Quick question: who’s playing in the pit of every show currently running on Broadway, right now, tonight? Not the ones you sub for — all of them.

You could actually find that out in about thirty seconds. Most musicians never do, not because it’s a secret, but because nobody ever pointed them to where that information lives. That’s the gap I built the Resources page to close.

It’s a tab at the top of Broadway Drumming 101, and it’s easy to miss if all you’re doing is reading the newsletter — which is exactly the problem. The emails are one channel. The Resources page is the archive: every link a working Broadway musician actually needs, in one place, free, no opt-in required.

It’s not a link dump. Everything on it earns its spot. A few for instance:

IBDB settles the “who actually played that show” argument every time. Full production and credit history, going back decades.

Local 802’s Resource Center is where your pension, health fund, instrument insurance, and unclaimed checks live — the money and coverage you’ve already earned, if you know where to look.

Maestra Music is the directory for women musicians who are looking to build teams and get hired.

The Broadway Musician’s Roadmap is a free download that lays out how to think about this career, not just how to play it.

That’s four. There’s a full section each for unions, industry news, casting research, health and pension, and career building — union contracts, touring itineraries, emergency financial assistance, the works. All vetted, all still active links, all things I’d tell a friend about over a beer.

The musicians who move fastest in this business aren’t always the best players. They’re the ones who know where the information is. This page is my attempt to close that gap for everyone, not just the people already plugged in.

Go find something you didn’t know existed. Bookmark it. And if there’s a musician in your life still digging through twelve tabs to find what’s on one page, send them here:

The Resources Page →

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Clayton Craddock is the founder of Broadway Drumming 101 and author of Broadway Bound and Beyond: A Musician's Guide to Building a Theater Career. His credits include Broadway's Cats: The Jellicle Ball, Ain't Too Proud, Memphis, and Lady Day at Emerson's Bar and Grill, plus off-Broadway's tick, tick…BOOM! and The Hippest Trip: The Soul Train Musical. He now helps musicians build sustainable careers in theater.

Get Broadway Bound and Beyond: A Musician's Guide to Building a Theater Career at broadwayboundbook.com.

Short answer: Yes, most working musicians should incorporate once they’re earning consistently outside their union wages. It protects your personal stuff, your savings, your home, if something goes wrong, and it opens up tax write-offs you can’t get as a regular freelancer. I didn’t understand any of this until 2021, when I finally formed my own company. I wish I’d done it a decade earlier.

Let me back up and tell you what actually pushed me to do it. It wasn’t a business class. It was watching my father get sick.

The Moment It Actually Clicked For Me

My dad ended up in a nursing home, and I got handed all of it. The paperwork. The fees. The state regulations. I learned something fast: when you own things in your own name, especially a house, the state can come after them to pay for long-term care. If he’d moved the deed to that house into someone else’s name years earlier, none of that would’ve touched it.

That hit me hard. It wasn’t about music at all. It was about protecting what you build, so life doesn’t just take it from you later. That’s when I really understood why you separate your personal life from your business life. On paper, and legally.

I used to think incorporating was for people running “real” businesses. Not musicians. Not me. Then I formed Broadway Drumming 101 Inc., and everything changed. Gear, travel, rehearsal space, all the stuff I was already spending money on? Suddenly those were legitimate business write-offs. I wasn’t just a guy playing gigs anymore. I was running a media company, an education brand, and a platform.

What Incorporating Actually Gives You

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Back in the ‘90s, I ran my whole career out of a Day Planner. Gig details, rehearsal times, addresses, call times and just about anything else. It was all scribbled in there, and I’d flip through the pages hoping I hadn’t forgotten anything. It worked, until it didn’t.

One night I was backstage at the Apollo, talking to Buddy Williams. If you don’t know the name, he’s one of the greatest musicians to ever pick up a pair of sticks. He’s played with everybody, held down a few Broadway chairs too. I asked him how he kept it all together, because the man never seemed rattled.

He just smiled and pulled out this tiny device. A Palm Pilot.

This was pre-smartphone. Digital calendars were barely a thing yet. And Buddy’s already on it.

“This keeps me sharp,” he said. “I know where I need to be, what I need to bring, and who I’m playing with — every day.”

That one sentence rearranged something in my head. I wasn’t just a musician showing up with sticks and a good feel. I was running a one-person business, and I’d been managing it like a hobby. That Palm Pilot wasn’t a gadget — it was Buddy treating his own career like it mattered enough to organize.

I went home and changed how I worked. The tools kept evolving after that — Google Calendar, the iPhone, whatever came next, but the mindset Buddy handed me backstage never did.

Manage your time like your career depends on it. Because it does.

— Clayton

In 1993, I knew exactly two people in New York. My cousin and a friend from high school. Neither of them were musicians. I had my drums, my business degree from Howard University, and enough nerve to figure it out as I went.

What I didn’t have was a plan. What I had instead was a Friday night gig at the Ramada Inn in New Rochelle.

Once a month. Twenty people in the room, most of them friends of the bandleader. We played dance music, ABBA, whatever was on the radio. It wasn’t glamorous. Nobody was getting discovered at the Ramada Inn in New Rochelle. I knew that. I showed up anyway.

The guitar player in that band was a guy named Matt Beck. He was/is a GREAT musician. He was doing some sub work on Broadway at the time, but back then he was just the guy I played “Dancing Queen” with while people did the electric slide.

I wasn’t networking. I wasn’t positioning myself. I was showing up, playing well, and being someone people didn’t mind being around.

Then one night on a break, Matt asked if I’d be interested in Footloose — a production heading to Las Vegas and then eleven months on the road. I said yes. Ten months later, Matt called again with tick, tick...BOOM! Jeff Potter, the drummer holding the chair on Rent, heard I’d been doing it and brought me in to sub. Rent led to Little Shop. Little Shop led to The Color Purple. The Color Purple led to Altar Boyz. Altar Boyz led to Memphis: The Musical, my first Broadway chair.

The whole chain traces back to a hotel ballroom in Westchester County.

I wasn’t the most impressive drummer in New York in 1993. Not even close. But I was consistent. I was easy to be around. And I kept showing up in rooms where better players were — not to impress them, but to learn and to be known.

I wrote about this same idea from another angle in We’re All in a Relationship. The Question Is Which Kind. The short version: this business isn’t a meritocracy. It’s a trust economy. Matt didn’t call just because I was talented. He called because he knew me. That’s a relationship, built one unglamorous Friday night at a time. If you haven’t read that piece, read it after this one. The two belong together.

And here’s something I’ve realized a lot of you don’t know. Look at the top of this site. There’s a whole banner up there — Notes, Chat, The Callboard, Real-World Training, Podcast Episodes, Videos, Shorts, Resources, Broadway Bound And Beyond, About. Every one of those tabs is full of material most readers never see, because they only read whatever lands in their inbox.

The tab I want to point you to today is Real-World Training. It’s where I write pieces exactly like this one — the material nobody teaches in school. A few of what’s already in there:

Why Some Musicians Keep Getting Called Back — it has nothing to do with chops and everything to do with how you show up.

Always Play With People Better Than You — the real mentorship in music never came with a curriculum. It came with trial by fire.

Make It Plain — every note you play is a choice. What are yours saying?

What If Your Dream Gig Isn’t on Broadway? — there are roughly 20 drum chairs on Broadway at any given time. Here’s how to build a career around that math.

So, You Got a Call to Do a Broadway Musical Workshop. Now What? — inside the room, what to expect, and how the money works.

Picasso’s Napkin: Why Your Years of Experience Are Worth Paying For — knowing your rate, knowing when to walk, and why “it only took a minute” is never the whole story.

10 Real-World Lessons Every Working Musician Should Know — the skills, habits, and mindsets that turn gigs into careers.

You Paid Into It. Now Learn How to Use It. — what I wrote for Local 802’s Allegro about the benefits too many musicians leave on the table.

Some of these are free. Some are for paid subscribers, because that’s where the deepest material lives. Either way, go explore the tab: Real-World Training.

Your Ramada Inn is out there right now. It doesn’t look like an opportunity. It never does.

Subscribe now

Broadway Bound and Beyond is available now at broadwayboundbook.com.

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Clayton Craddock is the drummer for Cats: The Jellicle Ball on Broadway at the Broadhurst Theatre. He is also the founder of Broadway Drumming 101 and the author of Broadway Bound and Beyond: A Musician’s Guide to Building a Theater Career.

His Broadway credits include Memphis, Lady Day at Emerson’s Bar and Grill, Ain’t Too Proud, and Cats: The Jellicle Ball, with additional credits spanning tick, tick…BOOM!, The Hippest Trip: The Soul Train Musical, and subbing on Rent, Motown, Evita, Avenue Q, and the Hadestown tour.

Clayton has appeared on The View, Good Morning America, The Tonight Show Starring Jimmy Fallon, The Today Show, and the Tony Awards. He has performed with artists ranging from Chuck Berry and Ben E. King to Kristin Chenoweth and Norm Lewis.

www.claytoncraddock.com

Cats: The Jellicle Ball Sets Final Broadway Bow - The Tony-nominated, reimagined revival of the Andrew Lloyd Webber musical will hang up its pumps later this summer.

The Show Is Closing. I’ve Been Here Before.

We had a Zoom call today.

If you’ve been reading this Substack for a while, you know what that sentence means. Cats: The Jellicle Ball is closing on Broadway. Final performance: August 8, 2026. We opened April 7. People on the call were surprised. I wasn’t. I saw the numbers. I felt the energy in the building. I kind of saw it coming.

People had been calling out sick. This show is incredibly physical, so injuries are part of it, but the callouts kept coming, and we had to cancel a performance tonight. It brought me right back to December 2021 at Ain’t Too Proud — and if you want to know exactly how I feel about everything from that era, call me. I won’t get into it here.

Here’s the thing. I’ve lived this movie before. More than once.

Back in 2012, I took a night off from Memphis: The Musical to do a gig with Michael Aarons and his wife, Anya Singleton. Before I left for the show, I started scrolling on the internet, and saw the headline: Memphis was closing. My stomach dropped. Nobody called me. I found out on the internet like everybody else. We played our final show on August 5, 2012, after nearly three years at the Shubert.

A week later, I was playing on an episode of Smash. First TV gig of my life. Then I went right back to what I’d been doing the whole time — subbing, club dates, sessions, teaching, everything. Because here’s what people miss: I never stopped doing those things. Even while I held the Memphis chair, I was subbing out to work my subs in and taking outside gigs. I wanted to stay in the marketplace of working musicians. That’s what kept me viable.

I did the same thing at Lady Day at Emerson’s Bar and Grill. Short run, extraordinary gig, playing behind Audra McDonald every night — and I still took nights off to play club dates. Same at Ain’t Too Proud. Great show, great energy, strong ticket sales. Then March 2020 shut the whole industry down. We came back in October 2021, Covid tore through Broadway in December, we canceled a pile of shows, and then came the Zoom call. Closing notice. Final performance January 16, 2022. We were all shocked. We were still one of the top-grossing shows in town.

