When people think about an orchestra, they tend to think in terms of artistry: the musicians onstage, the conductor on the podium, the sound in the hall.

10/10. No notes.

But what’s often missed is that artistry doesn’t begin at the downbeat. It is shaped by an often overlooked infrastructure long before anyone walks onstage—through preparation, coordination, sourced and shared materials, and thousands of small decisions that determine whether the music-making is coherent or chaotic.

The library of any ensemble lives where those two things meet.

It is both infrastructure and artistry—a system that supports the mechanics of our organizations while directly influencing how music is made. This is not a metaphor. It is a practical, musical reality. 

Now—when I say the words “the library,” what do you picture?

Pause.

If my experience is any indication, the answer I usually get goes something like “Oh! I didn’t know that was a job. I just thought musicians sat there and played the sheets in the folder.” To which I usually respond (with a wink and a smile) “Who do you think puts the sheets in there?”

Sometimes this is accompanied by a light laugh. Sometimes genuine surprise. Occasionally a look of horror, once the realization lands that yes, this is a real job—and no, putting the sheets in the folder is just one iota of a much larger job (and rarely the part causing the problems).

When I ask my playing colleagues, the answer is usually different. They tend to think I’m doing one or two things:

Bowings (because apparently the question of down versus up is never quite settled. Or maybe it is. Until it isn’t…), or beating up a photocopier. Which, I am—because really, why is it taking fifteen minutes to spit out a single page turn fix for someone who asked me for one minute before rehearsal started on Tony “Two Chins” Canoni™, my Audi Q5-sized photocopier?!)

…awkward pause

I don’t share this to shame anyone—including anyone who has ever uttered the words “we have some small bowing changes”—or Tony “Two Chins,” who chooses violence at the worst possible times. I share it because it’s revealing. Because what the library actually does sits much closer to the music making than most people realize. 

This is the part I spend a lot of time communicating to different groups—and once people see it and understand it, it’s hard to unsee it or misunderstand it.

What Librarians Actually Do

Librarians do not simply “hand out music,” a common misconception. In reality, performance librarians, as we are properly titled, manage one of the most complex, high stakes workflows in any performing arts organization.

Across orchestras, opera companies, ballet companies, chamber ensembles, academic institutions, and bands, performance librarians operate at the intersection of artistic planning, labor agreements, licensing, budgets, and time. Performance librarians

• Secure, prepare, and maintain performance materials that comply with contractual, legal, and artistic requirements;

• Track versions, cuts, edits, errata, and revisions across multiple works;

• Coordinate with conductors, directors, choreographers, soloists, guest artists, publishers, and composers;

• Ensure that all playing musicians are working from identical, accurate materials;

• Protect the organization from penalties, fines, and reputational risk; and

• Do this work under immovable and often compressed deadlines, frequently with incomplete or shifting information all while being short-staffed.

But there is another layer of the work that is often invisible and deeply musical.

Performance librarians must possess enough instrumental and theoretical knowledge to effectively “play” every instrument in the ensemble on paper. Not to perform it, but to understand what is physically, technically, and musically possible (and what is not). This means recognizing range issues, transposition errors, awkward or non-existent page turns, impossible doublings, missing cues, impractical layout, and notation choices that may look fine on a full score but fall apart at the stand. Sometimes it means catching problems early and quietly fixing them. Other times, it means calling a publisher or a composer and asking hard questions. And every so often, it means gently explaining: that an oboe cannot play a low A, and a bass clarinet does not read alto clef.

*rubs temples*

This work directly affects whether the music onstage is playable and can be rehearsed by the playing musicians performing it. That is not clerical labor. That is musical judgment and expertise—obtained through music degrees (usually performance degrees, as there is no school or program that teaches this specialized work)—exercised in service of the ensemble. I make these decisions every day, with real people waiting on the other side for answers (and their music) and there are real serious consequences if I choose wrong.

In a system where time is money, this matters.

