If you're looking to break into Broadway, one of the smartest strategies isn't about focusing on your performance skills, sight-reading ability, or even the quality of your email when asking to sit in the pit. It also doesn't hinge on how well you network or your punctuality. Those are the basics. They're expected. They get your foot in the door, but they don't decide whether you get the call when a chairholder on a Broadway musical suddenly can't make the show.
There is one other issue that many haven't even considered, and it's something people rarely mention. It isn't glamorous, and it isn't even musical, but it can shape your chances more than anything else. It's where you live.
Musicians arrive in New York believing that chops and hustle are all it takes. They think that by practicing enough and meeting the right people, opportunities will naturally appear. But geography is part of the hustle, too. If you're two hours away from the theater district when someone needs a player in a Broadway pit in thirty minutes, you're not even in the running.
Here's what you need to know.
New York is expensive. That's the reality. But part of the price of admission is being close enough to Midtown to make it count. If you're living in Astoria, Williamsburg, or Brooklyn Heights, you can hop on a train and be in Manhattan in under thirty minutes. The same applies to DUMBO, Downtown Brooklyn, Greenpoint, Fort Greene, or even Park Slope, if you know the train lines and timing.
These neighborhoods aren't cheap, but they put you close enough that when the phone rings, you can say yes without hesitation. Harlem and Washington Heights work too, and I used to live in Inwood, where I could still be at the theater in twenty minutes when the trains ran on time. The point is that proximity matters.
Contractors and chairholders care about one thing above all else: reliability. If a pit musician can't make it because they're sick, stuck in traffic, or caught in transit, the person who gets the call is the one who can actually get to the theater on time. Living in lower Manhattan, Astoria, or Brooklyn neighborhoods just over the bridges gives you a huge advantage. Williamsburg, Clinton Hill, Fort Greene, and even Bed-Stuy or Brownsville are filled with musicians for that very reason.
If you have a car, you can be in Midtown quickly, without worrying about whether you'll need to drive to a train station, hope the LIRR or Metro-North schedule lines up, or gamble on a delayed New Jersey Transit train. While someone commuting from Morristown, NJ, Stamford, CT, or Plainview on Long Island is still trying to make their connection, you're already walking into the pit ready to play.
Yes, there are exceptions. I know a few veterans who live out in Connecticut or New Jersey and still get calls. Some of them have even been guests on my podcast. They know their limitations, and they're not the ones running around town covering multiple shows in a week. They don't have to. They've built reputations and careers that keep them in the loop. But if you're starting out, you don't have that cushion. You need to be close enough to swoop in at the last minute and keep the show on track.
That's exactly what happened to me in the summer of 2024.
Finding My Way Down To 'Hadestown'
A few weeks ago, one of my colleagues recommended me for a musical being produced and revived this summer. He introduced me to the contractor and music director of the show, and I had a few meetings with them to discuss the show's details. A few days after one of the meetings, David, the contractor, surprised me with an unexpected request. He asked me t…
I had just finished subbing on the Hadestown national tour, covering for the drummer who had injured himself. I was back in New York working on a workshop for The Hippest Trip: The Soul Train Musical. A few days earlier, one of my close friends had been in a terrible car accident. He almost lost his life, so when I was driving home, I saw him and picked him up to chat. We were sitting in my car parked on the side of the road near the Javitz Center on 34th in Midtown. My full attention was on him, and I wasn't thinking about anything else. My phone started lighting up with calls and texts, but I ignored them because my concentration was on him, not anyone trying to reach me.
After a series of messages buzzing through in a matter of minutes, I finally picked up. On the other end was the music coordinator for Hadestown, and his first words were, "How close are you to the Walter Kerr Theatre, and how soon can you get here?" Mind you, this was 7:10 PM. The show was supposed to start at 7 PM, but due to the scramble, they had already delayed the curtain. By 7:12 PM, I was on my way, and by around 7:20, I was pulling into the lot right next to the theater.
There had been a mix-up with the sub who was supposed to play that night, and the Broadway show had already started without a drummer. The in-house contractor had gone through the list of subs who had played the show before, but nobody was in town. That's when he reached out to music coordinator David Lai. David had hired me to sub on the tour, so I can only assume I was the first person he thought of. I had just gotten off the road, and I was in the city.
I had never played Hadestown on Broadway before. I had no idea what was waiting for me in that booth. But I had my sticks in the car, I had my iPad loaded with the tour music, and I was only minutes away. That was enough. I rushed inside, and the stage manager met me at the door. He hustled me through the theater as the show was already in progress. I could hear the music thumping from the stage above as we climbed the stairs toward the drum booth.
The band was in the middle of "Livin' It Up on Top." Near the end of the number, there's a short break where Orpheus stomps his feet four times to cue the band to come back in and finish the song. That was the exact moment I got settled behind the kit. I came in right with the band on that downbeat. The dancers and musicians all turned their heads because suddenly there were drums in the mix. Nobody expected it, and the whole theater lit up with the kind of energy only live drums can bring.
By the time the curtain fell on Act One, I climbed down from the booth, and the cast was cheering because the show had been saved. It was overwhelming. Meanwhile, I was panicking for a different reason. I hadn't expected to be thrown into the fire like that, and I needed to find a restroom before I passed out. The whole thing was nerve-racking, hilarious in hindsight, and unforgettable.
Being in that booth on Broadway was its own challenge. Ben Perowsky's setup on Broadway wasn't the same as what I had played on the tour. Things were in different places, it was pitch dark, and the sound in my Aviom was unlike anything I had heard on the road. Nothing felt familiar. But that is part of what it means to sub. You get thrown into situations you can't prepare for, and you either find a way through or you don't. That night, I did.
Stories like this are why in-house contractors care so much about where subs live. When I was playing Ain't Too Proud, the contractor asked me for a list of my subs. Not just their names and numbers, but also their proximity to the theater in miles. That proximity was used to rank them. If something happened to me and I couldn't make it, the order of the calls depended on who could physically get there the fastest. You can be the greatest player in the world, but if you're two hours away, your chances shrink.
So if you want to make Broadway part of your life, think carefully about where you live. You don't move to New York to play country music. That's Nashville. People come here for jazz, theater, and Broadway. But if you're stuck spending hours every day just trying to get in and out of the city, you're setting yourself up to miss the very opportunities you came here for. You want to be close to the action because the closer you are to the action, the more likely you are to get the call.
This is just one of the many lessons I share in Broadway Bound and Beyond: A Musician's Guide to Building a Theater Career. The book goes deeper into the mindset, the skills, and the strategies that matter if you want to turn your talent into a sustainable Broadway career.
And if you want a head start right now, I created a free resource called 20 Questions Every Musician Should Ask Before Saying Yes to Any Gig.
It's a checklist I wish I had when I was starting out, because it forces you to think about the things that can make or break a job — everything from pay and rehearsal schedules to contracts, gear, and expectations.
You can download it for free by signing up at www.broadwayboundbook.com. Here's the direct link: broadwayboundbook.com/book-launch-checklist.
Your career isn't just about playing well. It's about understanding the business, making wise choices, and being ready when the moment comes. Where you live, how you prepare, and the questions you ask before you say yes all matter. The more you understand that, the more you set yourself up not just to break into Broadway, but to thrive once you get there.