My wife DeLann Williams and I drove over to Kansas City, Missouri for a taste of the Classical Mandolin Society of America’s 2023 Convention. It was the 37th such convention of this society, and was hosted at the Bonvoy Marriott on Main Street. The hotel is just up the hill from the famous ‘Country Club Plaza.’ Our room was on the 18th floor. We stayed two nights. The above photo from our window shows the scene below.

Concerts took place on three nights of the conference. We were interested in two; the concert on Friday night presented by the Mandolin Orchestra of Kansas City (MOoKC), under the direction of Dr. Phil DeWalt, and the En Masse ensemble on Saturday night, ‘featuring’ the premier performance of one of Phil’s pieces for the mandolin orchestra. I managed to get to some of the afternoon rehearsals of the En Masse orchestra, made up of a combination players of the participating smaller ensembles.

That’s about as journalistic – ‘who, what, when and where’ – as I care to be. I learned a bunch and formed a few stray opinions, and did what I set out to do. For various reasons, it was tricky to spend much time with Phil, my old friend who is laced throughout these blog pages if you scroll back, and who is also laced through my musical life from the KC period on. I did manage to introduce myself to, and have a brief conversation with, Phil’s daughter Iona, as we walked down to Winstead’s on the plaza. Iona has more music in her little finger than is legally allowable, but more on that as a postscript. Kansas City, for the record, is notable for both people and food. It’s impossible to tease out cause and effect, but music and art in general is the inevitable byproduct of well-fed humans.

The learning started at the afternoon rehearsal of the En Masse Orchestra on Friday. I listened as Dr. Jim Bates rehearsed the group through the tricky spots of Eileen Pakenham’s (1914-2009) Fantasy in Five Time. I learned that large groups of plucking mandolins are difficult to keep in tune. The mandolin is fretted, and virtually every player had a clip-on tuner, so I was surprised at the diffusion of the tone. There were about 100 people on risers in the En Masse, mandolins joined by some tubular bells, guitars, and double bass violins. (Iona DeWalt was one of three people playing the double bass.) The obvious difficulty of players used to common meters was compounded by, well, the mingling of compound meters. There were, as it turned out, sixes mixed with the fives. Dr. Bates is a jovial fellow with a slight ponytail. He has an easy, clear conducting manner, and a relaxed, straightforward way with the orchestra in rehearsal. This is important since the combined forces only meets at these conventions, so far as I know. If they don’t play, they don’t rehearse…

The learning continued with the evening concert. There were two parts to this affair, with an intermission. The MOoKC played a very eclectic set of short pieces. I’ve known Phil for years, as noted, but this was the first time I’ve experienced him as a conductor and emcee. Having just gotten a refresher as a musician in a pit orchestra under the guidance of a conductor, I was primed to appreciate good leadership when I saw it. Phil led the ensemble of about 15-20 players through a tour of the inside of his head. Between each piece, Phil set up each piece with a concise, informative, and often quite funny monologue. His enjoyment and excitement in the proceedings was infectious, and the whole concert was a huge delight. With one exception, Phil arranged or composed the pieces specifically for this ensemble. Philip DeWalt (1954 – ) presented an original work, called Box Turtle in a Hurry. The piece was a kind of loping, monochromatic, single section, single-minded vignette, hell bent on getting to the double bar on the other side of the busy highway. It was reminiscent of one of the arrangements, that is, the one by Raymond Scott, Sleepwalker. The similarities, I think, were more idiomatic and harmonic than necessarily rhythmic, though the sleepwalker was pretty restless, and the turtle characteristically lackadaisical in a chelonian way.

The Alkan miniature was another standout arrangement: Les Regrets de la Nonette, C. V. Alkan (1813-1872). As Phil noted in his intro, Alkan was the composer of famously difficult and lengthy piano pieces. He also composed exquisite miniatures. Phil told us that the piece was recently discovered; it has been already recorded and here it is, with the score on youtube. (So long as the link lasts!) In Phil’s arrangement for mandolin orchestra, it takes on a shimmer that makes the change to the relative major (B flat) and the extensions on the dominant before the texture change (for example, at m. 32- m. 36) all the more poignant.