That closing is why Broadway Drumming 101 exists. I decided I could never be caught flat-footed like that again, and I wanted to teach musicians what nobody taught me. Go back through the archives from 2021 forward and you’ll see it — the articles, the interviews, all of it. That work became my book, Broadway Bound and Beyond, and right now I’m recording Broadway Bound and Beyond: The Course, which will be finished very soon.

And between Ain’t Too Proud and this show? A tour of Hadestown. A tour of The Rock Orchestra by Candlelight. Subbing at the Big Apple Circus a couple of years. Club dates. A whole lot of different things — until the call came for Cats: The Jellicle Ball.

So here’s what I want you to think through, especially if you dream of playing Broadway:

Every show closes. All of them. Every single one. You are very, very lucky if you get a show that runs more than a year, because most don’t anymore. I thought this one would run a long time. It won’t. That’s the reality of this life in New York City.

And if you think the answer is to just focus on Broadway, you’ve got it backwards. To play a Broadway show, you have to play jazz, funk, disco, blues, rock, Afro-Cuban, polka, free jazz, klezmer — everything. That vocabulary comes from the gigs outside of Broadway. You have to play outside gigs to get the Broadway gig. Don’t get it twisted. Going from high school or college straight to a Broadway chair on a show that runs like Book of Mormon? That’s winning the lottery.

Me? I’m going to do what I’ve done since Ain’t Too Proud closed, but not the same way. I have plans in motion, and I’m expanding everything I’ve been building. You’ll be hearing more from me.

To everyone who’s a paid subscriber, everyone who bought the book, the merch, everyone who’s watched the interviews — thank you! There are many more interviews on the way.

And I’ll say this: I maybe have one more Broadway show in me. The Jellicle Ball is a genuinely fun show, but I’ll be honest — Andrew Lloyd Webber’s music was never my musical home.

The Hippest Trip: The Soul Train Musical?

Now THAT excites me the way Ain’t Too Proud did. If that show comes back, I don’t care where I am — I’m coming back for that gig. Even if it only runs six months, I’m fine.

Because I know what to do when a show closes.

Do you?

— Clayton

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Years ago I was asked to be part of a program called Mentoring USA. I said yes. I sat with kids who weren’t mine and tried to be useful to them, and I liked it more than I expected. It didn’t last long. Why? I had two kids of my own to raise in New York City, a cost of living that never lets up, and a music career full of ups and downs. I didn’t have the time to give someone else’s kid what I could barely give my own.

That program taught me something true about formal mentorship. The kind that actually changes a young person needs structure and a consistent presence. I respected it too much to fake it.

But the mentorship that shaped me into a musician never looked like that.

I was the baby of the family, which meant I had teachers everywhere I turned. My mother and father were both mentors in their own right, just for different things. My older sisters were right there in the house, showing me how to handle myself long before I knew I was being taught. My older cousins added another layer on top of that. By the time I was old enough to notice, I’d already logged years of unofficial instruction.

Not all of it was the kind you’d want to copy. I watched choices made by people close to me and learned exactly what not to do. That counts too. Sometimes the lesson isn’t “do this.” It’s “never do that,” and you carry it just as far.

Then there’s one guy I’m still friends with to this day. Back in my hometown of Manchester, Connecticut, I played in a band with him. He was a drummer too, but he also sang lead and ran the band, and from the first rehearsal I could feel he was operating on a different level than me. He didn’t put me down for it. He pushed me. Bigger fills, deeper pocket, match his intensity. One day he said something I’ve carried with me ever since.

“Always play with musicians who are better than you.”

I wrote about that moment in my book Broadway Bound and Beyond, because once it sinks in, it changes how you think about getting better at anything.

Here’s what nobody tells you about that kind of mentorship: it’s trial by fire. Musicians better than you will tell you straight up that you’re rushing, you’re dragging, you’re too loud, your feel is wrong, or you’re playing the wrong shuffle entirely. I remember going to one guy’s house specifically to get schooled on this. He sat me down and broke apart the Texas shuffle, then walked me through the other blues shuffles I needed if I wanted to play that music for real. That’s not something a method book can give you. You get it from someone who already lives inside the style, showing you with his own hands, on his own time, because he felt like it.

After I graduated from Howard University and moved to New York City in 1993, I kept chasing that same dynamic on purpose. I sought out older, more experienced musicians and made sure I was always the least experienced person around. I had to earn my place with how I played, not with what I said. They weren’t interested in chops. They cared about feel, time, and maturity.

That chase led to one of my first big gigs in New York: backing Chuck Berry. The first few songs, he kept looking over at me with that look, the one that said, "I cursed out Keith Richards, and you better believe I'll cuss you out too." I held steady and listened harder than I ever had. Somewhere around song three, something clicked. He stopped looking over. By the end of the night we were playing like we'd done it for years.

That’s what playing above your level does to you. It pulls something out of you that comfort never could. When you’re the weakest player around, something shifts. You stop thinking about what you want to play and start thinking about what the music needs.

Every mentor I've had, family, the bandleader, a stranger who taught me a shuffle in his living room, pushed me toward the same target: be as good as the people who came before me. That standard applies every time I play on a recording. I am determined to sound as fluid as Steve Ferrone. As deep as Steve Gadd. As precise as Neil Peart. Funkier than Jerome Brailey holding it down back in the day for P-Funk. As heavy as Earl Hudson driving Bad Brains, or as locked in as Fish with Fishbone. Those were the records I grew up on, and I wanted whatever I played to stand next to them.

That standard never stops applying. Watching Anika Nilles step into Neil Peart’s chair on Rush’s reunion tour this year has been a perfect live example of it. She’s not imitating him. She’s matching the standard he set and making it her own, in front of the toughest jury there is, longtime Rush fans. That’s the same fire I’m talking about, just happening in real time on a much bigger stage.

If you’re serious about building a career in musical theater, the question isn’t whether you’re ready. It’s whether you’re putting yourself around people who’ll demand more from you than you’ve ever given. That’s where the growth lives.

I wrote Broadway Bound and Beyond for musicians ready to think about their careers differently. Not just how to play better, but how to get in, stay in, and build a career that lasts.

Get your copy at broadwayboundbook.com. The online course is coming this fall.

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Clayton Craddock is the drummer for Cats: The Jellicle Ball on Broadway at the Broadhurst Theatre. He is also the founder of Broadway Drumming 101 and the author of Broadway Bound and Beyond: A Musician’s Guide to Building a Theater Career.

His Broadway credits include Memphis, Lady Day at Emerson’s Bar and Grill, Ain’t Too Proud, and Cats: The Jellicle Ball, with additional credits spanning tick, tick…BOOM!, The Hippest Trip: The Soul Train Musical, and subbing on Rent, Motown, Evita, Avenue Q, and the Hadestown tour.

Clayton has appeared on The View, Good Morning America, The Tonight Show Starring Jimmy Fallon, The Today Show, and the Tony Awards. He has performed with artists ranging from Chuck Berry and Ben E. King to Kristin Chenoweth and Norm Lewis.

www.claytoncraddock.com

It took me sixteen years to land my first Broadway chair. Sixteen years of subbing, showing up to whatever gig was in front of me, staying in touch with people even when nothing was happening. When the call finally came, it didn’t come from an audition. It came from someone I’d known for years, long before that show was slated to go into the Shubert Theater. Somebody who watched me show up over and over again, long before there was anything in it for either of us.

That’s not a story about talent. That’s a story about a relationship that got built over years.

Here’s the truth few people in this business want to say out loud. Broadway isn’t a meritocracy. It’s a trust economy. There are thousands of incredible musicians in New York City. Nobody hires the best player in the city. They generally hire the player they trust, the one whose number is already in their phone, the one they’ve actually sat next to on a bandstand, at a bar, or across a dinner table. That’s not me being cynical. That’s just how it works, in this business and every other one.

Which brings me to something that’s been bugging me. I know, I’m about to sound like the “get off my lawn” guy for a second, but stick with me. My generation, we used to say we were dating somebody. That word described an action, something still happening, still figuring itself out. Younger folks don’t talk that way anymore. They say they’re “in a relationship.” Three weeks in, and the label’s already locked.

I get it, I’ve got kids in their late teens and early twenties, so I’m not totally out of touch with the lingo. And yeah, I know they’re usually talking about a romantic one. But aren’t we all in some kind of relationship with somebody, all the time? Just different kinds. My relationship with the guy who got me my Broadway chair isn’t the same as my relationship with my fiancee, and neither one is the same as my relationship with a colleague I’ve subbed for. They’re all relationships, but the word is doing almost no work unless you know which kind you’re talking about.

Take Facebook. I’ve got close to 5,000 friends on there. Out of those 5,000, maybe 400 are people I actually know in some real sense, colleagues, coworkers, people I’ve lived near or worked with over the years. Strip that down further and I’ve got somewhere between 100 and 200 people I’d actually call a friend. Out of that group, maybe 50 would show up for me through thick and thin. Fifty. Out of 5,000.

That gap is the whole story. “Friends” on a platform is a number a website made up to keep you scrolling. The guy who called me wasn’t one of 5,000. He was one of fifty.

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I’ve got a fiancee, a son, a daughter, two sisters, a long list of cousins. Every one of those is a different kind of relationship. They survive, or they don’t, because somebody calls, somebody shows up, somebody does the unglamorous work of staying connected even when it’s inconvenient. It’s the same as the relationship that eventually got me hired for Memphis the Musical back in 2009.

So here’s a real question. Right now, you’re in a relationship with me. You’re reading something I wrote, you probably know my name. But what kind of relationship is it? Are you actually here, doing something with this, or are you a number on a list, same as 4,950 of my Facebook friends? Pick one person this week, somebody you played with once, somebody you’ve been meaning to reach out to. Don’t text them. Call them. Better yet, schedule a time and date to meet in person.

I try to practice that myself. A few months ago, I put out a post asking people to meet me in Midtown during rehearsals for Cats: The Jellicle Ball. A handful of you took me up on it and we got lunch. It was great actually getting to know some of the people who follow Broadway Drumming 101. Each conversation was maybe fifty minutes, and I learned more about what they actually wanted out of their careers than I would have from a hundred DMs. Now if somebody asks me about one of you, I can actually vouch for you, because I know you, not because I’ve seen your name pop up in my notifications.

And here’s the thing. Watching me play in my little booth at the Broadhurst doesn’t count. I love that people come see the show, but that’s an audience, not a relationship. There’s a new spot called Jazz Cultural, right around the corner from the theater on 46th, and you don’t have to love jazz to walk in and feel what a room full of musicians actually showing up for each other feels like. That’s the kind of thing I’m talking about.

So here's what I actually want from you. Leave a comment and tell me where you're playing this June, July, or August. Not a pit, not a musical, that's the last thing I want to go see, I get plenty of that already playing in my own booth eight shows a week at the Broadhurst. I want to hear the real music, the stuff that gave birth to all of these musicals in the first place. I don't need to spend any more time than I have to going to see the kind of music some of my colleagues jokingly call "almost music" when they mean theater. If it's late enough that I can get there after my own curtain comes down, and it's not a trek out to deep Brooklyn or Queens since I don't have a car anymore, I'll actually show up and watch you play.

