Joshua Elmore's talent has taken him from Cleveland to Manhattan to Fort Worth to the Principal Bassoon chair of the San Francisco Symphony (SFS)—and now, to SFCM's Woodwinds department, where he'll begin teaching in the Fall 2026 semester.

"The bassoon is such a slept-on instrument," Elmore says. "It has such a literal range—the ability to play really low and also very high—but also a wide range of emotion that it can convey with different tone colors and sounds and vibrato." The same might be said of Elmore himself, who joined SFS directly from the Fort Worth Symphony Orchestra, where he also held the Principal Bassoon chair. His appointment made him SFS's first Black principal musician since timpanist Elayne Jones, who held the seat from 1972-74.

Below, Elmore answers questions from the SFCM Newsroom about his journey on his instrument and approach to music.

SFCM: How did you arrive at the bassoon as your instrument of choice?
Elmore: I took piano lessons and then in fourth grade was introduced to the recorder. My ensemble experience started with violin in fifth grade, but after a year of playing in the orchestra, I was like, "I don't think this is for me."

I had an epiphany one day that I needed to play the clarinet, so I went home and talked to my mom, like, "I need to play the clarinet. I don't know why, but something is telling me that I need to play this clarinet." I played clarinet for three weeks and then the band director approached me and he said, "We'd love it if you would be a bassoonist." I asked, 'What is the bassoon?' and at the time it was as tall as me, and I think that was a lot of what drew me to it: It just looked different."

How quickly did you 'take' to the bassoon?
I remember that case was so heavy, and I would take it everywhere because me and the bassoon became one. I was banned from playing in my aunt's house, and my mom had a strict cutoff, like "You need to stop."

I don't know what sixth grader would skip recess to practice the bassoon, but that was me. And in high school, from the first day of freshman year until I graduated, I was at school at 7 a.m. every day, practicing. I have never had that kind of drive about anything since and probably never will again, honestly [laughs].

Did you have any 'lightning strike' moments with classical music during that time?
One that I still remember was in 2014. I was in high school, and I did the Interlochen Arts Center for a summer, playing in the World Youth Symphony, and the one piece that really stuck with me was Brahms Symphony No. 4, specifically the second movement. That week, I was like, "This is nirvana if I've ever experienced it." I wrote my college essays about it. And that was also my trial piece for the San Francisco Symphony, so it became this full circle.

What has been your experience as a Black classical musician?
Growing up as an African-American in classical music, I'm kind of numb, so to speak, to feeling like I'm the only one in any given situation, because I usually am. In Fort Worth, there was one other part-time African-American musician, so she would only play a certain amount of services a year; I was the only full-time African-American, and I felt the effects there. It's just something that I'm accustomed to now: I don't really necessarily think about it in the same way as, say, somebody seeing that reality for the first time, and not really understanding why that's the case.

I mean, I grew up in Shaker Heights, which is a suburb of Cleveland that is considered to be a liberal bubble. I was the only African-American student when I first started in elementary school. Then by the time I graduated, the whole demographic of the school had kind of done a 180, but I was never treated as an other my entire time growing up there.

But when I left to go to college, the reality hit, like a smack. I was like, "Oh, this is actually a real thing and people I'm forced to deal with now." When I got to New York, my first year I received a very racist comment from a classmate of mine, and I remember that that just shook me to my core because that was the first time in my life that I had really experienced blatant racism.

I do feel a large responsibility to be a model for younger people that I didn't have all the time. I had many role models growing up, but I find power in being a trailblazer in this way. Though I am the first in a long time, I certainly won't be the last. That's my hope, anyway: that somebody seeing me achieve what I've achieved is maybe being inspired by that.

Do you have a key principle or approach to your instrument?
Music breathes. It's a living, breathing thing when it's being performed. I approach music as a singer would, because I like to think of playing the bassoon as singing. