Jim Wilt joined the Los Angeles Philharmonic as Associate Principal Trumpet in 2003.
Since the start of the pandemic, he has been producing daily etude videos in a series he calls, “From the Safety of My Practice Room.” We chatted recently about these videos, his incredible career, his philosophies on teaching and playing, injuries, how the “Mr. Clean” name started, and so much more.
I always find these intros to be the most difficult part of the interview process — particularly if I know the interviewee — so I’ll just say this: Jim is one of my favorite musicians and teachers. There is a special and deliberate care he gives to everything — to every note he plays, to every comment he delivers in a lesson — and I’m very grateful that he agreed to share some of that here.
Please enjoy.
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How did you first start playing?
I grew up in Detroit and started playing when I was nine. I actually took to it pretty quickly. I inherited a good ear from my mom who got that from her mom. My grandparents played in Vaudeville — in the old silent movie houses. When the “talkies” came out, that put them out of business, so they were a little soured on the whole thing and did not give my mother lessons. She played piano but she taught herself to play entirely by ear. I don't think they were crazy about my career path until I started to get some work. My mom was completely supportive the whole time.
Is it true that you didn't read music for the first two or so years?
I could read notes but I couldn’t really read rhythms. My mom would play the piano and we would play jingles or TV themes — but all basically by ear. To this day, I'm pretty good at playing by ear, so that was helpful.
How did you decide where to go to college?
I didn't think I was going to be a musician until maybe 10th grade or so. I was at a music camp at Blue Lake and the instructor there made this offhand comment like, “Of course you guys are going to go into music!”
It never even occurred to me up to that point. I thought I was going to be a scientist or an engineer — I like blowing stuff up — but then I started thinking, “Maybe I should look into this.”
I applied to Cincinnati, Northwestern, and Eastman, and I got into all three. Cincinnati offered a full ride and, coming from a blue-collar family, it was the right economic choice. It turned out to be an excellent school, particularly at that time. A lot of the Cincinnati Symphony players were adjunct faculty there and I had a great teacher — Eugene Blee.
I also had the opportunity to sub with the CSO quite a bit which made an enormous impact on my playing and my future, just to hear those guys play at that level on stage. I ended up going to Eastman for grad school and got some of that “Chicago School” teaching from Charlie Geyer.
What was your first job?
My first job was actually Dayton, which I won between my junior and senior years of college. That pretty much paid for my living expenses from that point on. Shortly after, I went to Rochester. I started playing extra with them and then won the audition for third in the RPO in the spring of ‘85. I played with them for about half a year and then won a job in Denver. I think that was actually the day that the Challenger blew up — January 29th, 1986. A month later, I was packed up and living in Denver. I did not finish my masters degree until about 30 years later — when my son was at Eastman.
What was that like? How much of your degree did you have left to finish?
I had four hours of electives to finish. We worked out a deal. I transferred some credits that I had taken from a different university after I left Eastman. I also came in and taught some master classes and lessons and showed them a portfolio of the work I had done throughout my career. It feels more like an honorary degree — but I earned most of it!
You won Dayton pretty young. Were you pretty solid with auditions right off the bat?
Yeah, that was the first one I took and the first one I won. I was thinking, “Damn, I wish this was the Boston Symphony! How many of these do I have in me?”
The second audition I took was Columbus Symphony. I played just okay in the prelims and advanced, then played better in the next round and didn’t advance to finals.
The third audition was Houston Symphony, which I made finals for.
The following week, I won Rochester.
Then, in January, there was an audition for a one-year in Philadelphia and I bombed that, haha.
And the following week, I won the job in Denver.
My audition success kind of took a little hiatus when I got to Denver and then I got injured. I took an audition for the New York Phil during this time and just bombed.
How did you get injured?
When I was in Denver, I had a little chop issue. I was practicing reading through etudes without stopping, but I wasn't fixing the little cracks as they were happening. Some bad habits crept into my playing.
The orchestra was on the brink of going out of business too. Mentally trying to put together an audition in the midst of all that was, I’m sure, tied to that bomb in New York.
A couple of weeks later though, I won the Houston job. It was on an iffy face. I was able to play the job, but I knew that I was on borrowed time. It just didn't feel secure.
