A couple of months ago, I wrote this as part of a sort of tongue-in-cheek FAQ:
Q. Should I be a woodwind doubler? A. In most cases, no. If you already feel driven to do it, and have the time and resources to devote to it, then maybe.
I’m a teen who started playing pits last year on flute and piccolo a year ago. Since then, I’ve fallen in love with pit, have played in four more musicals and am actively seeking out other gigs to gain experience. In addition, I’ve also taken up the saxophone and have plans to learn as many woodwinds as I can if not all of them. Do you think I should be a woodwind doubler?
It would be irresponsible to make a recommendation based on so little information, and of course it’s ultimately a very personal choice. I’ve previously suggested some questions worth asking oneself before pursuing woodwind doubling, so I won’t rehash those here.
But I think it’s also worth considering exactly what you mean by being a “woodwind doubler:”
Playing as many instruments as possible?
Playing a select group of instruments?
Playing multiple instruments as a hobby or part-time semi-pro gig?
Studying multiple instruments at a university/conservatory level?
Playing professionally or semi-professionally as a specialist on one instrument, but adding doubles to increase employability?
Competing for the highest-profile doubling gigs in a major market like New York City or Los Angeles?
Performing recital repertoire, orchestral music, and/or chamber music on multiple instruments?
Using multiple instruments in the creation of a unique personal repertoire (jazz, avant-garde, electronic, etc.)?
Your individual goals might include several of these, or others I haven’t listed. And your goals might be a little fuzzy or might change, which is okay. But just “woodwind doubler” isn’t a very clear path. Having some sense of direction might help you make decisions about education and training, investment in instruments, location, practice strategies, and more.
Sometimes when my students get paying engagements for the first time, I joke with them that they are now “professional” musicians. That’s true in a sense, but I think there’s more that goes into being a true professional.
If you are a college student aspiring to be a professional musician, here are some things you might ask yourself:
Am I reliably on time to things?
Do I always have a pencil? Extra reeds? Whatever else is needed?
Do I show up to rehearsals with my parts learned and ready?
Do I have a sense of what my time and talents are worth, and a firm but polite way of expressing that?
Do I meet and exceed my teachers’ expectations?
Am I willing to play any part, including the less-prestigious ones? Am I willing to put my best into supporting someone else’s solo moment, even if I think that opportunity should have been mine?
What are the most common issues my teachers or ensemble directors mention about my playing? Am I addressing those in a focused way?
Am I responsive to useful criticism, thick-skinned against non-useful criticism, and able to tell the difference?
Is there anything about my playing or demeanor that would cause stress to someone who hired me for a gig? Am I currently stressing out my teachers, directors, or fellow students?
Graduation from college doesn’t guarantee you any gigs. Become the person that other musicians want to work with.
In 2009, I finished a doctoral degree in music performance, and landed a job at a small university in a rural area. Like many young academics, I assumed it would be a stepping stone.
In those early years, I interviewed for a number of other positions, and generally found that they would be lateral moves. Most of the schools interested in hiring me didn’t pay any better, weren’t any better-located, and didn’t offer a better match for my skills and interests. I stayed long enough to earn tenure, receive a couple of promotions, and carve out a role that suited me well. I also married someone with ties to the region. We bought a house and made plans to stay.
In 2024, the university announced some serious cuts to academic programs as a cost-saving measure. Each degree program was reduced to a series of metrics in a spreadsheet, and sorted by a calculated financial “value.” Music departments don’t fare well under spreadsheet scrutiny, since we do much of our teaching one-on-one or in small groups, and always need more money for scholarships, grand pianos, and travel. My department was cut, and most of the music faculty, including me, were given one terminal year before being laid off.
I didn’t expect to be back on the job market mid-career, but things worked out surprisingly well. During that terminal year, my workload—and frankly, my motivation—lightened enough that I had time to also teach part-time at a not-too-far-away, much larger, and more reputable university, due to the sudden retirement of one of their faculty. That put me in good position to interview for the full-time job when it was listed. I was offered the job, accepted the offer, and started in fall of 2025.
I really couldn’t have been more fortunate about how things worked out, but while things were still up in the air I did find myself facing down some scary realities. While I definitely don’t have all the answers, I’m sharing my experience here in hopes it might be helpful to someone else.
What seems to have helped me was a combination of luck and an understanding of how music professors get hired. The job market is shrinking and shifting; many variables are beyond anyone’s control. But some are not. You can’t control where positions open. You can try to apply where the fit is genuine and make a case for why that fit matters.
