His wardrobe consisted of a dozen identical velvet suits. He hung out with radicals and pre-Dadaists. He wrote spoof compositions, named such odd titles as Limp preludes (for a dog) and "Three Pieces in the Shape of a Pear," just to goad other more serious composers. He also wrote pieces specifically for non-traditional instruments: typewriter, police siren, handgun, etc. In fact, he referred to himself as an experimenter of sound rather than as a composer.
(He was a foppish, 19th century version of Frank Zappa, basically.)
His most famous composition, "Gymnopédie, No. 1" (1888), is one of his more straightforward compositions.
In researching the meaning of gymnopédie, no sources really agree on a definition. Some say that it refers to dancing gymnasts of ancient Greece. Others say it was kind of a nonsense word, first used by Satie's author friend, J.P. Contamine, in his poem "The Ancients" ("Les Antiques") to evoke a sense of nondescript "ancient times."
Whatever it means, the piece is a brief, low-key waltz that's based upon a very simple two chord progression with an extremely jazzy feel (even though jazz as an art form didn't actually exist at the time of composition). Atop that foundation floats the song's delicate melody, which is curiously soothing and sorrowful at the same time.
Although Satie considered himself an anti-Romantic, few pieces of music evoke a sense of nostalgia, love, and loss quite like this one.
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