Casting the Pit

Why the Best Musicians Rarely Make It Into the Orchestra Pit

We demand excellence—and inclusion—onstage. So why is the pit still lagging behind on both?

We’re taught from a young age that if we work hard, do everything right, and consistently prove ourselves, the right opportunities will come. But in the world of pit orchestras, the playing field is far from level. Musicians from underrepresented backgrounds—especially women, queer artists, and people of color—are routinely shut out, and even the most stylistically fluent, prepared players are often overlooked. Not because they’re unqualified—but because they’re not part of the inner circle.

More often than not, the best player doesn’t get the gig. Sometimes they’re not even considered. And it has nothing to do with their talent.

In most cases, hiring comes down to one thing: who the contractor, music director, or first-call player happens to remember in the moment. It’s not about who’s the most prepared, versatile, or artistically suited to the show—it’s about who’s on the mental speed dial. Many musicians reach a baseline level of competency, sure, but rarely is there any effort to identify who’s actually the best fit for the music of that particular show.

An Insular System

At the top of the hierarchy are the contractor and the music director. Both tend to fall back on a list of long-time collaborators—players they’ve used for years or who are connected to someone they trust. Once a show is booked, they often run down that list until someone says yes—or ask the top-call players who they’d like in the section.

Very little consideration is given to a player’s background with doubling, stylistic fluency, or lived experience. And yet these are often essential to delivering the score with integrity.

To make matters worse, it’s common for contractors to hire themselves into the pit—a built-in conflict of interest that limits space for others and further entrenches a narrow circle of hires. When the person doing the hiring is also filling one of the chairs, it becomes nearly impossible to prioritize artistic fit over personal convenience.

This system creates a stagnant, insular hiring pool, consisting mostly of a single contractor’s buddies. And while not every player fits this mold, it’s hard to ignore the pattern: union pit orchestras are overwhelmingly populated by the same musicians who’ve held those top-call positions for decades—regardless of whether they’re still the best artistic fit.

There are undeniably incredible players in that circle—but also plenty who are coasting on familiarity and reputation, not adaptability or artistry.

The Union Gigs Are Hoarded

This complacency certainly doesn’t apply to every theatre company. In fact, it tends to be far less prevalent among companies that do not operate under musicians’ union contracts. Many of these smaller or independent companies hire more flexibly, pay closer attention to artistic fit, and are more willing to consider emerging and diverse talent.

Meanwhile, the old guard of players has managed to hoard the highest-paying union gigs for themselves and their inner circle—locking others out of the opportunities that offer both visibility and financial stability.

Theatre companies are often shelling out serious money—anywhere from $1,500 to $3,500 per week per player—without realizing (or caring) that much of that budget is going to musicians who are neither the best players nor the best fit for the production.

The result? Missed artistic opportunities, diminished musical impact, and a cycle that continues to exclude vibrant, qualified, hungry musicians from even being considered.

Artistic Integrity Starts in the Pit

Musicals are massive productions, and an enormous amount of care goes into casting the perfect actor for each role. So why isn’t the same care applied to the pit?

Shows suffer more than most people realize when musicians aren’t stylistically appropriate, flexible, or deeply engaged with the material. If you give a klezmer-infused part to a player who’s never touched anything outside of bebop, you’re hurting the show. If you hire a bass player who can’t bow in tune to save his life, you’re hurting the show. If a percussion book requires Middle Eastern styles and you hand it to a classical player who had to borrow a doumbek, you’re hurting the show. If you fill a folk-style pit with rigid classical phrasing so stiff it could cut a diamond, you’re hurting the show. And if you hand a piccolo-heavy book to someone with a degree in saxophone performance? You’re absolutely hurting the show.

I’ve seen every one of these examples play out firsthand—over and over again. I once played a show where a player was struggling with one of their doubles, clearly having not touched it in months and likely borrowed the instrument. The intonation was all over the place, and the cast suffered for it. Since no one acknowledged the issue, I’m sure the singer spent weeks questioning their own tuning—secure in the belief that the musicians were the best of the best. Because why would the company hold the pit to a different standard… right?

The problem is that the music usually sounds fine. Just like how a show would probably be fine if you hired the first actor who came to one person’s mind for every role. But “fine” isn’t good enough—not for the money being spent, not for the stories being told, and not for audiences who can sense the difference even if they can’t name it.

If people could hear those scenes side by side—with the right musicians vs. the familiar ones—it would be obvious to anyone that change is overdue.

Who Gets Left Out?

There is a massive number of musicians who are far better suited for the job—yet they’re never considered. These are musicians fluent in the genres embedded in modern theatre scores and deeply dedicated to the craft. They didn’t go to school with the music director. They didn’t tour with the contractor. They didn’t play a big band gig with the first-call guy. They didn’t grab drinks with the trumpet player.