My first concern was whether I would find jobs to apply to at all. The academic music job market is bleak—too many qualified folks, not enough positions, and job descriptions that are frustratingly specific. Even for woodwind openings (my area), some required background I don’t have, like in wind conducting, marching band, or music theory.
Then there was the question of where. Preference usually isn’t much of a factor in academic job searches; you go where the job offer is. One possibility I did an early-stage interview for was in an extremely expensive city that would have meant downsizing. Another was in a more affordable area, but with weather that would have meant retooling our entire lifestyle. Finding a good fit less than three hours away—and actually landing it—was far more than I could have hoped for.
There was also the matter of age and rank. While schools aren’t supposed to consider age, it can be an unspoken factor. I have many good teaching years ahead—but not as many as the freshly minted doctorates also applying. (A mentor even suggested shaving my greying beard to look younger.) My rank as a full professor may also have caused concern that I would expect title, salary, or autonomy that some institutions could not accommodate. One job that seemed like a no-brainer fit never progressed to an in-person interview, and the job went to a much younger (excellent and deserving) candidate. I can’t know why, of course, but I have to wonder.
On the other hand, I had the much-in-demand “college teaching experience” required in so many job listings. Having served on and chaired hiring committees, I’ve seen applicants without relevant teaching experience get dumped straight into the “no” pile. (For that reason, I strongly suggest that graduate students seek out teaching assistantships or part-time adjunct positions, even if unglamorous or inconvenient.)
Maybe more importantly, I knew how to frame my candidacy better than when I was a new DMA. In those days I leaned heavily into my nerdy academic interests and my high-minded teaching philosophies. This time, I focused on recruitment strategy, experience working with diverse (and sometimes underprepared) student populations, and a track record of collegiality and flexibility. I tried to present myself as a candidate who could help solve practical problems for my future colleagues and department. Artistic excellence matters, but it’s not enough.
The opportunity to teach part-time at the institution before the full-time search was likely helpful. I built relationships with faculty, and did a lot of driving back and forth to support recruitment events and student performances. I learned the department’s priorities and pressures, and spent those hours on the road thinking about them. Recruitment and growth were central concerns, and I could show that I already had a local recruiting network that aligned with those goals, including former students now teaching in area schools.
My younger self thought artistic excellence would determine my career trajectory, and that tenure would secure it. Mid-career me sees things differently. Tenure is not immunity from institutional change.
I can’t claim to know exactly why I was hired at the new job. Hiring can be kind of a black box. But I do know that I approached the process with a clearer sense of institutional realities, and that I tried to make a case for how I could be useful within them. In a hiring landscape that can feel opaque, that was something I could control.
Here are some phrases that have been useful to me when somebody calls about a gig. When dealing with other professionals (or working through the musicians’ union) mostly these aren’t necessary—the caller should give the needed info unprompted. But many of the gigs in my rural area are one-offs for weddings or school or business events, and I’m dealing with callers who don’t regularly hire musicians.
Let me call you back in five minutes.
This has saved me many times. Sometimes I need a moment to think through the money/mileage/scheduling/etc., or to find a polite way to negotiate the terms or just turn the gig down. It’s fine to put the conversation on pause for a moment and prepare your response. (Or, depending on the caller, to pivot the conversation to text messaging, which gives you more time to formulate responses, plus a record of what was said).
Who will be my contact person when I arrive?
I use this one all the time with, for example, brides who are micromanaging the wedding planning (down to calling the saxophone player). If I arrive at the gig and need to know where to set up or collect my check, it’s going to be awkward for everybody if I have to bother the bride with business details On Her Special Day. If necessary, I gently suggest that she put a trusted friend in charge of answering the band’s questions and handing over their payment.
Who is the musical director?
This one is sort of a trick, because if it’s the kind of gig that actually has a musical director, then it’s less important that I know in advance (and, often, it’s the musical director who is offering the gig anyway).
When I really need this one is when a well-meaning non-musician is trying to hire a band piecemeal (“Oh, my cousin is going to play guitar, and this guy I know from church is going to play drums, and my boss’s friend is a piano player…”). Asking this question gives me a chance to drop the hint that somebody needs to be in charge musically. In some cases, I’m able to segue into some friendly advice that they hire an existing professional group, or hire a professional to put together an ensemble.
Just so I’m totally clear, are you offering me a paying gig, or is this more of a volunteer situation?
