Jace Whitemarsh asked about Vincent Persichetti.

Paul Hofreiter responded:

>I studied with Vincent from 1970-1976 and kept in close contact with him
>until his death in 1987.  He was an absolutely marvellous teacher and human
>being . . . one of the gentlest souls I've ever encountered.

I had the pleasure of taking Literature and Materials IV with Mr.
Persichetti at Juilliard during the 1977-78 school year (the text was his
_Twentieth Century Harmony_), and later was honored to have him serve as
advisor for my doctoral document on George Rochberg.  I last saw him in
April 1987 at my oral exam and document defence at Juilliard, when he was
already suffering the ravages of the lung cancer which was to kill him in
August of that year.  (The fact that he died of cancer after some 50 years
of smoking unfiltered Camels is probably no coincidence.)

As Paul has already testified, I know of no-one who came away from
contact with him without sensing that they had been in the presence of a
great man who also happened to be a truly great musician.  It is saying
something significant to note that after 40 years of teaching at Juilliard,
he still loved music with a childlike, playful love, while having amassed
an absolutely staggering command of literature and process.  Though never
arrogant, he left one with the impression that he had the entire corpus of
Western music committed to memory; in L&M IV, he would often sit down at
the piano and play fragments of any piece that happened to be germane to
the discussion.  He kept up his performing ability to quite a high degree
-- I heard him play a performance of his Parable for Piano Trio that was
quite fine.

About his mirror music, I remember him talking about the technique in
class, as he was writing the etudes and the sonata while I was in it.  The
resulting sonorities are beguiling; my one reservation with the technique
has to do with the vertical rhythmic quality which results when both hands
are doing exactly the same thing at eactly the same time.  Perhaps Paul
could comment, and even set me straight.

Steve Schwartz recalls:

>In the 1960s during the Viet Nam War, Persichetti got caught in a political
>flap over a work seen as anti-Administration (whether Johnson or Nixon, I'm
>not sure).  I've never heard the piece - indeed, I forget the title - so I
>can't say, but I wouldn't be surprised.

It was his "Lincoln Address," written for the festivities surrounding the
second Nixon inaugural in 1973.  For a piece apparently in the same vein
as Copland's "Lincoln Portrait" (which I heard once in Carnegie Hall with
Copland narrating and Bernstein conducting), Persichetti chose a text from
Lincoln's second inaugural address, which spoke about the horrors of war.
Embarrassed by such references while the Vietnam War still raged, Nixon's
people put themselves in the distinctly bizarre position of cancelling a
performance of a piece whose words were written by the first and greatest
Republican president.

One last memory: In early 1985, during the first of what have turned
into over 15 years I've spent on the faculty at Wheaton College, Mr.
Persichetti came to Chicago for a performance of his choral music, and gave
a masterclass on his songs in nearby Elmhurst.  I went, and found myself
talking to him out in the lobby.  He asked me how I was doing, and I told
him that things were fine, but that I worried that I might be missing a
big break by having left New York.  In his dry, understatedly witty way,
he answered: "Well, first of all, it's good for you to know that there's
good music being made past Philadelphia.  That choir here [the William
Ferris Chorale] did a fine job with my music, and you have a good 'local'
orchestra.  Besides, you are probably going to do much more good for more
people by being here than you ever would have by staying in New York.
That's important." He proceeded to tell me admiringly about a former
student or colleague who had moved to Arkansas and managed to completely
transform the cultural life in his part of the state.  That conversation
did more to turn me away from my panicky pursuit of the "big career" than
anything could have.  His insistance that music making at a high and
infectious level was more important than being well-known or well-connected
had a major impact on me, which I hope will continue bearing fruit for
years to come.

DPHorn, debating whether or not to enter the thread on David Diamond with
memories of that VERY different figure.