I had a lesson with Charlie Geyer around this time and he said, “In the space of five minutes, you’ve played more off-center notes than you did in the year and a half at Eastman.”
I was just hitting the notes — but really not centered. We did some mouthpiece buzzing — which we never did at Eastman — to just remind the embouchure that what it needed to do was in partnership between the air and the face. That really sent me down the road to recovery.
When did you audition again for the New York Phil?
I didn't take another audition once I was in Houston for about five years. I hate admitting this because I tell students to never do this, but I was going to take this audition in New York just to better my chances in negotiating my personal contract. I just wanted to make the finals and tell them, “Hey, look, you’ve got somebody who's making the finals in New York — you need to bump up my pay.”
It sounds weird and I don’t like to brag but, during the semifinal round, the committee actually applauded behind the screen. Warren Deck was the proctor, and he goes, “They never do that.” I went into this thinking I wouldn’t take the job but then it kind of shifted my whole focus — maybe I should take this a little bit more seriously.
There were two auditions going on at the same time, and I had applied to both. One was for associate principal trumpet and one was for fourth. The finals were a month after the prelims/semis.
I was the last guy standing for the associate job but, for a number of reasons, I did not play very well. They wanted me to come back in a week with a different trumpet, sit in the orchestra, and do a little trial. The next day was the audition for fourth and I actually won that. So they said, “We changed our mind. We're going to have an invitational audition for associate in the fall. You'll be invited, of course, and we want you to play a Bach trumpet.”
Anyway, I didn't win that — Bob Sullivan did. It's funny, we beat each other for our jobs — but he won the better job and his paid a hell of a lot more than mine did.
It’s probably good that it worked out the way it did because I wasn't ready to play Associate Principal in the New York Philharmonic. There were still a lot of things I had to line up in my playing. Things worked out the way they were supposed to.
So you stayed there for a bit on fourth?
Yes, I was fourth trumpet. Although when I got there, the second player, Vince Penzarella, was out sick. He was out probably half the time I was there so I was acting second a lot. I loved that. It was just really, really fun and inspiring sitting next to Phil Smith on a daily basis.
When Vince came back, I went back to playing fourth and playing second on the little overtures and piano concertos — hiding in the weeds, basically. It was a really tough decision, but when it came down to it, I thought if I stayed in that position, trying so hard not to be heard, that I would lose the ability and the confidence to do something like the 1911 version of Petrushka. Fourth trumpet’s got to play a high C. If I haven't played one on stage in three years, I don't want to be that guy going “Oh, please don't miss that note.” So I thought the best thing was to get back into a situation where I had regular heat on me. I know I will atrophy otherwise — mentally and physically — which is what this whole etude project is about.
That’s why I decided to go back to Houston. It was the right choice. It was very hard to walk away from the NY Phil and those colleagues. Even though I was only there for a year and a half, it was really, really important for my development. While I was there, I also studied with another guy named Ed Treutel who provided another piece of the puzzle of how I approach the instrument.
How long were you in Houston after that? When did you move to Los Angeles?
I was in Houston for another eight or nine years after that. I thought it was going to stay there for the rest of my career, but the orchestra started having money problems.
LA had had an audition and they didn't hire anybody. A guy that had played in Houston with me, called me and said, “Hey, you know, we just had this audition here and we didn’t hire anybody. There’s going to be another audition, are you interested?” And I'm like, “No, I don't think so. I really like it here.” Things hadn't gotten that bad yet, so I hung up the phone and my wife said, “Call back and tell them you're interested.” So I called him back and said, “My wife says I'm apparently interested.”
We were facing a strike going into this audition so I really couldn't afford to take a week off prior to this thing. I played a Monday night concert, got up very early Tuesday morning, and warmed up in the Houston airport parking garage because I had no idea how much time I was going to have once I got to LA.
On the flight, I was reading the Houston Chronicle, where I saw this editorial that was lambasting the musicians for being so greedy. The labor things were starting to spill out in the press and he was saying, “You guys are overpaid and you're spoiled.” I was seething by the time I got off that plane. I'd already known this about myself that I can’t be angry and nervous simultaneously, so I used this guy's editorial to just kind of pump me up.
