bruckner, Mahler, and Richard Strauss,
as he searched for, in his own words, "a music without sauerkraut."
"Without sauerkraut" they may be, but Satie's music is no less pungent. Inspired by sources
as diverse as cabaret culture, medieval religion, and Greek antiquity, Satie composed songs,
works for piano, and theatrical scores strongly evocative of their origins.
Je te Veux (I Desire You)
is a product of his quarter-century association with the cabarets of Monmartre;
En Habit de Cheval
(In Horse-Riding Dress) evokes, despite the work's title, the music and
mysticism of the middle ages that so strongly attracted Satie; and the three
Gymnopedies,
named for the festival dancing boys at Thyrea described by Herodotus, bespeak the measured grace
easily imagined to characterize ancient ceremony and pageant.
Born in Honfleur (Normandy), Satie moved to Paris in 1884, studied briefly at the Paris
Conservatory, and found his first musical voice as the official composer of the Rosicrucian
movement; here, he first encountered the Plainsong and Gregorian chants that were to underpin
much of his subsequent output. Becoming disenchanted with the Rosecrucians, he found work as
a pianist at the famous cabaret, Le Chat Noir, where he met the young Debussy, who, with Ravel,
were later to acknowledge their musical debt to Satie and attempt to interest the public in his work.
Financial pressures led Satie to move to a working class suburb, Arcueil, from which he would
commute every day by foot to Paris and for rounds of meetings and meals. His twelve mile round
trip was punctuated, according to the poet, Apollinaire, with stops at cafes to jot down musical
ideas in the little notebooks he took everywhere. He finally scored the success that had long
eluded him in Parade, a collaboration with Pablo Picasso, Jean Cocteau, and the director of Les
Ballet Russes de Monte Carlo, Serge Diaghilev. The score was so compelling, and the inclusion
of guns, car horns, sirens, and typewriters so innovative and raucous as to cause an opening
night riot that, thoroughly reported, finally brought Satie to the public's attention, where
he remained until his early death at age 59.
Today, Satie's originality and influence are considered equal partners with his actual compositions.
If his music does not leave us with spiritual inspiration on the scale of works by Beethoven or
Mahler, they draw us into a privileged, often meditative, world with a world view and beauty all
of its own.
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