And it's not just about me showing up. Somebody else reading this might be looking for the same thing, a real club, with real musicians who actually want to connect. Not follower counts. Actual gigs, actual nights, actual people showing up for each other. Let's see how many of us end up at the same gig this summer.

Hit that button below and let us know what’s going on!

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Clayton Craddock is the drummer for Cats: The Jellicle Ball on Broadway at the Broadhurst Theatre. He is also the founder of Broadway Drumming 101 and the author of Broadway Bound and Beyond: A Musician’s Guide to Building a Theater Career.

His Broadway credits include Memphis, Lady Day at Emerson’s Bar and Grill, Ain’t Too Proud, and Cats: The Jellicle Ball, with additional credits spanning tick, tick…BOOM!, The Hippest Trip: The Soul Train Musical, and subbing on Rent, Motown, Evita, Avenue Q, and the Hadestown tour.

Clayton has appeared on The View, Good Morning America, The Tonight Show Starring Jimmy Fallon, The Today Show, and the Tony Awards. He has performed with artists ranging from Chuck Berry and Ben E. King to Kristin Chenoweth and Norm Lewis.

www.claytoncraddock.com

Most musicians, whether they’re already in the union or still working toward it, are leaving benefits on the table they don’t even know exist. Pension credits. Health insurance. Legal protections. A collective bargaining agreement that was negotiated on your behalf before you ever walked into a pit.

Not because the information is hidden. Because nobody told them to go look.

I spent years inside this industry before I understood what my membership actually meant. What I had earned. What I had access to. What I had already been leaving alone.

That realization came slowly. And expensively.

I wrote about it for Allegro, Local 802’s publication.

It’s short. It’s direct. If you’ve never looked closely at your pension credits, your health insurance status, or the collective bargaining agreement that covers every union gig you’ve ever played — that’s exactly where you should start.

Read it here →

“What Nobody Tells You About the Union”

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Clayton Craddock is the drummer for Cats: The Jellicle Ball on Broadway at the Broadhurst Theatre. He is also the founder of Broadway Drumming 101 and the author of Broadway Bound and Beyond: A Musician’s Guide to Building a Theater Career.

His Broadway credits include Memphis, Lady Day at Emerson’s Bar and Grill, Ain’t Too Proud, and Cats: The Jellicle Ball, with additional credits spanning tick, tick…BOOM!, The Hippest Trip: The Soul Train Musical, and subbing on Rent, Motown, Evita, Avenue Q, and the Hadestown tour.

Clayton has appeared on The View, Good Morning America, The Tonight Show Starring Jimmy Fallon, The Today Show, and the Tony Awards. He has performed with artists ranging from Chuck Berry and Ben E. King to Kristin Chenoweth and Norm Lewis.

www.claytoncraddock.com

Over the past couple of days, I’ve been getting a bunch of texts congratulating me on Cats: The Jellicle Ball being “extended” through January 2027.

I appreciate every one of them.

The only problem is that I’m not entirely sure there was an extension.

That probably sounds strange to anyone outside of Broadway. But several musicians and theater professionals I’ve spoken with over the past couple of days had the exact same reaction.

“Wait a minute...weren’t we already open-ended?”

Here’s the difference. An open-ended run has no scheduled closing date. The show runs as long as audiences keep buying tickets. A limited engagement is different. Usually, those have a specific closing date baked into the original announcement. If the show outperforms expectations, producers add time beyond that date.

That’s what an extension used to mean.

I’ve seen it happen. When I was playing Lady Day at Emerson’s Bar and Grill with Audra McDonald, the show was booked as a limited 10-week engagement. That was the plan. That was what everyone signed on for.

Then audiences showed up.

Then they kept showing up.

The production extended once. Then again. Then again. Then one final time. Four extensions total, before closing on October 5, 2014, after 173 performances. Every announcement meant the show had earned more life than anyone originally planned. Every extension was news because the original end date was real.

The show was supposed to close.

Then it didn’t.

Four times.

That’s what most Broadway veterans think of when they hear the word extension.

And I lived a version of that with this very production. When Cats: The Jellicle Ball ran downtown at the Perelman Performing Arts Center in the summer of 2024, we went through the same thing. From what I remember, the show was originally scheduled to close July 14. It extended before we even opened. First to July 28, then to August 11, then one final time to September 8. Three extensions. We knew there was an appetite for more. The audiences were showing up, the word of mouth was real, and there were conversations about how long we could keep going.

But we ran up against another production coming into the building.

That was the wall. Not the audience. Not the demand. The calendar. Another show needed the space, and that was that. We had to close not because the run had run its course, but because there were other plans already in effect. So when I say I know what a real extension feels like, I get it. I’ve been in the middle of it. I know when the word actually meant something. When it changed the future of a production. When it was news.

And that same thing is happening right now over at the John Golden Theatre with Operation Mincemeat. From what I hear, that show has earned every announcement. That show was originally booked for 16 weeks. It has now extended nine times and is currently scheduled to run through February 14, 2027. My colleague Dan Berkery, who came on the Broadway Drumming 101 podcast back in 2022, years before Mincemeat ever made it to Broadway, is now holding a drum chair over there. I hope he and his colleagues get every congratulatory text that comes their way, and then a few more on top of that. That’s a real extension story, playing out in real time. If you haven’t heard Dan’s episode, it’s worth your time.

And then there’s The Lost Boys. Just yesterday, Deadline reported that The Lost Boys, a hit show that’s nominated for 12 Tonys including Best Musical, announced it was “extending” its Broadway run, releasing a block of tickets through March 7, 2027. The announcement ran in the same headline as Cats. Two shows, one story, same day.

Both open-ended runs.

Both releasing future inventory.

Both called extensions.

So when I saw the headlines online about Cats being extended through January 2027, I had one question:

Extended from what?

The more I looked at it, the more I noticed that plenty of long-running Broadway shows don’t sell tickets indefinitely. They release inventory in blocks throughout the year. That’s not new. Broadway has operated that way for a long time.

Which means the ticketing probably hasn’t changed.

The marketing has.

Years ago, an open-ended show would quietly drop another block of tickets and keep moving. Today, that same move becomes a press release. A headline. A news cycle. Content.

And I get it.

“Extended Through January 2027” is a stronger headline than “Tickets Now On Sale Through January 2027.”

One signals momentum. The other signals inventory management. Broadway is competing for attention in ways it never has before, and if reframing a ticket release as an extension gets people talking, that’s not a mistake — that’s strategy. Smart producers understand that perception drives sales, and a headline that makes a show sound like it’s thriving will probably outperform one that makes it sound like routine business.

But here’s what I want you to take away from this if you’re building a career in this industry:

The gap between what something is and what it’s being called is always worth understanding. Broadway runs on relationships, reputation, and information. Knowing how the language actually works puts you ahead of the people who are still taking press releases at face value.

And hey, my phone has been blowing up for the past couple of days, and I mean it when I say I’m grateful for every single message. It’s genuinely good to be on a hit show again. This production is something special, the people in it are incredible, and it deserves every bit of the life it’s building for itself. I’m taking it all in.

I just also happen to know how the language works.

This business runs on people who pay attention, ask questions, and care enough to understand what’s actually happening beneath the headline.

So the next time you see the word “extended” in a Broadway announcement, including this one, you’ll know more about what it actually might mean.

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Clayton Craddock is the drummer for Cats: The Jellicle Ball on Broadway at the Broadhurst Theatre. He is also the founder of Broadway Drumming 101 and the author of Broadway Bound and Beyond: A Musician’s Guide to Building a Theater Career.

His Broadway credits include Memphis, Lady Day at Emerson’s Bar and Grill, Ain’t Too Proud, and Cats: The Jellicle Ball, with additional credits spanning tick, tick…BOOM!, The Hippest Trip: The Soul Train Musical, and subbing on Rent, Motown, Evita, Avenue Q, and the Hadestown tour.

Clayton has appeared on The View, Good Morning America, The Tonight Show Starring Jimmy Fallon, The Today Show, and the Tony Awards. He has performed with artists ranging from Chuck Berry and Ben E. King to Kristin Chenoweth and Norm Lewis.

www.claytoncraddock.com

My son went to see a Broadway show last night and sent me footage of the musicians playing the exit music.

I was mildly annoyed within the first eight bars.

What I heard were great songs from the show buried under an avalanche of 32nd note runs, fills squeezed into every available space, and enough fusion licks to make you forget you were listening to a Broadway reprise. It sounded less like a send-off and more like a jam session that nobody in the audience asked for. The songs were still in there somewhere. You just had to dig through everybody’s best material to find them.

I watched it and knew exactly what I was looking at.

The exit music is the last thing an audience carries out the door. The show is over. The story has been told. For these final few minutes, the band reprises the songs that just moved a room full of strangers to tears, to laughter, to a standing ovation. It is the last impression. The punctuation at the end of the sentence.

So why are some musicians treating it like an audition?

Drum fills nobody asked for. Chops that never showed up once during the actual performance suddenly making their debut in the exit music. Solos that have nothing to do with the songs the audience just spent two hours living inside. Every available space in the music gets filled with something. A run. A lick. A flash of technique that impresses maybe one person in the building. And that person is probably on the bandstand.

I’ve watched this happen for years and it always takes me back to the gospel chops era. Where the flashiest thing you could do became the entire point of the exercise. Where more was always more. Where the music became a vehicle for the musician instead of the other way around. Impressive to other musicians. Completely invisible to almost everyone else.

And here’s the thing. These are Broadway musicians. They earned that chair. They’re making the same money I’m making every night as the drummer for Cats: The Jellicle Ball. Union scale. A professional wage for a professional job. Nobody’s getting a bonus for degree of difficulty. Nobody’s handing out extra checks for 32nd note runs. So if they want to spend those final three minutes burning extra energy on chops the audience never requested and never needed, that’s their choice.

Just know that people are literally walking out the door while your chop fest is happening. The audience isn’t waiting for your best lick. They’re looking for the exit.

And honestly, so am I.

While everyone else is still mid-glory on the bandstand/pit, I’m already packed up, coat on, and on the train back to the Bronx. Because I did my job from the first note to the last. I don’t need three minutes of Gospel Chops at the end of the night to feel good about myself.

Which brings me back to the only question that actually matters in that pit: what’s any of this for?

Not in theory. In the moment. When the temptation’s there to add something, a fill, a run, a flash of technique, what’s it actually serving? The scene? The song? The story? Or the person playing it?

I was never the drummer with the most chops and I never really cared. What I had was intention. Every note had a reason. Every choice pointed toward the music, not toward me. Simplicity wasn’t a limitation. It was the weapon. It’s harder to sit in a groove and resist the urge to decorate it than it is to play everything you learned in music school. Restraint takes discipline. Discipline takes confidence. And real confidence means you never needed anyone in that pit to be impressed by you.

There’s a whole chapter in my book Broadway Bound and Beyond called Make It Plain. Not because it’s a catchy phrase. Because it’s the actual job description. Three words that cover everything from the first note of the overture to the last bar of exit music. And most musicians never figure it out.

Nobody leaves the theater humming a drum solo.