When I got to the hall, I had about two hours before I played. I could hear guys all around me warming up and hitting excerpts. Everybody's sounding great and I'm like, “Okay, I've been here before… put the horn in the case. I'm already warmed up because I did that back in Houston. I'm gonna wait and just let them come down to me.” They just wore themselves out. They were testing, testing, testing, testing, and they lost most of it in the warm-up room.
I actually set an alarm and took a nap. Then I touched a few things very slowly, not at tempo, just to make sure that it was confidence inspiring. I wouldn't take anything anywhere near fast, just to make sure I didn’t miss anything. I didn't want that as the last thing in my ear before going on stage. Then I put it away.
I've got this little routine where I stick a cup mute in the horn and just start playing arpeggios at forte-fortissimo, and so I did that when I was about five minutes from going on stage. It’s stretching a little bit into the upper register, but pretty loud and pretty aggressive to really engage, so I’ve got all that resistance to blow against and it really gets the blood going in my chops. Oddly enough, it helps with my soft playing as well because everything's activated.
I went out there behind the screen for the semi-finals and it was alright. I was rusty. It had been a while since I had taken an audition. It could have gone either way. Luckily, I was advanced to the finals and, by that point, I was like, “Okay, it's go time.”
I knew that they were at least interested in what I had to say. I don't think I was nervous at all. Everything went just about exactly the way I wanted to play it.
I think the audition was in August or September, and I came back in December and played two different programs — Midsummer Night's Dream, a Beethoven Piano Concerto, and Firebird.
Then things got dark in Houston and we went on strike. In order to make sure that my family’s health insurance continued, I called up LA and said, “Hey, are you ready for me to start?” They said, “Sure, come on out.” So I got in the car and, as I was driving out to California, I got this phone call that they settled the strike in Houston. I said, “That's great! I'm on my way to LA — see ya!”
I never played another concert with Houston. I went to LA with a mindset that this time I wasn't going to give myself an out. We actually bought a house right away — which is something you usually don't do. I was all in though and it all worked out.
What would you describe as the fundamental tenets of your teaching?
The people I have taught will probably all roll their eyes when you ask that question because most of what I talk about in their lessons is about line, making sure they're not pulsing the stuff that they play, that they're connecting notes, and that there's a sense of direction.
That's not to say that it's all air. I’m not one of these guys that’s all song and wind. The embouchure is involved too, but the more support I have, the less chewing I have to do getting from note to note. It just makes for a more stable platform for me.
Lately, I've also gotten into thinking about a little bit more efficient of an aperture — just starting with a smaller set, so that I always feel like I've got something to lean against when I’m playing.
The other thing is really trying to make sure that every note is marketable, although I hate to put it in those terms. The analogy I use is an old reel-to-reel tape machine:
Let's say you're recording yourself and then you stop it. Then you just rewind it, not listening to it, and then whatever is between these two cuts, that's your audition. You have no idea what it is — it could be a beautiful whole note or it could be a 16th note. They both have to have the same quality. It's a really tough standard to hold yourself to. That is not to say that you shouldn’t make mistakes. Hopefully, if the mechanics are working, then you're not focused on that part of it. The goal is that every note is a pearl. There aren't any throwaway notes — they're all important.
From your experience on the “other side of the screen” and as a teacher, what do you hear that is most often neglected by candidates or students?
There are certain things that we call “table stakes” that you have to show up with to even be considered. You have to be accurate. You've heard people say notes aren’t everything — true to a certain extent but not a license to miss notes. Committees get alarmed when you follow a missed note with a series of missed notes. If you sprinkle a couple of little clams throughout an audition, that's fine. I've never played a perfect audition. I would actually like to hear somebody miss something just to see how they react to that — because these guys are going to miss notes in their career and I don't want them completely losing it if that happens.
Time and rhythm are objective. It should be pretty close to what's on the page. If you're going to deviate from that, it better be obvious that you're doing it consciously and willfully, not because you have bad time or rhythm, and only do it when it's appropriate.