Also, blitz-learning, I observed that the sonority and the tone of the small ensemble had none of the problems of the En Masse: the tuning was impeccable, and the sound carried much better. This reminded me of the differences between the harpsichord styles, where the lightest, most guitar-like Italian instrument out-sings the heavier Flemish and the heaviest French. The more moving parts, the less projection and agility. And worst of all, speaking of harpsichords, which resemble ensembles of mandolins quite obviously, are those ‘plucking pianos’ by Pleyel from the early 20th century. The 15 piece mandolin orchestra was alive, in tune, in time and plenty present.

It would not be the inside of DeWalt’s head without jazz and the syncopated time of Duke Ellington, the afore-mentioned Scott, and also Leroy Anderson. Phil grew up on his father Clyde’s enormous collection of jazz LPs. So the Creole Love Call, Edward Kennedy “Duke” Ellington, (1899-1974), was deftly arranged for the ensemble and sounded suitably haunting and swinging. It was a bit slower than many of the familiar recordings, but did not lose its piquant bite. And speaking of swinging pretty hard, there was plenty of toe-tapping time to be had in Blue Tango by Leroy Anderson (1908-1975). Unsquare Dance, arranged by another member of the ensemble, and another Phil — Phil Vinyard, changed up the usual concert setup. DeWalt pulled out a large set of bones and played the sevens on the bones, cutting loose with some ornaments and gyrations towards the end. This one was composed by Dave Brubeck (1920-1912) can be enjoyed here on youtube with choreography from an old TV capture. My caveat about links is still in force.

A pair of Leo Kotke (1945 – ) arrangements brought the MOoKC segment to a close. These were from Kottke’s Six and Twelve String Guitar album – the one with the armadillo on the cover. The covers were: Crow River Waltz and Vaseline Machine Gun, which are heard back to back on side one of the LP. Phil told us that he’s been in contact with Kottke, and got a positive response. Do the rest of ’em Phil! And a bunch of armadillos with mandolins would indeed make the perfect cover!

Then came a pair of artists playing solo. Korean Kim Hye Kyung and Japanese Masataka Hori were technically adept on their mandolins. She played a mandolin; he played a mandocello. He played the Bach ‘cello suite I, famous and often played… but not on a mandolin. Unfortunately, the Bach suffered from so much rubato that the forward movement of these dance pieces was lost in the wash. Mr. Hori spoke to the crowd as well, via a translator. When he said something about ‘not being able to write a forty minute piece and turned to a trusted friend to make something,’ I turned to Del and suggested we sneak out. But we did not manage it in time; we endured a lengthy premier that never kept a beat, was ‘one dramatic gesture after another,’ (DeWalt’s usual comment about Brahms) and would have been greatly improved at 1/16th the length. The three movements of this piece sounded much the same, shared much material, and lasted longer than my attention span could handle. Trusted friend, where is your red pencil? We ducked out after this one, so I can’t comment on Hori’s piece for solo mandocello.

On Saturday, I went for a walk in the old neighborhood, around the Kansas City Art Institute and up to 301 East 43rd Street, where I had the 2nd floor apartment until 1980 or ’81. The old hood looked the same, decked out in fall colors and fallen leaves. The carriage house down McGee towards the ‘intsa-toot,’ set well back from the road, still lurks back there reminding me of the devil that lived therein. Another tale for another time. The ‘toot itself is now surrounded by new buildings, one of which is the Barbara Marshall Dormitory. The same fate has befallen KC’s famous County Club Plaza, once open and quaint, but now surrounded by looming hotel buildings, like the one we stayed at, and quite a few others. On foot, as I had taken it in in my twenties, the lay of the land is similar. It’s just that one can’t go trotting down the hills. They are now ‘prime real estate,’ and festooned with construction.

In the afternoon, I took in rehearsal after a nap. Dr. Bates was working with the En Masse on Giuseppe Anelli‘s Sinfonia Romantica. Lush, typical late nineteenth century romanticism, full of effects, climaxes, repetitions, and sudden susurrations. The problems were the ones one can easily imagine; pay attention to this that and the other nuance, bring out this or that, don’t forget to “really sing out that line!” By napping, I missed the rehearsal of Phil’s Keplerana, the work he was presenting as a featured composer at the event. Jim Bates, whose brief bio is linked at the Otterbein University site, has a history of working with young people playing stringed instruments. This surely stands him in good stead in his work with the CMSA orchestras. Though he is affable and approachable, I declined to approach him. Hanging back and observing his work was plenty enjoyable enough.

