French composer Erik Satie was a curious, eccentric man. He had a penchant for grey corduroy suits (he had seven identical ones) and umbrellas, and apparently only ate white food. His response to a critic who said his music lacked

Multimedia was alive and well in 1924, and with the title Relâche—loosely translated into “No Performance today,” or “Theatre Closed”—everybody automatically knew that the ballet collaboration between Francis Picabia and Erik Satie was in the firm grip of Dadaism.

Like many composers past and present, Erik Satie was in constant financial troubles. To escape his creditors he frequently changed his lodgings, ending up in a tiny room at 6 rue Cortot in the spring of 1890. Like a monk

“Memoirs of an Amnesiac” When eccentricity and classical music are used in the same sentence, Erik Satie (1866-1925) immediately comes to mind. Irreverent, disrespectful, contemptuous of tradition, forcefully direct and brutally honest, Satie famously wrote underneath his self-portrait, “I have

Recently, I came across a composition entitled Three Boneless Preludes for a Dog. With a name like that, it was instantly clear that it could only have come from the pen of Erik Satie. But it was still rather surprising

Violins, guitars, mandolins, music sheets and references to classical composers are very much part of Braque’s oeuvre, particularly during his analytic and synthetic cubist period, which essentially started in the early part of the 20th century and lasted well into

The Parisian café-concert established itself during the Second Empire as a standard diversion of the urban bourgeoisie and working class by providing a combination of dinner and song. Offering entertainment provided by strolling entertainers singing drinking-songs, along with refreshments at