Jacob Lateiner: again.

Mr. Lateiner died today and I found out 15 minutes ago from the New York Times. A few years ago, I wrote a sordidly emo entry regarding Mr. Lateiner and my (perhaps ridiculous, at the time) visceral apprehension at what I thought to be some sort of inevitable transfiguration into his life - as if the Marlboro Lights and single-malt scotch would end up representing a manifestation of dread.

The truth is that Mr. Lateiner and I never got along, for whatever reason and unbeknown to him, I had quickly (and perhaps injudiciously and psychologically) formulated and assigned a number of facades to him: the grumpy octogenerian professor with a hearing aid, the colossal legend of 20th century chamber music, the lifelong advocate of American modernism, etc.

But beyond that and on a purely personal level, he was something I'm sure he never thought he could be to a student: a symbol. To me, Mr. Lateiner was the symbol of a man who had dedicated his life to art, all the while squandering his personal life and attributing it to the sacrifice of his trade. In 2008, I wrote that "art alone for me, is not enough; I need love in my life, perhaps even at the expense of art." Well today, I change my mind.

Years ago, a book was published called "Pianist, scholar, connoisseur: Essays in honor of Jacob Lateiner." Dozens of letters and essays by the likes of Pia Gilbert and Gary Graffman fill pages and pages thanking the man that filled their lives with music and joy. Was Mr. Lateiner lonely? Or was that a myth? Maybe he was comfortable with the solitude, satisfied by his immersion in art and pleasure?

Whether or not it's a coincidence that Mr. Lateiner's death fell on the same day that my insecurities caused the love of my life to dump me like a bad habit is irrelevant, but trippy at best. I'm sitting here now in a hotel room in the middle of Cheyenne, WY with nowhere to go and nothing to look forward to but the concert I'm playing next. And that's ok.

Mr. Lateiner, I would be honored to live a life like yours. RIP.