Instead, they’re often the queer and nonbinary musicians, women, players of color, and artists from less “connected” backgrounds—people whose identities or training don’t match the mold, but whose skills are exactly what the work calls for.

They’re the classically trained artists who also grew up playing gospel, funk, or traditional folk styles. They’re the trumpet players who can actually play flugelhorn and piccolo trumpet in tune. They’re the woodwind doublers who studied tin whistle in Ireland—not just picked up a cheap one for the gig. They’re the artists who haven’t kissed the ring of the establishment to be grandfathered in. They’re the ones who show up more prepared, more open-minded, and simply more artistically right for the music.

We Need to Rethink What “Qualified” Means

In many pit hiring circles, there’s an unspoken bias toward classical or jazz training as the gold standard. Musicians who specialize in folk, rock, or global traditional styles—genres that many modern scores draw from—are often seen as less serious or “less trained,” despite having deep technical fluency and cultural understanding. This bias robs productions of exactly the musicians who could elevate them.

Unlike a symphony job where classical is the sole genre, pit musicians must often navigate vastly different styles, switch instruments seamlessly, and adjust their tone or approach on the fly. The work demands flexibility, genre fluency, and an instinct for collaborative timing—and yet, the hiring process rarely evaluates for those things.

And here’s the truly perplexing and uncomfortable part: many of the institutions that pride themselves on progressive programming are complicit in maintaining this outdated, closed-off pipeline. They’ll cast actors of color to tell a story about racial injustice but keep an overwhelmingly homogenous pit buried beneath the stage—sometimes visibly disengaged, checking their phones between cues, far more enthusiastic about a jazz or classical gig coming up than what they’re currently doing.

They’ll tout inclusion onstage and in their season brochures—but when it comes to hiring musicians, they default to relationships built decades ago in a scene that excluded most people from the start.

You can’t have real inclusion if it only applies to the actors. The pit matters too. And not just because it’s the right thing to do—but because the music will be better, and thus, so will the show.

You wouldn’t cast a Shakespeare tragedy with five guys from your college improv team. So why treat music any differently?

So, How Would I Do It Better?

This isn’t a mystery. The solution is rooted in basic fairness, artistic rigor, and effort. And it’s all part of a single, unified plan—one designed to increase transparency, open doors for more musicians, and give contractors and music directors the information they need to make better, more intentional decisions.

Simple: I’d actually do the job—as if I were casting the show. Because hiring musicians is casting. And when you treat it that way, the results improve across the board. That’s the truth, plain and simple.

This means reading resumes. Listening to playing samples. Yes, recommendations from trusted musicians matter—but that only goes so far. Contractors and music directors should be sitting in the pits of smaller companies, observing firsthand. They should be evaluating skill, artistry, and musical fit—not just defaulting to a name on a list.

And yes, I know that takes effort. Contractors and music directors are overworked and often underpaid. But if we want better results, this work has to be part of the job—not an afterthought.

It also means holding occasional live auditions—not one-off opportunities at the whim of a contractor, but a coordinated effort similar to what’s been established for actors. I’m currently developing a centralized model—akin to the Boston Area Theatre Auditions (BATA)—that would bring together music directors and contractors in one place to hear musicians interested in pit work. Participants could submit resumes, perform short live auditions, and later follow up with recordings. It would vastly expand the talent pool and bring musician hiring closer in line with the standards already in place for casting actors.

All of this would be supported by an open, transparent database where musicians can submit materials and update them regularly—ensuring that hiring decisions are based on current qualifications and artistic compatibility.

Lived experience, cultural relevance, and genre fluency should be part of the equation too. And if a theatre company has a DEI manager or consultant, musician hiring should absolutely be included in those efforts—not left out as if the pit exists in a separate universe.

Continuing to rely on the same handful of “top call” players with no meaningful evaluation or accountability isn’t just unfair—it’s artistically negligent. It’s arbitrary. It’s capricious. And it hurts the work.

This Isn’t a Grievance—It’s a Call for Standards

I’m not writing this to air grievances. I’m writing this because I care deeply about the work. I want theatre to be better—more intentional, more artistically honest. And while I believe strides are being made onstage, the pit has some major catching up to do.

This isn’t about politics. It’s about standards.

I’m not saying older musicians or longtime contractors are inherently bad. Most have simply been navigating a flawed system. This isn’t a personal attack—it’s a systemic one. What I am saying is that comfort and tradition should never outweigh quality and relevance. I’m not looking to replace one clique with another. I want a more equitable process that elevates the players who truly fit the work, regardless of who they know.

The theatre world—and the arts as a whole—is evolving. Audiences are more musically literate than ever. Scores are more stylistically diverse. Artists are experimenting in bold, genre-blending ways.

The pit has to evolve too.

It’s time to retire the Rolodex.

It’s time to start casting the pit.

P.S. If this resonates with you—whether you’re a fellow musician, a director, or a theatre leader—please reach out. I’d love to connect.