Working musicians, especially those trying to launch their careers or take them to the next level, are all too familiar with the idea of playing for “exposure”—in other words, playing gigs for free with the idea that maybe it will somehow lead to paying gigs.
Playing for free is one thing; there’s no reason you can’t do a favor for a friend, or show up at a jam session for fun and/or practice. But it’s more insidious when your unpaid labor is fueling somebody else’s profits. This seems to be a phenomenon that particularly affects creative types: the same people who want your band to play at their event for “exposure” or “experience” are no doubt paying the waitstaff, stage crew, or what-have-you, because people in those jobs simply don’t work for free.
The fallacy here is that the prospective employer is offering you exposure and experience and networking instead of money, as if the alternative were gigs that paid money but didn’t offer those things. That simply isn’t the case: you get all those benefits from paid gigs, too, plus you get to pay your rent that month.
I’m discovering the same issue with this blog. I am always pleased and flattered when someone finds my posts interesting or useful. But recently I heard from a major woodwind business, one you have most certainly heard of if you are a woodwind player. An intern (again: unpaid labor for “experience” [note: I have been informed by the company in question that their interns are paid. hooray!]) contacted me, bubbling over with excitement about the suggestion that the company might like to copy some of my blog posts to their own website and call attention to them in their email newsletter. By way of (non-)compensation, a link would be provided back to my site. “What we are offering is increased traffic to your website,” the intern enthused.
I have been down this road before, and I know that this situation is going to get me a tiny traffic boost the day the newsletter is published, and very little after that. But a copy of my content will live on the company’s website indefinitely, drawing away traffic that otherwise would have been mine, and diluting my online presence.
I suggested a compromise: a summary or quote from one of my posts, with a link for people to finish reading the article at my site. Nope. Apparently the company isn’t really that interested in sending traffic my way—they want to fill their own site with good content to build awareness of and loyalty to their own brand (no surprise there; they are a business). They are surely paying web hosting expenses and a web designer, a marketing team, etc. (with the pitiful exception of the intern). But they want the content for free.
I give my content away, directly to the reader, for free at my own website, but I retain the copyright. If someone wants to read it, they visit my site or retrieve one of my feeds. I make an astonishingly tiny amount of money from minimal advertising, the occasional affiliate product link, and a few donations. But the content remains under my control, in a single canonical copy.
Don’t fall for the flattery. Playing (or writing) “for exposure” means your “employer” is keeping your paycheck for themselves.
Sometimes I get phone calls from people hoping to hire my students for gigs. I’m delighted when I can pass a professional opportunity on to a hardworking, high-achieving student, but often these calls are troubling.
Obviously, the callers want students because they assume students will work cheaply. Lots of college students work for not much money, as restaurant waitstaff, custodians, babysitters, and so forth. Those jobs don’t pay much because they are (ostensibly) “unskilled” labor. But “musician” is very much a skilled job.
photo, Penn State
Not long ago I was hired to play lead alto saxophone for a gig backing up a singer, and the contractor asked if I had a couple of students who could play in the section. Then he asked what I thought would be fair to pay them. I told him immediately that he was hiring them to do a professional service, and should pay them as professionals. Happily, he saw my point and agreed to those terms.
I suppose some hiring parties assume that students will be cheaper than non-students because they are not as skilled, and therefore can’t negotiate higher fees. (This may or may not be the case—I’ve certainly played gigs with “professionals” who would be far outclassed by undergraduate music students.) Sometimes they want to compensate for hiring less-skilled musicians by planning extensive rehearsals. In most cases, I think they would better spend that same money hiring skilled players to sight-read.
Musicians, enrolled students or not, are specialized, skilled professionals, and should be treated (and compensated) as such.
Dr. David Cutler’s The Savvy Musician blog is worth checking out for high-quality career tips.
In a recent post, he discusses careers as a military musician. A couple of highlights for the woodwind-inclined:
With the possible exception of saxophonists and euphoniumists, few musicians dream of a military career. Yet this path can provide a dependable income, solid benefits, and varied opportunities.