Most professional ensembles rehearse a program on a truncated timeline as a unit. From a symphony orchestra perspective, it’s often two to five rehearsals totaling around eight hours. That is not a lot of time to perfect core repertoire or newly commissioned works. Every minute spent correcting wrong notes, missing cues, mismatched parts, or unplayable passages is a minute not spent shaping sound, listening across the ensemble, and deepening the interpretation.

This is why materials need to be as close to perfect as possible, week in and week out. When the library’s work is done well, playing musicians aren’t fixing the music. They’re making it instead. Less time spent stopping to correct what’s on the stand means more time spent doing what we all came here to do: diving into the art form we love.

None of this is abstract. It is measurable in rehearsal efficiency, ensemble clarity, overtime avoidance, and trust.

The library is not an accessory to the artistic process. It is a load-bearing system within it.

Why “Othering” Librarians Hurts Everyone

In many organizations, librarians are treated as adjacent to (rather than part of) the bargaining unit’s core musical operations. This “othering” often shows up subtly, and sometimes not so subtly:

• Referring to the bargaining unit as musicians and librarians, rather than recognizing that librarians are musicians too, performing specialized musical labor in a different form

• Treating the library not as a section within the ensemble (as with percussion or keyboards), but as a separate “unit” expected to operate under different rules, standards, and protections

• Deliberately classifying librarian positions as administrative and keeping them outside the bargaining unit, denying parity in compensation, benefits, protections, and workplace standards despite the musical and contractual nature of the work

• Making decisions without library input, even when those decisions directly affect onstage work

• Receiving late or partial information, compressing timelines and shifting unnecessary risk onto the library and its work flow

• Imposing working conditions that are unreasonable or unsafe in order to favor convenience rather than necessity

• Chronic understaffing, or the use of underpaid and/or non-bargaining-unit labor to perform work equivalent to that of bargaining unit members

• An assumption of no overtime pay, even when workload, deadlines, and last-minute changes make additional hours unavoidable

• Framing library concerns as preferences, rather than as requirements rooted in musical, contractual, and practical reality

• Speaking to librarians about what the library’s responsibilities are, rather than engaging the library as musical colleagues with expertise in that work

• Expecting the library to operate as a constant access service: responsive at all hours on all days, regardless of staffing, scope, or sustainability

This framing is severely damaging—not only to librarians, but to the entire bargaining unit.

When Librarians Are Kept Out of the Bargaining Unit

Including librarians in the bargaining unit is not about special treatment. It is about equitable treatment: access to the same structural protections that define expectations and authority, the same financial parity that reflects the scope and risk of the work, and the same moral support that affirms setting boundaries as professionalism rather than defiance. When librarians receive that support, the entire bargaining unit is stronger. When librarians are excluded from the bargaining unit, they are not simply treated differently—they are structurally disadvantaged. They are asked to shoulder the same musical responsibility, pressure, and risk, without the same protections, parity, or voice.

ICSOM recognized this clearly in its 2018 resolution supporting the inclusion of orchestra librarians in the bargaining unit (see Adopted Resolutions of the 2018 Conference, Senza Sordino Volume 58, Issue 3, October 2018, specifically, Librarians in the Bargaining Unit). That resolution was not a symbolic one. It was an acknowledgment that library work is musical labor, and that excluding librarians from collective protections undermines fairness, sustainability, and unit cohesion.

I say this not theoretically, but from experience. I’ve done this work both inside and outside of a CBA and I can say, without any hesitation, that it is, hands-down, worse to do this work without being part of one. Without a CBA, boundaries blur. Expectations expand. Overtime becomes assumed. Protections become negotiable. A librarian’s work becomes at-will (and so does the librarian). The work does not get smaller. Rather, it gets heavier, lonelier, and more precarious. And when you try to stand up for yourself or for your section (particularly if you are the principal librarian) that advocacy is often reframed as a personal flaw that “doesn’t reflect the values of the institution.”

You become:

“Difficult.”

“Hard to manage.”

“Not a team player.”

That reputation does not stay contained either. It is often deliberately circulated among multiple stakeholders in the organization—including staff, artistic leadership, the board, and playing musicians—causing reputational harm while quietly undermining credibility and isolating the very people trying to protect and support the work happening onstage. 