They leave humming the melody that stayed with them through Act Two.

That feeling was built on every steady and intentional choice made from the first downbeat to the last bar of exit music. Not the fills. Not the runs. Not the moment you impressed the keyboard player two stands over.

The musicians who last in this business aren’t always the most talented ones. They’re not always the most technically gifted. What they understood that the flashy ones never quite figured out is simple: nobody bought a ticket for you. They bought a ticket for the show. Your job is to serve it completely, from the first note of the overture to the last note of the exit music, and then go home.

That’s what Broadway Bound and Beyond is built on. Not theory. It’s a practical framework for how you think about every note, every gig, and every career decision you’ll ever make. If you’ve ever wondered why some musicians keep working while others with more chops don’t, the answer’s in this book.

The show doesn’t end when the curtain comes down. It ends when the last person walks out that door.

Everything you play matters. Act like it.

Broadway Bound and Beyond — BroadwayBoundBook.com

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Clayton Craddock is the drummer for Cats: The Jellicle Ball on Broadway at the Broadhurst Theatre. He is also the founder of Broadway Drumming 101 and the author of Broadway Bound and Beyond: A Musician’s Guide to Building a Theater Career.

His Broadway credits include Memphis, Lady Day at Emerson’s Bar and Grill, Ain’t Too Proud, and Cats: The Jellicle Ball, with additional credits spanning tick, tick…BOOM!, The Hippest Trip: The Soul Train Musical, and subbing on Rent, Motown, Evita, Avenue Q, and the Hadestown tour.

Clayton has appeared on The View, Good Morning America, The Tonight Show Starring Jimmy Fallon, The Today Show, and the Tony Awards. He has performed with artists ranging from Chuck Berry and Ben E. King to Kristin Chenoweth and Norm Lewis.

www.claytoncraddock.com

When I first got to Broadway, I understood the musical side.

Rehearsals, subbing, contractors, learning books, surviving New York, getting better. That world made sense to me. What I didn’t understand was the business side, and that took years before I really started connecting the dots.

One of the things that made me stop and think was watching tours get announced before shows had barely opened. I was at Ain’t Too Proud and conversations about touring were already happening in the first few months of our Broadway run. My first reaction was: shouldn’t the goal be keeping the Broadway show open as long as possible?

Then I started understanding how this business actually works, and my thinking completely changed.

Broadway is not necessarily where the long-term money is made. Broadway is where the conditions for long-term revenue get created.

A Broadway production is extraordinarily expensive to run. There is theater rent, union labor, musicians, actors, stagehands, marketing, insurance, royalties, legal fees, general management, physical production costs, and investor pressure to recoup millions of dollars before anyone sees a dime of profit. It is one of the hardest businesses in the world to turn a consistent profit in. The economics are brutal and everybody in the industry knows it.

But here's what Broadway does that almost no other business can replicate: it stamps a production with legitimacy.

Tony nominations, press coverage, critical reviews, national visibility — once a show passes through Broadway, it carries that credential everywhere it goes. The title itself becomes the marketing. Regional theaters don’t have to convince their subscribers to take a chance on something unknown. They just put “Broadway’s Ain’t Too Proud” on the marquee and the audience already knows what they’re getting. That stamp is intellectual property, and intellectual property travels. Once a show earns it, the title becomes an asset that can generate revenue for years. Sometimes decades.

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Ain’t Too Proud closed on Broadway in January 2022. And yeah, I’m still a little salty about it.

Hadestown opened the same year. It's still running. I subbed on that tour and also subbed once on the Broadway show, so I have genuine love for that show. But there's a longer conversation about what happened in New York between 2020 and 2023, about which shows survived and which ones didn't, and why. Let's just say I wasn't happy with a lot of what went down during that period. The mandates, the restrictions, the way certain decisions got made and who they protected and who they didn't. Some shows got the runway to recover. Others didn't get the same consideration. I watched it happen up close and I have a lot to say about it. Just not here.

I understand the business reasons Ain’t Too Proud closed. Understanding something doesn’t mean you have to be at peace with it.

What I do know is that closing on Broadway didn’t kill the property. It didn’t even slow it down.

Ain’t Too Proud is still being produced all over the country — more than three years after the Broadway run ended. This summer alone, Ain’t Too Proud is playing at The Gateway Playhouse on Long Island, Ogunquit Playhouse in Maine, and The Muny in St. Louis, one of the most respected outdoor musical theater venues in America. The show is still moving, still generating licensing fees, royalties, and ticket revenue for rights holders, authors, and producers.

That’s not a coincidence. That’s the business model.

And I'll add something personal here. I had a hand in two of those three drummers getting hired.

Parker Reid is playing the Maine production at Ogunquit Playhouse. I’ve known Parker since he was born. He’s grown into an exceptional young drummer and it means everything to me to see him landing work at that level. Augusto Oropeza is playing the Long Island production at The Gateway Playhouse. Augusto was a guest on the Broadway Drumming 101 podcast, and when his name came up for that gig, I didn’t hesitate to recommend him. Both are exactly the kind of musicians this industry needs more of.

I don’t have information on who’s playing The Muny production in St. Louis. If you’re in that area and know, I’d love to hear about it.

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I'm telling you this because it's proof of exactly what this platform is about. Getting hired on Broadway and its affiliated productions is not about talent alone. Almost everybody at that level can play. What separates the people who work consistently from the people who wonder why the phone isn't ringing is trust, built slowly, over years, through real relationships. Parker and Augusto didn't land those gigs because they got lucky. They landed them because the right people already knew who they were, and because they could deliver authentically when the moment came.

FYI: I put out a call in the Broadway Drumming 101 chat when the Gateway Playhouse gig came up. That’s the kind of thing I share there first. If you’re not in the chat yet, join it so you don’t miss the next one.

Producers understand this from day one, which is why they're never just asking whether a show can survive on Broadway. They're asking whether it can travel, whether it can license, whether it can generate revenue for ten or twenty years after the Broadway run ends. Because if the answer is yes, the Broadway production isn't the end of the story. It's the proof of concept that makes everything else possible.

The Lost Boys is making this visible in real time.

The show opened at the Palace Theatre on April 26. It’s been open for less than three weeks and earned 12 Tony nominations including Best Musical. A North American tour launching in Cleveland at Playhouse Square in spring 2028 was just announced. The Broadway run is not even a month old and the next chapter is already in motion. The producers didn't wait to see how things shook out. They understood what they had the moment audiences responded, and they moved.

That’s how producers think. The show is the asset. Broadway is the proof of concept.

Now here’s what that means for you.

The tour casting hasn't been announced. Nobody has the job yet, on any chair, which means right now, today, is when the networking starts. Not when the show is six months old, not when the contractor starts looking for musicians for gig. Right now, while the creative team's names are in every press release and the production is still the thing everyone in the industry is talking about.

Ethan Popp is the music supervisor. He did Tina: The Tina Turner Musical. Michael Arden is directing. The general management company is Bespoke Theatricals. Those are your targets, and the approach isn’t to reach out asking for a job. You reach out to build a relationship. You follow the right people, engage with the work, and make yourself a known quantity in the right circles before the phone calls ever start. By the time a contractor is assembling a list of names for a 2028 tour, you want your name to already be familiar to the people making that list. That's not luck. That's strategy, and it starts two years before the first rehearsal.

Producers think about the long game from day one. Before a show even opens, they are already thinking about the tour, the licensing, the regional productions, the subsidiary rights. The Broadway run is just the first move on a board they’ve been studying for years. The smartest musicians in this business think exactly the same way. Every relationship you build now, every contractor you impress, every gig you show up prepared for — none of that expires. It compounds.

Every show that opened on Broadway this season is a future tour announcement waiting to happen. The casting notices aren’t up yet. Nobody has the job, as far as I know. That means the window is open right now, and most people aren’t walking through it.

The show closes. The money doesn’t. Make sure you’re in position when it starts moving.

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Clayton Craddock is the drummer for Cats: The Jellicle Ball on Broadway at the Broadhurst Theatre. He is also the founder of Broadway Drumming 101 and the author of Broadway Bound and Beyond: A Musician’s Guide to Building a Theater Career.

His Broadway credits include Memphis, Lady Day at Emerson’s Bar and Grill, Ain’t Too Proud, and Cats: The Jellicle Ball, with additional credits spanning tick, tick…BOOM!, The Hippest Trip: The Soul Train Musical, and subbing on Rent, Motown, Evita, Avenue Q, and the Hadestown tour.

Clayton has appeared on The View, Good Morning America, The Tonight Show Starring Jimmy Fallon, The Today Show, and the Tony Awards. He has performed with artists ranging from Chuck Berry and Ben E. King to Kristin Chenoweth and Norm Lewis.

www.claytoncraddock.com

January 2024. No gigs. No calls. No nothing.

That’s New York in winter, and it’s one of the primary reasons I won’t be here forever. No sun, no warmth, trapped inside watching the city turn gray. I’ve endured it for decades and every year it gets harder to justify. But in January of 2024, stuck inside, staring at my phone that wasn’t getting any texts, Trevor Holder called.

Trevor is the beats arranger for Cats: The Jellicle Ball.

He’s also someone I’ve known since the 1990s.

We came up together in Black Rock Coalition circles. Downtown venues, same rooms, same communities of musicians grinding through the same New York that most people only romanticize from the outside. We weren’t networking. We were just showing up, playing, talking, existing in the same world. A lot of that world was held together by people like Greg Tate, someone who connected musicians across scenes in a way that was genuinely rare. Greg is no longer with us. But the relationships he helped build are still standing.

Mine and Trevor’s certainly is.

When Trevor called in January 2024, he wasn't calling a name from a list. He was calling someone he knew and trusted. He knew I'd played Cats before. He knew I could play to click tracks. He knew I could handle the updated beats for this production. But the real reason was simpler than any of that.

He knew me. And I knew him. Thirty years of that is worth something.

If you’ve seen Cats: The Jellicle Ball, you know what Trevor created with The Bows. That groove is no joke. One of the most physically moving things happening on a Broadway stage right now. Every night I’m in that pit and the beat starts, I think: DAMN! Trevor killed this. The audience doesn’t always know his name, but they feel what he made.

Broadway noticed.

Cats: The Jellicle Ball received 9 Tony nominations at the 79th Annual Tony Awards:

• Best Revival of a Musical

• Best Direction — Zhailon Levingston and Bill Rauch

• Best Choreography — Omari Wiles and Arturo Lyons

• Best Featured Actor in a Musical — André De Shields

• Best Scenic Design of a Musical — Rachel Hauck

• Best Costume Design of a Musical — Qween Jean

• Best Lighting Design of a Musical — Adam Honoré and Donald Holder

• Best Sound Design of a Musical — Kai Harada

• Best Orchestrations — Andrew Lloyd Webber, David Wilson, Doug Schadt and Trevor Holder

I’m proud of every person on that list.

And I’m grateful for the recognition. But I’ll be honest about where my head is when I walk into that pit at night. I’m thinking about the show. Tonight’s show. The people in those seats who saved up, maybe got a babysitter, bought the tickets and made the trip. They didn’t come to see a nominated production. They came to be moved. That’s my job every single time, nomination or not.