This no doubt refers to the problem of “classically-trained” saxophonists with shiny new BM degrees and no gigs. Symphony orchestras, if you haven’t noticed, don’t hire full-time saxophonists. Military bands are about the only regular “classical” saxophone performing gig out there.
The best candidates are solid and versatile players who read well and are comfortable with number of styles. Doubling on multiple instruments (i.e. a saxophonist who plays flute and clarinet) is also highly desirable.
Even in military bands, the most employable saxophonists are the ones with doubling skills and stylistic versatility (for saxophonists, read: “jazz/rock chops”).
Here is a question I’ve gotten a few times recently: if you’re a woodwind doubler, and need to list your instruments, in what order do you list them? Here are some options:
Use a common “score” order, like: flute, oboe, clarinet, bassoon, saxophone. To musically-literate folks this may be the closest thing to a sort of neutral listing, giving no special preference or ranking to the instruments. (But it can of course be misinterpreted.)
Use a ranking, such as by which instruments you play best or prefer. If, like me, your ambition is to play your doubles equally well, and to be a hire-able professional on them all, then listing them this way may weaken that impression.
Do a hybrid of ranking and score order, such as listing a strongest/primary instrument first, and the rest in score order. That’s my preferred approach for general cases like on my website or business cards. For me, it’s: saxophone, flute, oboe, clarinet, bassoon. That highlights my strongest instrument (for now, at least), and also puts it out front for jazz, rock, and blues gigs, which make up a substantial part of my freelance career.
Tailor the list to the situation. If I’m submitting a brief biography for an appearance at, say, a clarinet conference, I’ll put the clarinet first. That hopefully helps people see me as a member of the group, rather than a visitor.
Randomize. For something like a website, it’s relatively simple with a little coding knowledge to use a different order every time, and help prevent yourself from being pigeonholed. You could also randomize photos of yourself holding or playing various instruments, or video or audio recordings. Here’s a simple example.
To sum up, you’ll have to consider your skills and goals as a doubler, what kind of work you do or want to do, and to whom you’re presenting yourself.
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.
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!
Glad you’re addressing this issue here, Bret. Musicians love to play so much, that it’s difficult to resist the temptation to play for free. I stopped doing that years ago. Your points and your logic for resisting the temptation are spot on. Not only does it lead to nothing for the artists, it devalues our work in general.
Regarding web content, I have had to learn this same lesson all over again. Your experiences with this reflect mine, as well. I’ve even had someone request to post one of my articles (with credit, links, etc.) only to find out when I visited the site that they didn’t even do that. (I had them take down the content they “borrowed” from me. Never again. Great that your giving us this info and (for folks like me) reminder. Thanks!
Thanks so much for addressing this issue. I couldn’t agree more with everything you’ve said. As professional musicians, we must avoid this ‘race to the bottom’ where it is impossible to compete with someone who will give away their services. I would also like to put in a plug for the American Federation of Musicians, which has fought hard to maintain union standards in a difficult environment.
Glad you’re addressing this issue here, Bret. Musicians love to play so much, that it’s difficult to resist the temptation to play for free. I stopped doing that years ago. Your points and your logic for resisting the temptation are spot on. Not only does it lead to nothing for the artists, it devalues our work in general.
Regarding web content, I have had to learn this same lesson all over again. Your experiences with this reflect mine, as well. I’ve even had someone request to post one of my articles (with credit, links, etc.) only to find out when I visited the site that they didn’t even do that. (I had them take down the content they “borrowed” from me. Never again. Great that your giving us this info and (for folks like me) reminder. Thanks!
Thanks so much for addressing this issue. I couldn’t agree more with everything you’ve said. As professional musicians, we must avoid this ‘race to the bottom’ where it is impossible to compete with someone who will give away their services. I would also like to put in a plug for the American Federation of Musicians, which has fought hard to maintain union standards in a difficult environment.