Sound has got to be good. What's the definition of a good sound? It's in tune with itself, it's resonant, and it sounds like there's an ease to it. That doesn't mean that everything you play should sound like it's easy — if the music has struggling in it, then we should hear that. The opening of Mahler 5 shouldn't sound easy and pretty — it's got to have that struggle in it. The best players do it right down the middle of the horn where everything really rings.
There are certain traits that all good sounds have. I try not to second guess what the section wants me to sound like, because I have played in really disparate sections that sound very different and somehow managed to find a way to fit in them. I wouldn't spend too much time trying to tailor sound for a specific orchestra — just make a good sound for you.
My playing has obviously evolved over time, but I've also learned to accept that I sound like me. I could change a few things, but if I try to really play like somebody else and not be true to myself, I'm going to set myself up for catastrophic failure.
You need to have a knowledge of the excerpt. You need to know what the tempos are, the transitions, if there's any rubato, and the context. We hear this all the time, but you can tell if somebody’s played this excerpt in an orchestra. There are certain things they do that let the committee know and hear the parts around it.
Believe it or not, the committee really is pulling for you until you've demonstrated that you don't belong there. They're pulling for everybody, but they're waiting for one person to say “Hey, I'm the one!”They'll forgive little imperfections here and there as long as you play confidently, assertively, and in a compelling manner. They can smell it on you when it sounds like you know what you’re doing. They want somebody they can plug directly into the section, not somebody they are going to have to train for a year to get them up to speed. They want somebody that sounds like they’ve been playing in the orchestra for ten years already.
How do you deal with nerves and performance setting? Has that been an issue for you?
Actually, I'm more nervous about lack of concentration and about getting a little flighty. The older I get, the more of an issue that is. Staying focused throughout a solo — it might start great and then you start to be like the horse that sees the barn and just wants to get that barn. Your body knows, “If I stopped playing I can, I can go home now.”
The best thing you can do is prepare. For me, at least, it's repetition. You do it so many times that it's almost automatic.
I've been in the middle of the ballerina solo (Petrushka) in a performance where it’s almost an out-of-body experience — the brain is out, but the body knows what to do. It was almost like hovering over myself watching myself play it. It's a horrible feeling, but it manages to still work.
The best thing for me is if I focus less on how to play it and more on how I want it to sound. I'm thinking less about note-to-note mechanics or trying to play in tune. If I try to play in tune, I'll play out of tune. But if I just kind of sit back and pretend like I'm listening to somebody else do it, it’s okay. I just say to myself, “You know how this piece goes. You're using the music as sort of a reminder. Just play it by ear.” Almost without exception, it comes out fine if I do that.
You know that it's a really egotistical stance to think, “I have the power to ruin this concert.”
You're one guy out of a hundred. You could definitely do something that's noticed, but it's not all on your shoulders. So, just relax! Even if you crack something or blow your solo, the earth continues to spin. You know there are 330 million Americans that couldn’t care less whether you crack a note or not. Nobody's life depends on it. Put it in perspective.
What are your thoughts on beta blockers?
I have used beta blockers for auditions — not because I think I need them but because I don't want anybody to have an advantage over me. I want a level playing field. I know that many candidates are using them, so I'm going to use them. You could probably give me a placebo and it would have the same effect, just knowing that we're all on the same ground. I don't think I've taken an audition without one, and it's always the minimum dosage. Don't use it if you don't need it, but don't be ashamed to use it if you feel you do. I know colleagues that use them all the time, and they probably wouldn't have careers without them. I'm not going to sit there and say, “Well you know, maybe you should be doing something else for a living.” That's ridiculous. These are amazing players, and I think the world would have been deprived of that if these guys couldn't manage any other way.
I would never encourage somebody to take them but I would never say you shouldn't do it either. It's a very personal choice.
Questions from members of the Audition Playbook Discussion Group:
A lot of people asked about the “Mr. Clean” nickname. What’s the story here?
People think it has something to do with my playing, but it has nothing to do with my playing. When I got to Houston, I had just started playing a new Yamaha trumpet. I had gone from Bach to Yamaha, and it was still nice and new and shiny looking. Bob Walp liked to nickname people — the principal was “Mr. Adverb,” the second trumpet was “The Bear,” and Bob was “Pizza Bob.” One day he saw me buffing out my trumpet and I became “Mr. Clean.” It had nothing to do with my playing.