Winning would be great. I want that for this cast, this crew, this creative team. But I also want every production on Broadway to do well, because when theater thrives, we all work. I know what it’s like when the phone doesn’t ring. I remember Trevor and me running from gig to gig in the ‘90s, back to back on the same shows. He’d finish his set and I’d wait for him to break down his whole kit, then I’d put mine up. We were always rushing. Always. And our kits smelled like smoke because every room smelled like smoke. That was the job. That was the training ground.

Kids today have no idea. You show up to a club now and there’s a backline waiting. All you need is your cymbals and maybe a snare. We were dragging drums up two flights of steep stairs at a catering hall in Battery Park. Hauling cases through a slippery kitchen after a wedding, trying not to fall, then back down the stairs and into your cold car in December.

Damn… I think I just became Gus the Theatre Cat.

For those who don’t know, Gus is a character in Cats — a faded, nostalgic old theater cat who can’t stop talking about how things used to be done. And here I am, exactly that. I became Gus and I didn’t even see it coming.

But those gigs were the education. Every smoky room, every terrible load-in, every gig that paid nothing but experience — that’s what built the ears, the instincts, and the stamina that Broadway eventually required. You can’t manufacture that in a practice room. Some lessons only come from showing up in the dark and doing the work anyway.

I’m fine with it. More than fine.

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What I’m saying is: I don’t take a single performance for granted. The nomination is an honor. The show is the mission.

And none of it happens without the relationship. Not the gig, not the nominations, not the nightly opportunity to do work I’m proud of. It all started with a phone call in January 2024 from someone I’d been building trust with since the ‘90s.

Chapter 6 of Broadway Bound and Beyond is called “People Skills: Why Relationships Matter More Than Chops.” It’s the chapter I consider the foundation of everything else in the book, because without this piece none of the rest works. Not your chops. Not your credits. Not your content.

Broadway is not a meritocracy. It’s a trust economy.

Post your reels. Build your audience. Practice until your hands fall off. But none of it replaces being face-to-face with people, in real rooms, over real time. The Instagram algorithm cannot vouch for you. A cold DM cannot replace thirty years of showing up as yourself.

I’ve known Trevor Holder for over 30 years. That’s why he called.

You might not have 30 years yet. Start now.

If you want the full breakdown on how to actually do that, it’s in the book.

→ broadwayboundbook.com

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Clayton Craddock is the drummer for Cats: The Jellicle Ball on Broadway at the Broadhurst Theatre. He is also the founder of Broadway Drumming 101 and the author of Broadway Bound and Beyond: A Musician’s Guide to Building a Theater Career.

His Broadway credits include Memphis, Lady Day at Emerson’s Bar and Grill, Ain’t Too Proud, and Cats: The Jellicle Ball, with additional credits spanning tick, tick…BOOM!, The Hippest Trip: The Soul Train Musical, and subbing on Rent, Motown, Evita, Avenue Q, and the Hadestown tour.

Clayton has appeared on The View, Good Morning America, The Tonight Show Starring Jimmy Fallon, The Today Show, and the Tony Awards. He has performed with artists ranging from Chuck Berry and Ben E. King to Kristin Chenoweth and Norm Lewis.

www.claytoncraddock.com

I raised my kids in New York City and I sent them to a school I won’t name here.

I actually loved it at first. The approach was closer to Montessori than anything traditional. Kids learned at their own pace, called their teachers by their first names, sat in clusters instead of rows, and spent a lot of time on the floor doing the whole criss-cross applesauce thing. It felt progressive. It felt intentional.

But there was one thing I couldn’t stand.

They let the kids sound out words and then debate whether that was how the word was actually supposed to be spelled. Instead of telling a child that C-A-T is cat and not K-A-T, they turned it into a discussion. A discovery. An exploration.

For Years — and I mean years — my kids had poor spelling. Junior high. High school. They were never the kids who loved reading either. Part of that was the other half of their DNA, and I’ll leave that alone. But I’ll say this: they were never encouraged to read at home when they weren’t with me, even though I tried to model that behavior every chance I got.

Looking back, maybe the spelling thing was foreshadowed. Because I had my own issues with spelling in elementary school.

The difference is — I fixed it. Quickly.

One of my teacher’s name was Mr. Dougan. He called me up to the chalkboard in front of the whole class and told me to spell the word “business” out loud. I froze. I had no idea. Probably spelled it “bizness” or something close. Just sounding it out, getting it wrong every time.

He didn’t let me off the hook.

He made me try again. And again. Twenty-five different attempts before I finally got it right. Bus. I. Ness. Three syllables. From that day forward, I never forgot how to spell it, and somewhere in the back of my mind, I never forgot what it meant to actually handle yours.

Mr. Dougan didn’t debate with me. He didn’t turn it into a discovery. He stood at that chalkboard and made me get it right, however long it took, however uncomfortable it got. That’s not cruelty. That’s accountability. And it stuck in a way that a classroom discussion never would have.

Now think about what I see happening with musicians every single day. They’re sounding out the business side of their careers and calling it figuring it out. They’re debating whether the word is spelled correctly instead of just learning to spell it. There’s no Mr. Dougan. No chalkboard. No twenty-five attempts. Just vibes and hope and wondering why the money never adds up.

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Here’s the part most people don’t know about me.

I didn’t go to Berklee, or any other music school. That’s what I wanted. My father had other ideas, and I ended up at Howard University’s School of Business. I hated it. The students around me were cold and aggressive in a way that didn’t sit right with me at all. I spent most of my time in the music building with the Fine Arts kids, playing gigs, leading the drumline. Those were my people.

But the business school planted seeds I didn’t even know were growing.

After Howard, I didn’t go straight into music. I stayed in DC for a while, managing record stores and picking up gigs wherever I could. When I finally made the move to New York, I did what a lot of musicians do. Day job to survive, gigs at night to stay alive. I was determined to get where I am now. But it was that business degree that kept me afloat while I was figuring it out. It gave me options when the gigs weren’t enough.

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I spent my first five years in New York City with a day job. Donaldson, Lufkin & Jenrette, handling international reconciliation, tracking foreign currency and money moving across borders. Years later, I moved to MetLife as a financial services representative, got my Series 6 and Series 63 licenses, and spent a few years sitting across from real people talking about their money. Retirement plans. Annuities. Life insurance. People who were counting on me to help them figure out what their future was supposed to look like. Then came Chase, where I worked as a personal banker, meeting with clients, opening accounts, and helping people think through their financial goals.

Kids today call them survival jobs. I get that. But here’s what I know now that I didn’t know then — every job you have, every experience you accumulate, shapes you in ways you don’t fully understand until years later. Those jobs weren’t detours. They were deposits. And when I finally made the jump to full-time musician, I could negotiate. I could walk away from bad gigs. I understood where the money went and why. None of it felt glamorous at the time. But all of it paid off.

Nobody in that pit is going to hand you a financial plan. Nobody’s going to tell you to track every source of income, sort your expenses into what’s fixed and what’s variable, and build an emergency fund so that when the show closes you’re not desperate. Nobody’s going to explain what Local 802 is actually there to do, which is fight for your minimum wages, your overtime, your rehearsal pay, your pension credits. And none of it is automatic. You have to know what you’re entitled to. You have to read the contracts. You have to ask the questions. Because confusion is not an excuse they’ll accept when you leave money on the table. Nobody’s going to sit you down and walk you through the difference between a Traditional IRA, a Roth, and a Solo 401(k) and why any of it matters when you’re a freelancer with no employer doing it for you.

You pick it up yourself, or you don’t pick it up at all.

There’s a whole chapter on this in Broadway Bound and Beyond — the financial side of a Broadway career that nobody teaches you in school, in the pit, or on the bandstand.

Mr. Dougan didn’t let me off the hook until I got it right. This chapter is me returning the favor.

Handle your bus-i-ness.

broadwayboundbook.com

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Clayton Craddock is the drummer for Cats: The Jellicle Ball on Broadway at the Broadhurst Theatre. He is also the founder of Broadway Drumming 101 and the author of Broadway Bound and Beyond: A Musician’s Guide to Building a Theater Career.

His Broadway credits include Memphis, Lady Day at Emerson’s Bar and Grill, Ain’t Too Proud, and Cats: The Jellicle Ball, with additional credits spanning tick, tick…BOOM!, The Hippest Trip: The Soul Train Musical, and subbing on Rent, Motown, Evita, Avenue Q, and the Hadestown tour.

Clayton has appeared on The View, Good Morning America, The Tonight Show Starring Jimmy Fallon, The Today Show, and the Tony Awards. He has performed with artists ranging from Chuck Berry and Ben E. King to Kristin Chenoweth and Norm Lewis.

www.claytoncraddock.com

People can tell when you’re desperate. They knew before you sent the message.

You’re in someone’s DMs asking for a referral, a coffee meeting, an introduction, from someone who barely knows your name. You’re not wrong for wanting the gig. But the timing exposes everything. You only showed up when you needed something.

That’s not networking. That’s asking a stranger for a favor.

My podcast guest Peter Saleh said it better than I ever have: hustle when you have work, not when you don’t. I think about that all the time. Because the instinct is completely backwards for most musicians. They go quiet when they’re busy and loud when they’re desperate. And desperation has a smell. People can sense it before you open your mouth.

But Peter took it further. He said that hustling when you have work helps you remember your dignity. Because when you need something badly enough, you start to shelve it. And it doesn't help. If they don't have work for you, it doesn't matter how you present yourself. What matters is how they remember you — and that gets decided long before you ever need anything from them.

The other half of “who you know” is who trusts you. When a music director needs to fill a slot, they’re not scrolling through a list of the most talented people they’ve ever heard. They’re thinking about who’s going to show up on time, handle the environment without drama, and make the experience easier for everyone around them. They go to the people they already trust. Not the safe move. The smart one.

Peter also reframed something I’d felt for years but never articulated that cleanly. He said that when you’re a sub, it’s easy to feel like someone is on a mountaintop handing work down to you. But that’s not what’s actually happening. You’re being of service to them so they can do other things. That shift in perspective changes everything about how you show up.

LEARN MORE ABOUT PETER SALEH'S SWITCHBOARD PERCUSSION TABLE HERE

When you’re working, you have a different energy. You’re not chasing. You’re contributing. And when you’re busy, you can’t take every opportunity that comes your way. So you pass it along. And who do you pass it to? The people you remember. The ones who were present before they needed anything. The ones who checked in, not to ask for something, but just to stay connected. Not a resume. Not a cold DM. A person.

FUN FACT: I haven't always been on a hit Broadway show. I've sat in that underemployed stretch wondering where the next thing is coming from. That uncertainty is exactly why I started Broadway Drumming 101, why I interview other drummers, why I write these pieces, and why I wrote Broadway Bound and Beyond. I needed this information and nobody was giving it to me straight. But even in the lean years, I wasn't only looking for a job. I was looking for ways to be useful. And that one shift changed everything.