I do still get calls asking me to donate my time. While I mostly turn those down, I don’t think it’s helpful to be nasty or condescending about it. Phrasing it this particular way gives the caller an easy multiple-choice question to answer without any waffling or weaseling. And when I turn them down, it seems less like I have refused a direct request, and more like I’m just passing up a chance to “volunteer.”
Can I count on $XXX?
Sometimes less-experienced hirers (such as someone hiring for a business or school event) have a budget range in mind, and (foolishly) tell me what that range is (“Well, we can pay between $AAA and $BBB”). The number they are hoping to pay is the smaller one, but I’ve made the mistake before of fixating on the larger one (and being disappointed later). Always nail down an exact fee. I try to get the top end of the range, of course, but make it worthwhile: “Can I count on $BBB? That way I can be sure to get a great keyboard player.” Or: “Can I count on $BBB? Then I can cancel some lessons that week and have time to look over the music in advance.”
If they are hesitant to commit, you can say something like, “Okay, why don’t you call me back as soon as you have an answer, and we can firm things up?”
Is that the base rate, or does that include travel/doubling/etc.?
If the caller really is thinking in terms of base rates, then I probably won’t need to ask this question. But hirers who aren’t tuned in to this are probably counting on me to walk them through the process of hiring me. Asking this question gives me an opening to educate them that it’s appropriate to pay extra for travel time, or for bringing multiple instruments. (A quick web search for “afm wage scale” will give you at least a rough idea of what the union considers fair for doublers.)
Do you have useful phone strategies for lining up gigs (large or small)? Please share in the comments section.
It took a while in my freelancing career to get a handle on how to respond when people ask what I charge for my services as a performer.
I live in a remote, rural area (where my university day job is located) and there isn’t a musicians’ union presence, so I’m on my own in these negotiations. When a gig call comes in, I have to make the decision whether the offered compensation is enough, or be able to name a fair price on the spot. I’ve developed sort of a mental formula for this calculation, which I have converted into an online spreadsheet with sample numbers so you can see my process:
If you have a Google account the link should prompt you to create a copy of the spreadsheet that you can play around with. Try changing some of the numbers and see how it works.
Basically, I’m thinking in terms of:
A base rate, which is the minimum I charge for even the smallest gig.
Additional fees if I’m expected to double on multiple instruments. (I’ve written previously about my rationale for that.)
Additional fees to cover my travel time and expenses.
This gives me a way to think through what I am charging in a consistent way, and a nice clear breakdown if someone asks why I’m charging what I’m charging, or wants some kind of itemized invoice. If I feel put on the spot, or I just want a little more time to think it through, I have had good success getting the details, then telling the caller I’ll get back to them within a certain time frame. (Maybe five minutes, or an hour, or the next day.)
Depending on the type of gig, what works for you, and what’s common in your area, you might need to adapt my system to include things like preparation/practice time, bringing and setting up PA or other equipment, downtime between sound check and downbeat, and expenses for things like special wardrobe. And of course you should adjust the base rate and other options to suit your financial needs, your clout in the local gig scene, and what’s common/appropriate in your location.
You should also think through what to do when the gig offer doesn’t meet your pay requirements. Turning down low-paying gigs contributes to an attitude that musicians should be treated as professionals and compensated fairly. But often weekend warriors or younger musicians trying to break into the local gig scene are willing to be a little more flexible. (The rights and wrongs of that are a larger topic than I will address here. Do what is best for you and your career.)
Think carefully about what your time and skills are worth, and expect to be paid in a way that is fair to both you and your employers.
Jonathan Tunick is a show business legend: a composer/arranger/orchestrator/musical director for stage and screen; a collaborator with Stephen Sondheim, Placido Domingo, Barbra Streisand, and too many more to mention; and a winner of many awards.
Needless to say, I was thrilled to hear from Mr. Tunick a few years ago, when he contributed some information to my list of Broadway shows. Recently we were in touch again and he was kind enough to answer some of my woodwind-player questions about his work.
Jonathan Tunick
I understand you have background in clarinet playing. Are you still actively playing?
Although I can play the piano after a fashion, the clarinet was my true instrument. My uncle, a dedicated amateur who studied with Bellison, started me on the instrument at age ten, turning me over after a few months to Harold Freeman of the NBC Symphony, with whom I studied for several years. As a college freshman I had a year of saxophone lessons with Jimmy Abato, who gave me a few clarinet lessons as well. Later when I entered Juilliard I studied (mostly clarinet, but some saxophone too) with Joe Allard, a wonderful man and teacher, for four years. I consider him my principal teacher.