How do you “make music” and communicate what you wish to express? How do you evoke feelings from an audience?
I try not to limit myself to the constraints that trumpet players put on themselves. Sometimes we really springboard off low notes, for instance. I remember doing that on a piece with Eschenbach conducting. He stopped and said, “Why are you playing it like that?” I was thinking, “Well, because that's the way all trumpet players play it.”
He was right! He would never play it that way, and you know what, I don't have to play it that way. Rather than have the technique dictate how the music goes, it should be the other way around. The music should really dictate how the mechanics go and you need to figure out a way to do it.
You need to find a way to make it compelling — not weird and not eccentric — but compelling. Don't limit yourself to the trumpet box. You’ve got all sorts of colors and articulations — explore.
What recording equipment do you use?
This has evolved during the course of Covid. I started with a pair of Cascade Fatheads (which are great for the money) going through a Zoom F4 into Audacity, but I now use a Royer R-10 (another great mic for the money) going through A UA Apollo Twin interface into ProTools.
Did you know all about audio setups and recording before this project?
I've always been fascinated with stereo equipment. I went down a very dark road with high end audio equipment — it can get extremely expensive — and kind of backed my way out of it. I've always been interested in sound and good, honest fidelity.
I had a lot of this equipment beforehand but I wasn't really using it the right way. I'm just relying on my ears, and using budget equipment.
You don't need expensive stuff.
The Cascade mics were $200. You don't need two of them like I used. You can get by with one $200 mic, a stand and a cable, and a cheap audio interface.
And I used Audacity, which is an absolutely free program, before ProTools. It’s limited but I think you can get something that is pretty good.
What is your motivation behind your etude project?
Accountability and to exercise the performance muscle — the “not being able to stop”. I can't stop in a concert if my mind starts to wander, if I start to doubt myself, or if “Self 1” starts screaming in my ear. You have to ride it out until you get to the end of that thing.
That's what this is all about. If I could edit these things, they would be 300% better. There are none of these that I put up and think, “Oh, that's really great.” It's more like, “Yeah, okay, all right, it is what it is.” But I feel the same way about virtually every concert I've ever played — I need to make it all even better.
Everybody in the world is in their own place and on their own path.
If, God forbid, this Covid thing has my name on it, I don't want my legacy to be the guy that was a shill for plastic trumpets, lol. I didn’t really have a legacy so to speak, so it’s going to be these silly etudes. As much as I like the Tromba trumpets - they are great “vacation travel horns” - that was like the only thing that I had online. I didn’t really have a legacy — so to speak — so it’s going to be these silly etudes.
Do you have any advice for students or anyone else that is starting out in the orchestra world right now?
It's difficult for somebody to stay motivated and I'm sure my students are going through the same thing. Why practice? There's nothing on the horizon.
My advice is, to borrow somebody else's words, “A body in motion tends to stay in motion and a body at rest tends to stay at rest.” You're going to rust! And to lose that, to rust up, is not a pleasant thought for me.
Everything that I play — all my technique, all my ability on the instrument — it’s all rented. I don't own any of it. I have to make regular payments, or it gets repossessed. I would rather make regular small payments than have this enormous balloon payment come due when we get the notice that it’s time to go back to work.
Because then it’s like, “Oh my god! I don't have a high range, I don't have a multiple tongue, I don't have any endurance, I don't have a sound, I don't have my mental game…” I don't want that to happen. I would rather pay regular small dividends.
This is the time to make tremendous headway on everybody else — because everybody else is like, “What's the point?”
You can absolutely pull away from the crowd if you have the drive to do so. You have to set little goals for yourself. Set attainable performance goals for yourself. Record yourself — it's never been cheaper to do so — and then just be completely honest.
Again, it's only going to be as good as you demand it's going to be.
Stay motivated. All those excerpts that you know that they're going to ask for — the ones that you've never played — learn them now.
You've got all sorts of resources with YouTube, Spotify, and Tidal. You can hear a billion different versions and get a really good idea of what these things sound like in context. Then work it out.
It’s never been a better time to experiment with things.