In a time of World Wars, machines controlling man, Man controlling all and none of himself comes the refreshingly simplistic piano work of Satie. But don't be deceived . . .

This individual's work, as was his life, is multitextured and complex. On the surface are simplistic cords, maintained with the left hand, while melodies are dispursed with the right. In between are the cries of humanity with little left to say. What there is left to be said is minute, of little consequence, and extremely unnerving and wrought with pain and anguish.

As a literature professor once said of the works of Twain and Dickinson, "It's not the works that go over your head which are the most dangerous. The ones which are so simple in appearance are the ones that have the capability to carry away Fort Knox if you're not careful. It's the ones that go under your head without your being aware of it that you have to beware."

Indeed.