You don’t need to start with Broadway heavy-hitters. You don’t need to cold-email music directors or force your way into places you haven’t earned yet. Start with the people around you right now. The rehearsal pianist. The music assistant. The guitarist in the pit. The sound engineer. The stage manager. Every one of them is part of the ecosystem and everyone talks. Show up prepared. Be helpful. Make their day a little easier. That’s how trust starts.

The relationships I built early, through rehearsal bands, regional theater, club dates, jam sessions, have come back in powerful ways, sometimes years later. Not because I was working an angle. Because I showed up, did the job well, and treated people right. That’s it. That’s the whole formula.

So what does that actually look like? Say yes to the low-profile gigs. The 29-hour reading that pays almost nothing. The workshop for a show that may never see the light of day. The sub opportunity for a regional production two hours outside the city. Those are not consolation prizes. The people running those sessions are the same people hiring for Broadway right now. Say yes consistently, do the job well, and you become a known quantity before you ever ask for anything. Show up somewhere you don’t have to be. A masterclass. A showcase for a friend. A jam session that has nothing to do with theater. Just be present in the musical community, not to be seen, but to actually be there. Face-to-face still matters more than most people want to admit in 2026.

When you hear about a sub opportunity that doesn’t fit your schedule, pass it along to someone it would. When someone’s asking about a contractor’s contact or a piece of software, give them a real answer. The musicians who give freely, information, leads, time, help, are the ones others think of first when something comes up. And if you want advice from someone you admire, don’t say “can I pick your brain?” That’s vague and signals you haven’t done your homework. Reference something specific instead. A podcast they did, a show they were on, something you actually looked into. Then ask one focused, answerable question. It shows effort. It makes it easy for them to help you. And it tells them you’re the kind of person worth helping.

Once you’ve made a connection, maintain it. Not in a clingy or desperate way, just consistently. Congratulate them when they land something. Recommend them when you see an opportunity that fits. Check in a few months after a good conversation, not to ask for anything, just to stay connected. And it doesn’t have to be about music. Some of my favorite conversations with musicians I know go deep into history, politics, books, movies, whatever. Not a word about Broadway or the next show. Those conversations matter. They make you a real person in someone’s mind instead of just a name in the industry. When you call somebody to talk about a book you both love, that’s not networking. But it does more for your career than most networking ever will.

Nobody needs another person who performs interest. They need someone who actually pays attention and shows it occasionally.

Your reputation is what people say about you when you’re not around. Are you ready when you show up? Do you work well under pressure? Do you arrive early? Are you someone people are genuinely glad to be next to? All of that spreads, quietly, steadily, without you saying a word about it. You don’t get to claim your own reputation. Your actions build it and other people carry it. That’s why the work you put in on a regional gig, a low-budget reading, or a sub slot nobody else wanted matters just as much as the work you put in on a big show. Sometimes more. Because those are the situations where people are watching most closely.

Most of the relationships that shaped my career didn’t pay off in a month or even a year. Some took years before they led anywhere tangible. That’s not a flaw in the approach. That’s how real trust works.

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This business runs on reputation and shared experience. You can’t manufacture either one. You build them by being someone people can count on, over and over, across a long stretch of time. The musicians who get hired consistently aren’t the most aggressive about chasing opportunities. They’re the ones who’ve spent years making themselves worth calling. By the time the right opportunity comes up, the decision is easy. The relationship is already there.

Plant the seeds now. The harvest comes later.

This article draws from Chapter 7 of Broadway Bound and Beyond: A Musician's Guide to Building a Theater Career. Available at broadwayboundbook.com and wherever books are sold.

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Clayton Craddock is the drummer for Cats: The Jellicle Ball on Broadway at the Broadhurst Theatre. He is also the founder of Broadway Drumming 101 and the author of Broadway Bound and Beyond: A Musician’s Guide to Building a Theater Career.

His Broadway credits include Memphis, Lady Day at Emerson’s Bar and Grill, Ain’t Too Proud, and Cats: The Jellicle Ball, with additional credits spanning tick, tick…BOOM!, The Hippest Trip: The Soul Train Musical, and subbing on Rent, Motown, Evita, Avenue Q, and the Hadestown tour.

Clayton has appeared on The View, Good Morning America, The Tonight Show Starring Jimmy Fallon, The Today Show, and the Tony Awards. He has performed with artists ranging from Chuck Berry and Ben E. King to Kristin Chenoweth and Norm Lewis.

www.claytoncraddock.com

16 years. That’s how long it took me to get my first Broadway show.

I drove from DC to New York in 1993. Dreams of being a rock star. A drum kit and something that wasn’t really a plan.

Seven years later — my first Broadway tour. Eight years in — my first Off-Broadway show. Sixteen years after I crossed that bridge — Memphis: The Musical. My first Broadway chair.

And I wasn’t even actively chasing it. I was just doing the work, staying in the game, and building toward something I couldn’t fully see yet.

I thought I was behind the whole time.

I wasn’t behind. I was measuring myself against the wrong clock.

Here’s the part that humbles me: I know musicians who have been at this for decades and never gotten that call. Not because they weren’t good enough. But because this business doesn’t move on your timeline — and getting one show doesn’t guarantee the next one. After Memphis closed, I had to start over in ways I didn’t expect. The next chair didn’t just appear. It never does.

There’s a sequence to how Broadway careers get built. And it doesn’t start with a Broadway show.

It starts in places nobody is watching.

A regional theater in a city you’ve never heard of. A bus and truck tour where you’re living out of a suitcase and learning how a professional production actually runs. An Off-Broadway show where the budget is tight and everybody has to figure it out together. Sub gigs where you have maybe one rehearsal — sometimes none — and you better play it right.

That’s the training ground. That’s where the reputation gets built before anybody on Broadway knows your name.

But here’s something else nobody talks about: Broadway is not the music you should be focused on in your formative years.

Get out there and play everything. Jazz gigs. Rock bands. Latin music. Funk. Gospel. Wedding bands. Club dates. Churches. Bars. Theaters in other cities. Stages in other countries. Play in situations where nobody is telling you what to do and you have to figure it out on the spot.

Play music that ISN’T Broadway first.

My podcast guest Javier Diaz spoke to this directly.

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The musicians who show up to a pit truly prepared are the ones who have played all kinds of music in all kinds of styles in all kinds of venues in all kinds of states and countries. That’s what seasoning actually looks like. You can’t fake it and you can’t rush it.

If you’ve only ever played one kind of music, people can tell. If your entire résumé is theater, contractors notice. If you haven’t done the bad gigs — the ones that paid nothing, that went sideways, that taught you how to hold it together when everything around you is falling apart — you will be exposed the moment the pressure is real.

Those bad gigs aren’t obstacles. They’re the education.

And yet most young musicians skip all of it. They graduate from college, move to New York, and spend the first two years confused about why nothing is happening. They’re talented. They’re serious. But they’re knocking on a door that only opens from the other side — and the only way to get there is to go earn it somewhere else first.

Broadway doesn’t recruit. It selects. And it selects people who have already proven they can handle the pressure somewhere else first.

The calls don’t come because you’re good. They come because the right people have seen you be good — under real conditions, more than once, without anyone holding your hand.

That takes time. More time than you think. And the musicians who make it are almost never the ones who were in the biggest hurry.

My podcast guest Noah Hadland gets this. He called it exactly what it is: the long game. If you haven’t heard his episode yet, it’s worth your time.

Listen here:

Once I understood the sequence, I stopped chasing and started positioning. The calls started coming. 26 years later I’m in the pit at the Broadhurst Theatre eight shows a week.

That sequence is in the book.

Broadway Bound and Beyond → broadwayboundbook.com

—Clayton Craddock

P.S. I’m at the Broadhurst right now for Cats: The Jellicle Ball. Eight shows a week. That didn’t happen by accident.

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Clayton Craddock is the drummer for Cats: The Jellicle Ball on Broadway at the Broadhurst Theatre. He is also the founder of Broadway Drumming 101 and the author of Broadway Bound and Beyond: A Musician’s Guide to Building a Theater Career.

His Broadway credits include Memphis, Lady Day at Emerson’s Bar and Grill, Ain’t Too Proud, and Cats: The Jellicle Ball, with additional credits spanning tick, tick…BOOM!, The Hippest Trip: The Soul Train Musical, and subbing on Rent, Motown, Evita, Avenue Q, and the Hadestown tour.

Clayton has appeared on The View, Good Morning America, The Tonight Show Starring Jimmy Fallon, The Today Show, and the Tony Awards. He has performed with artists ranging from Chuck Berry and Ben E. King to Kristin Chenoweth and Norm Lewis.

www.claytoncraddock.com

There’s no audition for a Broadway pit. No cattle call. No application portal.

The hiring structure is invisible until you’re inside it. I spent over 26 years learning how it actually works: who gets the call, who doesn’t, and why talent is never the deciding factor.

Broadway isn’t a meritocracy. It’s a trust economy. Gigs go to the musician people already trust, not the one with the best resume.

I put the whole system into one roadmap: four steps, in order, covering how Broadway hiring actually works, how to become sub-ready, how to build the right network, and how to handle the business side most musicians ignore until it costs them.

It’s free. Download it below:

How To Land A Gig On Broadway

777KB ∙ PDF file

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A practical roadmap for breaking into Broadway pit orchestras. What actually gets you hired, and what doesn't.

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Broadway Is Not the Finish Line

A lot of musicians think of Broadway as the top achievement. You land the job, play eight shows a week, and picture yourself doing it for decades. It seems like the dream: steady work, respect, and proof that you’ve succeeded.

That’s the version people chase. Broadway becomes the validation, the mountaintop, the proof that you’ve arrived.

But after some time in the business, you realize something important. Broadway isn’t a retirement plan or a final goal. It’s just one part of a career that keeps moving forward, ready or not.

In my book Broadway Bound and Beyond, I talk about how Broadway is a business. Running a theater is expensive, and shows are like tenants. If the money doesn’t work out, the show closes, no matter how good the band is or how strong the reviews are. The numbers decide. Once you understand that, you stop tying your identity to one show and start thinking about building a lasting career.

So the real question isn’t just how to land a Broadway job. It’s how to build a career that keeps going after you get it.

When you finally get that chair, things change. You gain structure, routine, and respect. It feels stable, and in some ways it is. But experienced musicians know the chair doesn’t protect you—it just gives you a spot. If you treat it as protection, you play it safe and hold back. If you use it as a stepping stone, you grow from it.

The ecosystem that helped you get there is the same ecosystem that keeps you relevant once you’re in. Workshops, 29-hour readings, club dates, teaching, recording sessions, side projects. Those aren’t stepping stones you abandon once you get a show. They are the threads that keep you connected to the larger music world.

Look around most pits and you’ll see it in action. The guitarist next to you might be rehearsing a new piece during the day. The music director could be supervising another project. The percussionist may be tracking sessions from a home studio between shows. The people who last in this business stay active. They don’t disappear into the chair.

Many musicians believe that getting a Broadway job solves the problem of job instability. But that’s not necessarily true. Broadway offers steady work, but there’s always some risk. Every show ends at some point. The real test is whether you’ve stayed connected enough that, when your show closes, you’re already moving forward instead of starting from scratch.

Now let’s move from ideas to practical steps.

