Music Lessons

Surviving the mean streets. Auditioning while in labor. Defying Fidel Castro's militia. For many in the National Symphony Orchestra, the journey to the Kennedy Center has been as dramatic as the music they make

Dotian Levalier
principal, harp

I dig into the harp. I play the harp the way I would play the piano, the way I expect anybody to play an instrument -- full out! Most people play the harp "tinkly, tinkly," and I despise that. It's a musical instrument. Just play it. The harp doesn't have to be soft, it can be exciting. When I came into this

orchestra, people were like, "Holy mackerel! Why so loud?" One thing I never want a conductor to say is, "More harp." I definitely go for it. I'm 62, and I feel like, if you don't live -- every day -- really live it, do what you want to do as long as you're not hurting anyone, you're not living.

I played piano, and I loved piano. Basically, what happened was, I was 7 years of age, and I was playing piano, and I was a tomboy. My mother got very worried. I wore jeans for everything. I didn't want to ever wear dresses. I had Shirley Temple curls, but I would climb trees and hang by my knees. So in order to make me more feminine, they decided that they had to do something. So they took me to a harp recital. My aunt was the musical influence in my life; my aunt was sitting behind me, and she leaned over, and she said, "Would you like to play the harp?" Now, I'm 7 years of age, this woman is dripping in chiffon up on the stage. She's got umpteen harps. When I went backstage for the intermission, they ran and they brought a cushion for her feet. They brought her tea. Well, a 7-year-old sees this and thinks: "Hey! This is the life!" Why not? Right? But I have to tell you, in all the years that I have played, one person brought me a cushion for my feet, and that was only because I told that story. Yes, my mom thought it would make me more of a little girl. I didn't like being a little girl. I really wanted to be a boy. And so I guess they thought it would do something for me. But as it turned out, I would come off the stage from playing a harp recital, in my long gown, pull up my skirt to walk down the stairs to get to backstage, and I'd have jeans on. They'd be rolled up, but I had jeans on.

Harpists today, we have muscles. We don't show our arms, we try to keep them covered. My feeling always was that the harp is not a woman's instrument. There's so much strength required to play it. Physical training. You have no idea how strong my upper back is. I can actually rock-climb not using my legs at all, just pulling with my hands. So I always felt that it took a man to play the harp. But one of the big changes for women was World War II, when all the men went off to war. What were they going to do in the symphony orchestras? Gee, a woman playing? They don't have the endurance. They menstruate. They came up with all these excuses. Then they soon discovered that women had more stamina than men to play. So things started to change.

I took my audition for this orchestra nine months and two weeks pregnant, and in labor. I auditioned in the morning and had a baby in the afternoon. This is 1969. There were only seven women in this orchestra. I was the seventh. I grew up in Boston, and I studied with Bernard Zighera, who was the harpist at the Boston Symphony. When he retired, they sent out invitations to have people come and audition -- only people they wanted to hear. And I got an invitation. And it happened to be right around my due date, so I wrote and asked if I could have an earlier audition because I was due to have my baby around that time. Never heard another word from the Boston Symphony. The same thing with the National Symphony; they said: "No, this is the audition date. We're terribly sorry, but if you have your baby beforehand, you're welcome to come." So I walked in and I said: "Could I be heard first, please? I'm in labor."

They said "What?!"

I said: "Don't worry about it. They're about 12 to 15 minutes apart." So I went up on the stage and sat down. And the conductor said, "Are we going to be delivering this baby?" and I said: "Unless you get a move on! What do you want me to play?" So I started playing. And they decided that anybody that could play like that, in labor, deserved the job.

Stephen Dumaine
principal, tuba

My parents, they didn't know it was possible to make a living playing a tuba, much less doing something that you love. My dad, well, we're both into pipes. My dad was a plumber. We had a garage full of old pipes and plumbing supplies -- old toilets, piles of plumbing in our garage. You have to have a sense of humor to play the tuba. When I was little, 12, I started. I was a fat kid -- a husky, chunky, goofy kid -- so the character of the instrument really suited me. The tuba allowed me to find my voice. The sound of the tuba -- I could relate to it. And listening to the radio, I was always attracted to the low sounds, bass drum, bass line. I remember one of my first

solos: the "Rocky" theme. Here was this little round boy with a beat-up little tuba playing the theme of "Rocky." Funny.

The tuba player has a special place in the orchestra. I'm the only one. Every note I play, I'm the only one, so it's always a solo. We tuba players, we are often the unsung heroes. The trumpet, trombone -- I'm important to them. I'm the foundation of the brass section. Onstage, it takes a huge amount of concentration. I think on a level so hard, so high, a hand grenade could go off next to me, I wouldn't notice. It wouldn't faze me. People wonder: "How do you sit through the orchestra's concert when the tuba isn't playing all that much? Don't you get bored sitting on the stage not playing?" Hey, I've got the best seat in the house. I'm in the middle of the brass section, the trombones around me. I have a free ticket to a fabulous concert.