I went to New York this week at last. The lessons I received there were absolutely phenomenal. It's rare that someone can charge as much as Jacob Lateiner and not have to apologize for it.
On Thursday I found myself going up the elevator to his apartment shaking. We'd spoken over the phone about scheduling lessons before, but meeting someone so accomplished as a performer and instructor was altogether a new experience.
When I go
t to his door I felt sure I was going to vomit with nervousness, but he was waiting there for me with the door open, and he asked if I wouldn't mind going down to the front lobby to get his mail! I thought for sure he was joking but as he handed me his keys I realized he was quite serious. I returned and we began the lesson.
My first impression was that he worked very quickly and has an incredibly sharp mind. I played a Chopin Scherzo (Op. 31 in B-Flat Minor) and, as what tends to be the case, felt that it was the best I've ever played it, but we spent the remainder of the hour (probably 45 minutes) laboring over each and every bar he had noted. He asked for stricter tempi, more volume and control over quick passages, less volume in dolce sections but with earnest warning against losing the fullness of tone, softness of grace notes and less accents, which inhibited the smoothness of phrasing.
Each time he requested something I would try to play as he'd instructed, and then when he'd add the next part to learn I'd forget to play the way he'd first instructed me. Typical, of course, to working through any difficult work with a difficult teacher. At the very last bar, he'd instructed that the D-flat grace note chord be played soft but swiftly, so that the final chord (D-flat major, spread out in the lowest and highest octaves of the piano) resonated with strength. I kept trying to play the grace note softy but apparently was not doing so adequately. He would say, in his low and straightforward voice, "That's not soft." Then I'd try soft with every ounce of effort I could, and lose the sound, and he'd say, "Now there's no sound!" Eventually, throwing up his arms, he said, "Just forget it. We can't get stuck on this since you're not getting it now."
There were many moments like that, in which he would demand so much of me that I had to use everything I could to deliver what he wanted, and usually it wouldn't be nearly close to good enough. He would make sure I was fully aware of this, and I realized what that says about his teaching. I studied at Western with one of his former students, Tina Yanchus, who told me he was so detailed she sometimes just couldn't play to his satisfaction. He was/is so caught up with making good, technically solid, tasteful music and doesn't care how you sound in the lesson as long as you can demonstrate what he's looking for and are willing to practice it fastidiously. This leads me to believe he sees the pursuit of musical excellence as something that will always be a process. If you want to achieve excellence in it, you must always work toward it, all the while knowing there is always more that you can do to improve. I know from my lessons with him he is concerned with my playing well in the future, and never losing a strong technique at the instrument. He communicates this very sage message harshly and often to the point of being demeaning, but never personally - only musically. That is all he is concerned about - making music.
He smoked through the lessons, and at one point he asked me to stop playing, being so frustrated that he needed to light a new cigarette before I could keep playing. At several points he would start talking over me so I'd stop, but as it would turn out he would say, "Why did you stop, keep playing!" and apparently he'd just added little comments here and there. Then came the time I actually kept playing but he wanted to stop me and correct a serious flaw. All I heard was, "Hello....HELLO! .... JARRED! [I stopped playing] When I am talking, it means you don't play at the same time. That's how it works."
The best part of my last lesson was when I thanked him for his time and shook his hand, he invited me to come back any time I like and said, "I'd be happy to see you again." I thanked him very much and shook his hand, no doubt a hand that has played nearly every worthwhile piece there is to play, and he wished me all the best.
Challenges are often extremely inspiring. I know I will return to Jacob Lateiner as soon as I can, and in the meantime, if I could apply even half the knowledge he imparted to me in those hours, my skill at the piano will greatly increase. I don't plan on throwing away the notebook he wrote in - in fact, I'm sure he'll be writing in it again and hollering at me to play with more skill some time soon.
Thank you Mr. Lateiner!
On Thursday I found myself going up the elevator to his apartment shaking. We'd spoken over the phone about scheduling lessons before, but meeting someone so accomplished as a performer and instructor was altogether a new experience.
When I go
t to his door I felt sure I was going to vomit with nervousness, but he was waiting there for me with the door open, and he asked if I wouldn't mind going down to the front lobby to get his mail! I thought for sure he was joking but as he handed me his keys I realized he was quite serious. I returned and we began the lesson.My first impression was that he worked very quickly and has an incredibly sharp mind. I played a Chopin Scherzo (Op. 31 in B-Flat Minor) and, as what tends to be the case, felt that it was the best I've ever played it, but we spent the remainder of the hour (probably 45 minutes) laboring over each and every bar he had noted. He asked for stricter tempi, more volume and control over quick passages, less volume in dolce sections but with earnest warning against losing the fullness of tone, softness of grace notes and less accents, which inhibited the smoothness of phrasing.
Each time he requested something I would try to play as he'd instructed, and then when he'd add the next part to learn I'd forget to play the way he'd first instructed me. Typical, of course, to working through any difficult work with a difficult teacher. At the very last bar, he'd instructed that the D-flat grace note chord be played soft but swiftly, so that the final chord (D-flat major, spread out in the lowest and highest octaves of the piano) resonated with strength. I kept trying to play the grace note softy but apparently was not doing so adequately. He would say, in his low and straightforward voice, "That's not soft." Then I'd try soft with every ounce of effort I could, and lose the sound, and he'd say, "Now there's no sound!" Eventually, throwing up his arms, he said, "Just forget it. We can't get stuck on this since you're not getting it now."
There were many moments like that, in which he would demand so much of me that I had to use everything I could to deliver what he wanted, and usually it wouldn't be nearly close to good enough. He would make sure I was fully aware of this, and I realized what that says about his teaching. I studied at Western with one of his former students, Tina Yanchus, who told me he was so detailed she sometimes just couldn't play to his satisfaction. He was/is so caught up with making good, technically solid, tasteful music and doesn't care how you sound in the lesson as long as you can demonstrate what he's looking for and are willing to practice it fastidiously. This leads me to believe he sees the pursuit of musical excellence as something that will always be a process. If you want to achieve excellence in it, you must always work toward it, all the while knowing there is always more that you can do to improve. I know from my lessons with him he is concerned with my playing well in the future, and never losing a strong technique at the instrument. He communicates this very sage message harshly and often to the point of being demeaning, but never personally - only musically. That is all he is concerned about - making music.
He smoked through the lessons, and at one point he asked me to stop playing, being so frustrated that he needed to light a new cigarette before I could keep playing. At several points he would start talking over me so I'd stop, but as it would turn out he would say, "Why did you stop, keep playing!" and apparently he'd just added little comments here and there. Then came the time I actually kept playing but he wanted to stop me and correct a serious flaw. All I heard was, "Hello....HELLO! .... JARRED! [I stopped playing] When I am talking, it means you don't play at the same time. That's how it works."
The best part of my last lesson was when I thanked him for his time and shook his hand, he invited me to come back any time I like and said, "I'd be happy to see you again." I thanked him very much and shook his hand, no doubt a hand that has played nearly every worthwhile piece there is to play, and he wished me all the best.
Challenges are often extremely inspiring. I know I will return to Jacob Lateiner as soon as I can, and in the meantime, if I could apply even half the knowledge he imparted to me in those hours, my skill at the piano will greatly increase. I don't plan on throwing away the notebook he wrote in - in fact, I'm sure he'll be writing in it again and hollering at me to play with more skill some time soon.
Thank you Mr. Lateiner!