Phil had earlier described the progress of his involvement with this convention on his home turf, particularly as a composer ‘in residence.’ Keplerana ended up a five movement work; the initial three movements were not, as I understood Phil’s explanation, specifically made for the convention, and so could not earn the commission. Phil composed two more pieces to fill out the suite. Then, these two pieces were cut. The program listed the three pieces to be played as: Tango Canyengue, Pas De Deux for a Green Comet, and Jigamaree. In the event, Bates announced to the audience that only one of these movements would be played, ie., the tango. The tango was sinuous, typical DeWalt in rhythmic interest and internal consistency. It was not a huge challenge to listen to, and I certainly could have enjoyed the rest of the suite had it been presented. I have no knowledge of why the remaining movements were cut. It seems quite odd though, that if you are featuring a composer, that you would cut most of the original work offered for premier. Anyway, the truncated DeWalt was followed by a piece by the same Masataka Hori (1985 – ) we had skipped out on the night before. Mr. Hori’s score, Avennire, Op. 39, was sonorous, atmospheric, and reasonably short. I was, I suppose, still worrying about that 40 minute threat. I couldn’t take my eyes of Mr. Hori himself, up there in the mandocello section, writhing and gyrating as he played. The constraint of metered time and the beat of the conductor must’ve been driving him bonkers. A free spirit, he might be the ‘Lenny’ Bernstein of mandolinists.

Bates described Susie Ibarra’s (1970-) Morning Malabar in such a tantalizing way that the piece itself was a bit of a disappointment. Bates said that the Malabar, dubbed ‘the singing schoolboy,’ is a bird with a very humanoid song, and that Susie’s piece captured not just the song but also the bird’s sonorous, riverine environment. This struck me as a great idea for a piece! I imagined a Messiaen-esque translation of birdsong to viola (the solo instrument, played in this concert by Daniel Doña), with the mandolin orchestra creating the ‘environment.’ I imagined something Lutoslowski-like. Instead, we got something much more tame, something with metered time, and, of course, the usual mandolin tremolandi. I let my imagination run away with me, and the reality did not approach that zone. My own mistake, of course.

I repeat, I have no idea, as of this writing, why Phil’s Keplerana was reduced to a ‘bloody stump’ and then to a severed pinky. But I imagine that the world of ‘serious’ music has not changed. It presents the same challenge as every other art form: an audience is formed with discretionary income (though these concerts were free), and pre-formed ideas about the aesthetic boundaries they are willing to tolerate. Directors and artists are torn between audience building and self-expression. Self expression goes where it will; no one can predict where the muse will lead, and making work that caters, panders, or just titillates a market is a dicey, dubious undertaking. Some artists are better at hitting the nerve than others. It really is a matter of timing and luck. In the classical format, one is writing for others. The writing is literal. One has the paper; the imagination leeches out onto that. The others must, if it is anything but a composer-intended solo, bring this into being my reading the black dots on the stands in front of them. In most modern musical organizations, player morale and input is considered to be critical and music directors seek it out. Perhaps the obvious factor in many programming decisions is something like, ‘an unhappy player is not going to be a good team player.’ Opposing this notion is the idea that orchestras, if they want to bring vital, important new work to the public, must sometimes get outside their comfort zone. I know Phil DeWalt is aware of this. He is reluctant to burden his ensemble with too many of his own difficult, unusual pieces. He has clearly found a good balance, and as a result, his ensemble sounds great, and they are playing fascinating material that very much reflects Phil’s interests. But when it comes to the geographically wider, if necessarily numerically narrow, world of mandolin ensembles, the tensions between old and familiar versus new and challenging are ever present. Could be, though, that I am overthinking it. The Friday night concert went long. Maybe the hotel enforced a length restriction on Saturday’s event.

The final lesson I took from my lightning visit to Kansas City is that the literal musical family is a possibility in the culturally arid United States. Kansas City is an oasis, and we were at the heart of the watering hole between the Plaza and Westport. Speaking a bit with daughter Iona DeWalt was suitably brief, but enlightening. Iona is her own person, clearly, and both engaging and talented. She is an accomplished multi-instrumentalist and involved in multiple genres of music, having played classical piano at a level way beyond my own, not to mention playing stings (‘cello, double bass, guitar), and performing in more, uh, hip ensembles on electric guitar. I’m in favor of musicians without borders. Rock on, my KC friends. There is more there to explore on that bucket list.