I was a fair classical clarinet player, played bass clarinet in the Juilliard Orchestra, and could play either lead or jazz in a band. My flute (Haynes, Louis Lot piccolo) playing was mediocre but passable. I freelanced in New York playing orchestra, opera, dance band, theater, resort and club dates through the sixties until my arranging career superseded my playing and my horns went into the closet.
A few years ago I started playing the clarinet again; chamber music with friends and fronting a 14-piece swing band made up of Broadway musicians around New York. I play a 1959 Buffet clarinet picked out for me by Joe Allard, and alternate between a Selmer Table HS** c.1938 and a Leon Russianoff c.1950 mouthpiece (these are Chedeville blanks faced by George Jenney) with Vandoren #4 and #5 reeds from my stash still in their sealed boxes since the 1960s.
Does your background as a woodwind player inform your orchestrations? How so?
More so as an orchestral and big-band section player in general than specifically as a woodwind player. The orchestra player learns to understand the principles of intonation, attack, articulation, sound color, and balance in a way that the pianist never can. The pianist will tend to hear chords vertically and so stack notes on the score rather than considering the movement of the parts. He or she will be tempted to write for orchestral instruments patterns that are comfortable for the piano, for example, repeated wide skips, which may be awkward for woodwind and other orchestral instruments.
What factors do you have to consider when writing parts for woodwind doublers? Do you have any rules of “thumb” about how long of a player will need for an instrument switch, or which instruments can go together in a book, or other logistical issues?
When planning an instrument change (and I try to avoid them altogether whenever possible) I simply count out the bars of rest in tempo while mentally going through the motion of changing instruments. Four bars of moderate tempo, six or eight of fast are usually enough.
I usually organize my sections somewhat along the following pattern, although many variations are possible
(The “lead” chair and “flute specialist”) Lead alto, flute 1, piccolo, alto flute, clarinet 1 or 3. Will usually play 1st clarinet unless busy on flute, in which case reed 2 or 3 will be clarinet 1.
(The “second” chair) Alto 2, flute 2, piccolo, clarinet 2.
(The “clarinet specialist) Tenor, flute 3, clarinet 3 or 1, E-flat clarinet, bass clarinet.
(The “oboe specialist”) Tenor, oboe, English horn, clarinet 4.
(The bassoon and “big horns” specialist) Baritone, bassoon, clarinet 5, bass clarinet.
If you eliminate the saxophones, a pattern more suited to operetta or classical players emerges:
Flute, piccolo (optional clarinet double)
Clarinet 1 (optional other clarinets and flute 2 double)
Clarinet 2 (optional other clarinets and flute 3 double)
If the score doesn’t require saxophones, The above formats work equally well without them; otherwise I try to do without doubles altogether, such as A GENTLEMAN’S GUIDE, scored for 1. Oboe/English horn 2. B-flat/A clarinet and 3. bassoon, or INTO THE WOODS: 1. Flute/piccolo 2. Clarinet 3. Bassoon. This way I have a larger pool of accomplished players to choose from, especially out of town.
Do you often orchestrate for a Broadway-type woodwind section with specific doublers in mind, knowing their individual strengths, or do you more often write for musicians to be selected later? How much does that affect your writing?
I know my players well, and write to their particular abilities. Hiring a section is much like casting a show. I think of my players as specialists; the “flute specialist,” “oboe specialist,” “bassoon and big horns specialist,” etc., as well as the occasional need for a stylist: jazz, ethnic, etc. I assign solos according to the specialties. For example, the clarinet solo will not usually go to the oboe or bassoon specialist. When working out of town with an unfamiliar orchestra I am even more careful, avoiding unusual doubles altogether, even when assured by the contractor that he has people that “play all the instruments.” I remember all too well the guy who played bassoon, bass clarinet and baritone and they all sounded the same!
It seems that over the last few decades, woodwind sections for musicals have gotten smaller and smaller but also call for more and more instruments, including “world” instruments and other things. Is this true in your orchestrations?
In general, no. I use no more doubles than I ever did, and in most cases fewer. I want the player who plays the best, not the one who owns the most horns.
Do you have any advice for woodwind doublers who aspire to play on Broadway or other major venues?
Saxophone players seem not to realize the sheer brute power of this instrument. Three or four of them can swamp any brass section. They are amazed at how incredibly loud the saxes are when I invite one of them to come and listen up front. I’m always on the saxes to play softly, even under loud brass, and to use civilized mouthpieces with medium chambers and baffles.
