Mirrors, Mysteries, and Minimalism
Composers who turned 'less is more' into 'less is everything'
I watched The Brutalist this week – Adrian Brody's new three-hour epic that just won several awards (best soundtrack was one). It follows a Jewish architect who starts over in New York after fleeing the war. I loved it. Several themes really hit home, and, I have to admit, it got me a bit emotional in the cinema. I’ve always had a soft spot for Bauhaus—a minimalist design movement known for clean lines, functional design, and simplicity—and this film felt like a beautiful tribute to that style. There's something special about stripping everything down to what matters most.
Just like bauhaus, it’s facinating how just a few simple notes can create something so powerful. So today, I want to share a few pieces that I think should be an absolute must on your minimalist playlist.
Gnossienne No. 7 – Erik Satie (1891)
I remember the first time I heard this piece—or rather, the first few times I didn’t notice it at all. I was listening to a piano album on repeat, and it wasn’t until the third or fourth time through that I realized how strange this quiet little piece was. When I finally paid attention, it felt... well, odd. The jazzy opening seemed out of place, almost like it didn’t belong with the rest of the piece. And the more I listened, the more I noticed it has this mysterious, dreamlike quality—something I couldn’t quite put my finger on.
But then, everything about this piece is a bit of a mystery. Even the title—Gnossienne—doesn’t have a clear meaning. Some think it comes from the ancient Greek city of Knossos, but Satie never said for sure. It was originally part of a different piece, and Satie just decided it was another Gnossienne (he already wrote 1-6)—and so No. 7 was born.
If you look at the Gnossiennes sheet music, things get even stranger. Normally, music is divided into measures with bar lines to help musicians count and follow along. But here? No bar lines at all. Reading it is like reading a book with no commas or periods—a little unsettling, sort of freeing. And so is this music.
I heard someone on the radio recently describe Satie’s music as timeless, and I think that’s exactly right. It’s strangely hard to pin down to a particular era. To be honest, I always thought Satie was born in the first half of the 20th century, but his probably most famous piece, the one almost everyone has heard, Gymnopédie No. 1 is 137(!!) years old. It sounds so contemporary that it’s hard to believe it was written that long ago.
Étude No. 6 – Philip Glass
Philip Glass is known as a minimalist composer, and this Étude is minimalist in it’s structure. The music is repetitive and pretty simple in terms of the melody, but there are a lot of notes, and Icelandic pianist Víkingur Ólafsson plays them incredibly fast. Try tapping your finger to each note he plays and see how long you can keep up. I didn’t last long.
It’s a whirlwind of a piece—intense and relentless, yet somehow still haunting. There’s something about it that sticks with you. The way it keeps driving forward, with subtle shifts in harmony—it just stays in your mind. It’s obssesive. Ólafsson’s super-fast tempo and incredible clarity makes it feel like the music’s racing, but in a way that pulls you right in. And then, just like that, it ends. Sudden. Unfinished.
I found myself humming it for weeks after I got hooked.
By the way, étude just means "study." These pieces are meant to help musicians work on specific skills—like speed or tricky finger moves. But Glass takes that idea and turns it into something that’s not just an exercise. It’s a full experience, even with something as simple as repeating a few notes.
Spiegel im Spiegel - Arvo Pärt (1978)
Even if you don’t know Arvo Pärt’s name, there’s a pretty good chance you’ve heard this piece. It pops up everywhere—movies, TV shows, ads—and for good reason. The title Spiegel im Spiegel (which means "Mirror in the Mirror" in German) really captures what’s happening in the music. Picture two mirrors facing each other, creating endless reflection.
The music works the same way. The violin plays one note at a time, moving slowly, while the piano keeps repeating a simple pattern—just three notes, over and over. Sounds almost too simple, right? But that’s the magic. It’s mesmerizing. There’s something about it that makes you breathe along with the music—it has this natural, peaceful flow.
If you liked this piece, I’d also recommend checking out another one of Pärt’s pieces: Cantus in Memoriam Benjamin Britten. He wrote it in 1977 after hearing about the death of English composer Benjamin Britten (who I’ll definitely introduce in the future). Even though they never met, Pärt felt such a deep connection to Britten’s music that he created this tribute.
It uses a technique called a canon—think of the classic song Frère Jacques, where different voices start the same melody at different times, layering it to create this echo effect. Pärt transforms this simple idea into something devastatingly beautiful.
I hope you enjoyed this more contemplative selection this week. I’ve put all the tracks in one playlist if you’d just like to hear them in order, or in the bakcground or whenever really.
If you have any questions, requests, ideas, feel free to reach out!
Have a great weekend!
My favourite new thing to do is listen to your recommends on a Sunday arvo 👌