The Orchestra That Forgot the Working Class

The Price of Playing

As someone who co-founded the London Contemporary Orchestra 18 years ago, I've witnessed firsthand how the classical music world has evolved from a space once accessible to working-class talent into an exclusive club that only the privileged can afford to join. What used to be a path — however difficult — is now a wall that grows higher with each passing year.

When I was a young musician, I didn't have family money behind me. My violin was borrowed from a youth orchestra, and I paid for music lessons through a local council scheme. My summers weren't spent at summer camps or on internships; they were filled with odd jobs — bin collecting, farm work — just to keep playing the music that shaped my life.

"There used to be a route in. As a child from a working-class background, I could pick up an instrument at a state school, get cheap lessons through the local, council-backed music service and play in youth orchestras (borrowing a viola because my family couldn't afford one)."

That route existed, but it was never easy. It required sacrifice, discipline, and often a bit of luck. The working-class musicians who made it through those early years had to be tenacious — not just in their artistry, but in their survival.

The System Has Changed

But now, the system has changed. We're talking about diversity as if access is a simple matter of outreach and inclusion. It's not. It's a question of economics, class, and capital — and these things have become barriers that no amount of good intentions can overcome.

In my time with LCO, I've seen how the cost of being a musician has escalated beyond anything I imagined possible. The average rent in London is now enough to keep many talented musicians from even considering a career in music. Instruments are expensive. Training is costly. And most importantly, there's no safety net when you can't pay for a month's worth of lessons or travel to rehearsals.

Under the current Musicians' Union/Association of British Orchestras Category 1 agreement, a section musician gets paid £163.18 for a six-hour rehearsal and concert day — which is barely enough to cover the cost of the hours spent preparing before that six-hour block. That's not just unfair; it's unsustainable.

"The ability to work for little or nothing is itself another form of capital."

I'm not talking about a few musicians here and there giving up — I'm talking about entire cohorts of promising young artists who are walking away from music before they even have a chance to prove themselves. It's heartbreaking, and it's happening at a time when classical music is supposedly embracing inclusivity.

Who Gets to Lead?

I've watched the same people — those with family financial backing, those who could afford to live off their savings or borrow from friends — continue to dominate both performance and leadership roles in classical music. Their voices are amplified by a system that rewards privilege over merit.

And yet, the industry still acts surprised when it's criticized for elitism. How do we expect people from different backgrounds to be represented if those same systems don't support them?

There is no amount of outreach programs or scholarships that can fix what's fundamentally wrong with an industry that demands sacrifice without offering the means to pay for it. I've seen this pattern repeated time and again — young musicians who are absolutely talented, but who simply run out of money.

"I have watched so many excellent musicians give up early in their careers. People who were absolutely good enough, but simply couldn't afford to keep doing it. It is easy to say they lacked commitment or didn't want it enough. Maybe they just ran out of money."

The Risk We All Take

It's easy for people in comfortable positions to talk about the risks musicians take — and they are significant. But we must acknowledge that the stakes for someone from a working-class background are exponentially higher. The margin for error is minimal. When you're already living paycheck to paycheck, the financial gamble of a musical career becomes a lottery where the odds are stacked against you.

I spent years without earning a meaningful salary from LCO — even though I was investing everything into its future. I remember early business meetings in posh restaurants when I couldn't afford a proper meal, and I had to pretend not to be hungry while everyone else dined. That's not just humiliating — it's symbolic of the broader exclusion that's happening.

Imagine someone from a more privileged background trying to build an orchestra with the same passion and drive — but they have family support and financial safety nets. The risk is still there, yes, but the consequences are far less dire.

The Cost of Inequality

What's particularly tragic is that the industry itself is becoming narrower in both its thinking and its representation. When musicians from similar economic backgrounds dominate the top roles, they start to shape the narrative — often unintentionally — in ways that reinforce exclusivity.

This isn't about lowering standards. It's about raising them by ensuring access to talent isn't limited to those who can afford it. We need a system where excellence is truly evaluated on merit, not privilege. We need real support structures — not just empty promises of inclusion.

I've made it through. I have a conducting career I love, but I also recognize that I was one of the few who could afford to try. My parents supported me during my early years, and I had a safety net no one else had. What about those who didn't?

"If we care about excellence, why would we only search for it among people whose families can afford the training and to subsidise the years of professional uncertainty that follow?"

The Industry Must Change

For classical music to be truly vibrant and relevant, it must reflect the diversity of the world it serves — including its economic realities. The industry needs to stop pretending that access is just a matter of outreach and instead take concrete steps to dismantle the structural barriers that prevent working-class musicians from entering and thriving.

This isn't about charity or pity — it's about justice. It's about making sure that someone like me, who was once in the same boat as many struggling young musicians, didn't just make it through by accident — but by sheer determination in a system that actively worked against us.

The orchestra that I helped build is not just an institution — it's a symbol of what we can accomplish when people are given a real shot at success. But for too many others, the doors are closing before they even get close to opening them.