But remember, this is just me. Other arrangers and leaders will have their own preferences and it’s up to you to find out what they want (very difficult) and do it for them (relatively easy).
Many thanks to Mr. Tunick for sharing his knowledge, and for all the great woodwind parts!
I first set up a personal website in about 2000 or 2001. There wasn’t much reason for me to do so—I was a college undergraduate, with virtually no worthwhile content to share. But it was a start, and fifteen or sixteen years later I have a few hundred blog posts and some other resources, plus a few college degrees and a university teaching position to perhaps bolster my reputation, and I enjoy a modest flow of web traffic. For what it’s worth, here are a few thoughts on websites for individual working (or aspiring) musicians, particularly those in non-“pop” genres and whose reputations exist primarily regionally or within specialized circles (such as academia).
photo, Markus Tacker
“Home” page: Put some content here. Why have a “landing” page that is nothing but a menu/obstacle to the meat of your site? Put your professional biography here, or maybe a recent blog post (the actual text, I mean, not just links to blog posts).
Biography: Ask yourself, are your site visitors really interested in your life story? (“Bret Pimentel started playing the saxophone at the tender age of ten…”) Keep it simple, professional, and brief. Let people know what you do.
For “who I have played with” lists, I suggest keeping it to 10 or 12 entries, tops. When you play with someone famous/interesting enough to add to your list, drop someone else.
Résumé/vita: Potential employers (for gigs, teaching positions, etc.) aren’t harvesting résumés from websites. Your short bio is probably enough. If you insist on posting your résumé or curriculum vita, strongly consider posting it as a web page, not as a PDF or word processing document. (As a general rule, use a word processing document—preferably an “open” format—if people will want to download and edit it, a PDF if they will want to save or print it without editing, and a web page if they will just want to read it online.) And I suggest removing your address and phone number for safety and privacy.
Blog entries: Not everybody needs or wants a blog, and that’s okay. But if you are hoping to use your website to build an online audience, it helps to have an avenue for publishing new stuff. (Nobody is coming back to read and re-read your bio.) I strongly suggest real blog software (such as WordPress, or a link to a WordPress.com or Blogger.com hosted blog), rather than just typing new entries into a plain web page. That way you can benefit from built-in syndication feeds and other technologies that make it easy for people to find and follow your content in their favorite apps, leave comments, etc.
It’s okay to post only occasionally. Many, many of the musicians’ blogs I follow consist of annual apologies for not posting lately and promises of great stuff coming soon, and nothing more. Just post if you have something to post.
Even if you are planning mostly to use social media sites to connect professionally, bear in mind that those can come and go quickly, and it’s nice to have a home base for your content where it will remain under your control. By all means, post your new web content to the social networks you use yourself, as those connections are the ones most likely to reshare and amplify your content.
Articles/resources: For content that you intend to update or improve over time, it probably makes sense to publish it as a “static” page rather than a blog post. If you are old enough to remember these things, you might consider a blog post to be like a newspaper article, which you probably read once and then look for fresh content the next day, while “resources” are more like phone books, which you refer to on an ongoing basis and which get replaced by newer editions.
Audio/video: I think it makes sense to host these elsewhere (YouTube, SoundCloud, etc.) and link or embed them on your site, since putting them in places where people are already looking for music and video gets them to a larger audience and boosts their search engine juice. They should never play automatically—only when your site visitor intentionally starts them.
Photos: I used to have a photo gallery on my site, but I have removed it. Ask yourself: are you famous or interesting enough (yet) that people are going to have an interest in seeing your career’s visual history? Are you hoping they will be impressed by something related to your physical appearance? Consider using one or two photos on your bio page, and put the rest on Facebook for your friends and relatives to enjoy.
Equipment: I am on record as believing that listing what brands and models you play is useless at best.
(Also, if you have endorsement deals you want to brag about, remember that the correct wording is that you endorse the brand, not that the brand endorses you.)
Contact info: Contact forms are kind of a pain. I suggest providing a real email address so that people can communicate with you using the software or webmail of their choice. Worried about spam? Use a free webmail account with powerful spam filtering.
Social links: You don’t have to link to all the social media sites, just the ones you use and see as good places to connect with internet strangers.
Instructions on how to use a website: If your website includes instructions on how to use your website, either your website is poorly designed or you are talking down to your visitors.
In general, look at each page of your website and ask, is this here because it is potentially of use or interest to my site visitors, or is it only interesting to me? Would I read this content on someone else’s site?