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I started out with the classic $100 gig. Like many young musicians hoping to play professionally in New York City, I accepted almost every offer when I first arrived. I was eager, curious, and trying to figure things out. Back then, it seemed normal. You played, met people, learned how to fit in, and gained experience.

The problem isn’t that those gigs used to exist. It’s that they’re still around at the same pay in the country’s most expensive city.

If you adjust for inflation, that $100 gig from the late 1990s would be about $300 today. Rent, food, and transportation have all gone up. Everything costs more now, except what many live music gigs pay. That’s worth thinking about.

Even so, I don’t think every low-paying gig is a mistake. Early in my career, I saw some of those jobs as a way to get paid to practice. I gained experience, learned to work with different people, read the room, follow leaders, and deal with situations you never see in a practice room. That’s valuable when you’re just starting out.

The important part is that it’s only true at a certain stage.

If you’re new to New York, eager to work, and trying to join the scene, you should probably play lots of different gigs. Wedding bands, jam sessions, club dates, readings—anything that gets you out of your apartment and into rooms with other musicians. That’s how you learn the city, start relationships, and figure out where you belong.

But this is when your perspective really matters.

In my book Broadway Bound and Beyond, I share something I call the “Rule of Three.” This simple approach has helped me avoid burnout, bad gigs, and extra stress.

Whenever I get a gig offer, I consider three things:

The Money
Does the pay make sense for the time, energy, and costs involved?

The People
Are the people respectful, professional, and easy to work with?

The Music
Is the music fulfilling, challenging, or does it fit with where I want to go?

If at least two of these aren’t solid, I usually say no.

When you’re starting out, it’s tempting to say yes to everything, especially if you want to get established or meet people. Sometimes that’s the right move. But not every opportunity is truly helpful. Some gigs seem good at first but end up draining your time, energy, and momentum.

Early on, the $100 gig often checks the people and music boxes. You’re learning. You’re meeting people. That can be enough for a while. The problem comes when years go by, and nothing changes. Same pay. Same expectations. Same math that no longer works.

If the pay is low, the environment is toxic, and the music doesn’t help you grow, that’s not a stepping stone. It’s a dead end.

At some point, you need to ask if a gig is still helping you or just keeping you stuck. Growing doesn’t mean forgetting your roots. It means knowing when a gig’s role in your life should change.

I’m not complaining. This is just how the business works. There are always more people looking for meaningful music work than there are good-paying gigs, so rates stay low. Passion alone can’t fix that, but being aware of it helps.

So here’s the real question, and I don’t mean this in a negative way: When will the $100 gig finally catch up to reality and become the $300 gig it should be today? And when does a low-paying opportunity stop being a stepping stone and start becoming a sign that it’s time to rethink your direction?

Until then, how do you figure out which opportunities are really moving you forward and which ones are just keeping you busy?

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Clayton Craddock is the drummer for the upcoming Broadway musical Cats: The Jellicle Ball, opening at the Broadhurst Theatre on April 7th. He is also the founder of Broadway Drumming 101 and the author of the forthcoming book Broadway Bound and Beyond: A Musician’s Guide to Building a Theater Career.

His Broadway and Off-Broadway credits include tick, tick…BOOM!, Memphis, Lady Day at Emerson’s Bar and Grill, Ain’t Too Proud, and The Hippest Trip: The Soul Train Musical, along with extensive subbing on shows such as Rent, Motown, Evita, Avenue Q, and the Hadestown tour.

Clayton has appeared on The View, Good Morning America, The Tonight Show Starring Jimmy Fallon, The Today Show, and the TONY Awards, and has performed with artists ranging from Chuck Berry and Ben E. King to Kristin Chenoweth and Norm Lewis.

www.claytoncraddock.com

Lately, I’ve had a bunch of people asking me how to land a drum chair on a first national tour of a Broadway show. It’s a great question—and it’s not as straightforward as you might think. So I figured it’s time to break it down and share what I’ve learned over the years, both from my own experience and conversations with drummers who’ve been doing it.

These gigs are competitive. They’re high-profile, pay well, and can be a major stepping stone to a Broadway chair or steady work in the theater world. But here’s the thing, there’s usually no job listing on Playbill. You don’t just send in a reel and get the call. These chairs usually go to people who are already in the mix—people who’ve proven themselves, built relationships, and are ready when the opportunity shows up.

In this post, I’d like to share what I know about: how to position yourself, how tour tiers actually work, how contractors make decisions, and how you can become the drummer they call when the seat opens up.

What Is a First National Tour?

A First National Tour is the first large-scale U.S. touring version of a Broadway show. It usually launches within a year or two of the opening in New York and plays major markets across the country: Chicago, L.A., San Francisco, D.C., Boston, Philly—you get the idea.

These aren’t scaled-down productions. They’re high-budget, union-backed, Broadway-quality shows, sometimes with the similar or even the same gear, sets, and orchestrations used in New York.

But not all tours are built the same. Let’s talk about the main types:

The Four Main Types of National Broadway Tours

What Musicians Actually Need to Know

If you’re thinking about touring, understand this upfront: not all “national tours” are the same.

From the outside, they can look identical. From a contractual and financial standpoint, they are very different worlds.

Here’s how the touring landscape actually breaks down.

1. Full Production – Pamphlet B Tours

These are the top-tier, full-production union tours. In practical terms, this is Broadway on the road.

They are covered under the Pamphlet B Touring Theatrical Musicals Agreement of the American Federation of Musicians (AFM), which covers musicians employed in touring theatrical musical productions and sets minimum wages, benefits, and working conditions.

In April 2024, touring musicians ratified a successor Pamphlet B and SET agreement, which runs through February 28, 2027 and includes wage increases, improved health and pension contributions, and expanded protections:

https://internationalmusician.org/new-pamphlet-b-agreement-ratified-by-musicians/

Under Pamphlet B, musicians receive:

• Guaranteed weekly minimum wages

• Per diem

• Employer-provided housing

• Transportation

• Health and welfare contributions

• Pension contributions

• Detailed rules governing rehearsals, travel days, doublers, cartage, and more

These tours feature full orchestration, union crews, and full production values.

Compensation is built around higher fixed weekly scale. According to TouringBroadwayMusicians, Full Production tours “receive higher weekly wages than SET” and “do not receive overages,” meaning the model is steady and predictable rather than box-office dependent.

FAQ:
https://touringbroadwaymusicians.com/faq

These gigs are widely viewed as career-defining. Solid pay, union protections, pension and health contributions, and a more stable structure.

Important note: the contract defines the tour, not the city. A long sit-down in Chicago or Los Angeles does not automatically mean Full Production. It depends on how the show is contracted.

Touring agreements are renegotiated periodically, so musicians should always confirm current terms directly with the AFM or the applicable local.

2. Short Engagement Touring (SET) – Tiered Pamphlet B

SET tours are also union. They fall under the Short Engagement Touring Theatrical Musicals Agreement, included within the broader Pamphlet B framework.

SET tours differ in several key ways:

• Lower base salary than Full Production

• Still fully union

• Per diem, housing, travel, health, and pension included

• Heavier routing, more split weeks, shorter stays

Where SET gets interesting is overages.

TouringBroadwayMusicians explains that musicians on SET tours “receive a lower base salary than full production tours, but share in the profits of the show through overages.”

FAQ:
https://touringbroadwaymusicians.com/faq

Overages are additional payments triggered when weekly grosses exceed certain thresholds. When a show is strong at the box office, overages can significantly increase weekly pay. When it is not, you are working at base scale.

Because of the economic structure, orchestration and scale may differ from Full Production tours. Routing is often more aggressive. But it remains a fully union contract with meaningful protections.

3. Non-Union or Bus-and-Truck Tours

These tours are not covered by AFM contracts.

That means:

• No AFM-guaranteed minimum wages

• No union health contributions

• No union pension contributions

• No union contractual protections governing rehearsal, travel, and working conditions

The AFM has written directly about the impact of non-union touring:

https://internationalmusician.org/non-union-touring-shows-weaken-us-all/

In practice, these tours often involve:

• One-nighters or split weeks

• Heavy travel

• Long bus days

• Quick load-ins and load-outs

• More doubling responsibilities

A drummer might be covering drum set, auxiliary percussion, and playback. Housing may be shared or budget-level. Per diem can be limited or folded into a flat weekly salary.

Many early-career musicians cut their teeth here. It can be a proving ground. You learn discipline quickly.

The key difference is contractual protection. Union tours build structure into the agreement. Non-union tours rely on whatever the producer chooses to provide.

4. Promo, Hybrid, and Short-Run Tours

Some projects do not fit neatly into the national tour model.

These can include:

• Short promotional tours tied to an upcoming Broadway production

• Limited out-of-town engagements

• Developmental runs

• Hybrid nonprofit and commercial models

If they are union, they fall under whichever AFM agreement applies to the producer and venue. That might be Pamphlet B, SET, a local theatrical agreement, or another AFM live-performance contract.

If they are not union, terms are negotiated case by case.

Pay, housing, and per diem can vary widely. There is no single standardized touring scale in these situations.

For musicians, these gigs can be strategic. You might get involved early in a project’s life. You might build relationships with creatives and contractors before a show transfers to Broadway or launches a major tour.

They are not always stable long-term, but they can be smart career moves.

The Reality Behind the Contracts

Contracts explain pay structure. They do not explain lifestyle.

Full Production may offer stability.
SET may offer financial upside through overages.
Non-union may offer opportunity and grind.
Hybrid projects may offer access and positioning.

All of them require stamina.

Before you say yes to a tour, ask:

• What agreement is this under?

• Is there overage participation?

• What is the routing like?

• What are the housing terms?

• How many doublings are required?

Touring can change your life. It can also burn you out.

Know what you’re walking into.

For more, read this: https://touringbroadwaymusicians.com/faq?utm_source=chatgpt.com

I cut my teeth on the bus-and-truck tour of Footloose back in 2000. It wasn’t glamorous, but it taught me how to survive the road and be consistent every night. We were doing six shows in five cities, loading in and out constantly, and dealing with tight quarters and tighter budgets. I learned how to adapt fast, travel light, and still make the music feel good, night after night.

Fast-forward to 2024. I got the chance to sub on the first national tour of Hadestown. That was a different world. The tour ran under a Modified Pamphlet B agreement. It was still a union contract with solid protections, but not quite at the full Set Tour level. These Modified Pamphlet B tours follow a tiered structure, with musicians paid based on how well the show performs at the box office.

And Hadestown was doing really well. REALLY well.

Because it consistently pulled in strong grosses, the tour paid overages. That is extra money added on top of the base salary once the show hit a certain revenue threshold. That’s one of the major benefits of being on a successful union tour: when the show wins, you win. Those overages made a noticeable difference.

If you want to know what that experience was really like—including the moment I realized I’d be sight-reading most of the show in front of 3,000 people—you can read the full story here:

It’s a wild ride, and I learned a lot from it.

Something To Think About: Start with Your Peers.

Before I go further, let’s talk about something that gets overlooked way too often: your peer group.