This isn’t by accident. It is a very predictable outcome in a system where authority is unclear, protections are thin, and boundary-setting is treated as disruption rather than professionalism. 

Including librarians in the bargaining unit does not eliminate disagreement. What it does is prevent accountability from being mischaracterized as insubordination. And it prevents some of the strongest advocates in the organization from burning out at best, and losing their jobs at worst.

Why This Also Matters for Substitute, Probationary, and Marginalized Musicians

There are broader consequences to this kind of exclusion that extend far beyond the library.

These same carve outs—treating certain workers as exceptions, governed by different rules and expectations, or protected only by proxy—are what allow substitute musicians, probationary members, and underrepresented or marginalized colleagues to be treated poorly, even though they are nominally covered by the collective bargaining agreement.

Substitute and probationary musicians work under a CBA they did not negotiate, did not vote on, and often have no meaningful voice in shaping. Probationary members, in particular, are members of the bargaining unit while still experiencing reduced security, heightened scrutiny, and pressure to not push back for fear of jeopardizing their tenure chances. For colleagues who are underrepresented or marginalized, these dynamics are often intensified. 

The risk of being labeled “difficult,” “ungrateful,” or “not a good fit” carries additional weight when you are already navigating bias, isolation, or heightened visibility. In those early years and in those positions, silence is often celebrated as professionalism by those insulated from risk rather than recognized for what it more accurately is: a response to vulnerability. That dynamic should concern us. I recognize how this risk gets learned because I was one of those people and I’ve watched countless others learn, very quickly, where the risk actually lives. 

When sections of the ensemble are normalized as “other” (expected to absorb risk, accept last-minute changes, waive protections, or tolerate unreasonable conditions) that practice does not stay contained to just that section. It becomes precedent. What is first justified as an exception for one section quietly becomes a model for how others can, and should, be handled. Protecting librarians within the bargaining unit is not just about librarians. It is about resisting a framework where exclusion becomes normalized, and where “temporary,” “adjacent,” or “special” roles are treated as expendable.

What becomes normal for one part of the ensemble eventually becomes normalized for the body as a whole.

Infrastructure Requires Authority, Not Just Goodwill

Libraries do not function on vibes. They function on:

• Clear processes

• Early and accurate information

• Enforceable boundaries

• Organizational authority to say “no” when necessary and reasonable

When librarians are asked to operate without that authority, or are undermined when they exercise it, the system degrades. Over time, preventable problems become normalized, and expertise is quietly discounted. This is not a personality issue. It is a governance issue that directly affects music-making.

Why This Matters for ICSOM Advocacy

ICSOM advocacy is, at its core, about protecting musicians’ work, time, and dignity. That mission succeeds best when structural, financial, and moral support exist not only for all members of the bargaining unit but also for those whose roles receive less support under the CBA (such as substitutes and extras), and for those whose work—and working conditions—belong within the bargaining unit but remain excluded or not addressed (i.e. the librarians). This means advocating for systems where librarians are included, informed, and empowered—not treated as a separate unit or an afterthought. It means recognizing that information flow, authority, and early involvement are not privileges, but necessities for the music to function.

Financially, it means defending parity: fair compensation, benefits, and overtime protections that reflect the reality of the work. Advocacy loses credibility when musical labor is celebrated rhetorically but discounted economically.

Morally, it means something just as important: backing each other publicly and privately. It means resisting narratives that frame boundary setting as being “difficult,” or professionalism as a lack of flexibility. It means not insisting that librarians accept less—or accepting mediocre terms on their behalf—to appease those advocating for unfair conditions and practices. It means understanding that when one part of the bargaining unit is isolated or discredited, everyone becomes more vulnerable. When work is invisible, it is also easy to misclassify—and misclassification has consequences for the library and beyond.

Libraries do not exist outside the music. Librarians do not exist outside the unit. Substitutes, probationary members, marginalized colleagues, and playing musicians do not exist outside the consequences.

Infrastructure is not separate from artistry. It is how artistry holds together.

Next in the Series, Article II: “Re: Precedent—When Flexibility Becomes Exposure”