If you want to land a national tour, Broadway gig, or even a high-level workshop, the truth is: your colleagues are the ones who will open those doors. Not just contractors. Not casting notices. Not a flashy reel. The people on your level, your fellow players, will recommend you, vouch for you, and put your name in the room when you’re not there.

That’s how it’s always worked for me.

I met Kenny Seymour back in 2009 when he was the music director for Memphis The Musical. We’ve been working together ever since. We’ve built trust over years of gigs, rehearsals, and making music together. That relationship is the reason I’ve been called for countless opportunities since. It’s the same thing with Jason Robert Brown and Jamie Eblen. Jamie’s been playing with JRB forever. Jason trusts him. Kenny trusts me. That connection leads to gigs.

Here’s how this works in the real world: you’re on a pickup gig or a regional show, and the music director ends up booking a reading, then a workshop, and then…boom! The show goes to Broadway or out on tour. Who do they call? The drummer they already know can play. That’s your way in.

So if you’re serious about touring, start building trust with the people you’re playing with right now. You never know who’s going to get the next call, and who they’ll call next.

Want to hear a great story about this in action? Listen to my Broadway Drumming 101 episode with Ron Tierno, where he talks about getting his first tour chair and how those relationships paved the way.

Getting the Chair: What Really Matters

Now that you know the types of tours out there and what to expect, let’s talk about how people actually get hired.

Build Real Relationships With Contractors

Contractors are the gatekeepers. They staff Broadway pits, readings, labs, workshops, and tours. They’re trusted by producers to hire the right musicians.

What they look for:

• Musicians who are prepared and professional

• Clear and quick communicators

• People who bring good energy and no drama

• Players who make the MD’s job easier

How do you get their attention? Sub for someone they’ve hired and do an excellent job. Show up early. Be easy to work with. Play well and stay out of the way when it’s time to.

Sub Early While the Show’s Still New

If you want to be in the running for a tour, the best time to sub is during the first few months of the Broadway run. That’s when the creative team is still refining things. If you prove yourself then, you become part of the circle. When the tour launches, they’ll already know you can play the show.

That’s how Q. Robinson got the chair for the Ain’t Too Proud tour. He subbed for me on Broadway, nailed it, and when they were hiring for the road, he was already the obvious choice.

Let People Know You’re Interested

This is simple but important. Don’t assume anyone knows you want the gig. Just say it.

“Hey, I’ve really enjoyed playing this show. If a tour comes up, I’d love to be considered.”

That’s it. You’re not begging. You’re being clear. Quiet professionalism is fine, but silence doesn’t help you get hired.

Be Road-Ready in Every Way

Touring isn’t just about the music. It’s about the gear, the travel, the people, and the business.

Know your equipment. Be ready to adapt to the backline or whatever “or equivalent” gear they may provide. Be the kind of person others want to share a van or green room with. Have your business structure in place—most tours run through payroll companies or want to pay through your corporation. I use Broadway Drumming 101 Inc. and highly recommend you think about setting up your own if you're serious about working at this level.

Final Thoughts

There’s no perfect formula for landing a tour chair. But the best shot you’ve got is by:

• Knowing your peer group

• Building real trust with contractors and MDs

• Subbing early on the Broadway version of the show

• Expressing your interest clearly

• Showing up with the skills, attitude, and gear to deliver every night

This business runs on relationships. One solid connection can open the next ten doors. That’s how Q. Robinson made it happen. That’s how I’ve made it happen. And that’s how you can do it too.

Want to go deeper?

Check out the Broadway Drumming 101 Podcast and listen to the Paul Hannah episode. He wrote a whole book on being on tour as a show drummer. It’s real-world education, from someone who’s been there:

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Clayton Craddock is the drummer for the upcoming Broadway musical Cats: The Jellicle Ball, opening at the Broadhurst Theatre on April 7th. He is also the founder of Broadway Drumming 101 and the author of the forthcoming book Broadway Bound and Beyond: A Musician’s Guide to Building a Theater Career.

His Broadway and Off-Broadway credits include tick, tick…BOOM!, Memphis, Lady Day at Emerson’s Bar and Grill, Ain’t Too Proud, and The Hippest Trip: The Soul Train Musical, along with extensive subbing on shows such as Rent, Motown, Evita, Avenue Q, and the Hadestown tour.

Clayton has appeared on The View, Good Morning America, The Tonight Show Starring Jimmy Fallon, The Today Show, and the TONY Awards, and has performed with artists ranging from Chuck Berry and Ben E. King to Kristin Chenoweth and Norm Lewis.

www.claytoncraddock.com

I recently spoke with someone who was preparing to move to New York. Instead of asking about auditions or landing a Broadway job, he asked a much simpler—and honestly, more important—question.

“Where do I go to hang out and meet people?”

His question reminded me of my own experience back in 1993.

When I moved to New York City, I didn’t have a detailed plan. I just wanted to be a rock star, or at least make a living as a full-time drummer. I worked a day job and lived in New Jersey for a while. Gas was about a dollar a gallon, and I’d pay what felt like a lot at the time—four dollars—to drive into Manhattan through the Holland Tunnel.

I spent my days at work, then drove into the city, hung out until two in the morning, and repeated it the next day. It wasn’t glamorous—just repetitive and tiring—but it was exactly what I needed, and it was exciting!

I wasn’t thinking, “This will get me to Broadway.” I didn’t have a set career plan. I did it because that’s where the music and people were. I played all kinds of gigs, in different places, with all sorts of musicians. I hung out, said yes often, watched more than I talked, listened, and kept showing up.

That’s how you really build a network.

One Friday night gig at a Ramada Inn introduced me to guitarist Matt Beck. At the time, he was playing Broadway shows but also doing the same gigs I was. He liked my playing and later recommended me for the Footloose tour, then tick, tick…BOOM!, Rent, subbing, Altar Boyz, and eventually, I got my own Broadway chairs through the work I did, and met other musicians on the scene. None of this was planned or happened because I waited at home for the “right” opportunity.

That same approach also led me far beyond theater.

Showing up led me to gigs with Chuck Berry, Ben E. King, The Stylistics, Deniece Williams, Laura Benanti, Ari Hest, and The Rock Orchestra. These were all different worlds and styles, but I used the same approach each time. One hangout led to a call, one gig to another. It wasn’t magic. It was about being present, building trust, and being patient.

Sometimes, “showing up” didn’t even mean performing on stage.

I remember practicing alone in a rehearsal studio one day, playing along to Barry White’s Playing Your Game, Baby. If you know that song, you know how great it feels to play. If you play it well, people notice. And if you play it like Ed Greene did, people really notice.

During a break, another drummer knocked on my door and complimented my feel and groove. That started a conversation, which turned into a connection. Years later, that connection led to gigs. I wasn’t trying to impress anyone or create content. I was just doing the work, not knowing who might be listening.

That’s something people often overlook now. Rehearsal studios aren’t just for practice. They’re places where others can overhear you and notice how you play when you think no one is watching. Musicians also hang out there too! Quiet professionalism in those moments says more than any highlight reel.

The city has changed. The scene has changed. The economics have definitely changed. But the main truth remains the same.

If you want to work in this business, you need to get out into the world. You have to be around people and be part of something real, not just something visible online.

So if you’re moving to NYC, or if you’ve been here for a while and feel stuck, here’s a practical list of places where musicians actually go to hang out, play, and meet other musicians.

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Before I share the list, there’s one important thing I want to clarify.

This list isn’t complete. I’m sure I’ve missed some places. I don’t go out as much as I used to, so there are spots I don’t know, places that opened after my main years of hanging out, and some I just haven’t visited yet. Some of these I’ve played in often, some I know well, and a lot of them are new to me.

What I do know is this: if you’re young, eager, and serious about becoming a full-time musician in New York, you should know about all of these places.

This is your training ground. This is where you put in your hours. This is where you go from being a rookie to someone people recognize, from the minor leagues to the majors. No single place will hand you a career, but these are the rooms where you learn how to work with people in real situations.

You don’t become a Broadway musician by waiting for Broadway. You get there by playing, hanging out, listening, and showing up again and again in places like these.

Manhattan

• Smalls

• Mezzrow

• Village Vanguard

• Blue Note

• Birdland Jazz Club

• Dizzy’s Club (Jazz at Lincoln Center)

• The Bitter End

• Arthur’s Tavern

• Terra Blues

• The Red Lion

• Groove

• Haswell Green’s

• The Rum House

• The Cutting Room

• The Bowery Electric

• The Flatiron Room NoMad

• Madame George

• Prohibition

• Shrine

• Harlem Nights

• No Work Allowed

Brooklyn

• Brooklyn Steel

• Brooklyn Paramount

• Music Hall of Williamsburg

• National Sawdust

• Elsewhere

• Public Records

• Warsaw

• Brooklyn Bowl

• LunÀtico

• Barbès

• Brooklyn Music Kitchen

• St. Mazie Bar & Supper Club

• The Owl Music Parlor

• Baby’s All Right

• Ornithology Jazz Club

• The Red Pavilion

• ShapeShifter Lab

• Pete’s Candy Store

• BrownstoneJAZZ

Queens

• Queens

  • Terraza 7

  • The LetLove Inn

  • TV Eye

  • D’Antigua Restaurant & Bar

  • Favela Grill Steakhouse

  • Bloom Botanical Bistro

  • Jackson Room

None of these places can promise you a spot on Broadway, but that isn’t the main idea here. What truly matters is getting noticed, meeting people, and sticking around long enough to build trust and your network. That’s how it worked for me when I first came to New York City in 1993, and it still works today. The venues, people, and cost of living may have changed, but the approach and long-term results are the same.

I want to mention one more thing.

Posting on Instagram is helpful and can get you noticed. But meeting people in person is much more valuable. I’ve seen musicians share perfect, polished videos online, but then have a hard time during a real performance. It’s not because they aren’t talented. It’s just that who they are online isn’t always the same as who they are when playing with others in person.

This business still depends on trust, listening, how you respond and communicate, and how you deal with problems as they come up. You can’t learn that from a highlight reel. You pick it up by spending time with others, hanging out, playing together, and putting in the work over time.

Social media is useful, but the real progress happens when you show up in person.

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If you think this list needs changes or additions, leave a comment. Let’s keep it up to date and helpful for anyone trying to figure out where to go next.

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Clayton Craddock is the drummer for the upcoming Broadway musical Cats: The Jellicle Ball, opening at the Broadhurst Theatre on April 7th. He is also the founder of Broadway Drumming 101 and the author of the forthcoming book Broadway Bound and Beyond: A Musician’s Guide to Building a Theater Career.

His Broadway and Off-Broadway credits include tick, tick…BOOM!, Memphis, Lady Day at Emerson’s Bar and Grill, Ain’t Too Proud, and The Hippest Trip: The Soul Train Musical, along with extensive subbing on shows such as Rent, Motown, Evita, Avenue Q, and the Hadestown tour.

Clayton has appeared on The View, Good Morning America, The Tonight Show Starring Jimmy Fallon, The Today Show, and the TONY Awards, and has performed with artists ranging from Chuck Berry and Ben E. King to Kristin Chenoweth and Norm Lewis.

www.claytoncraddock.com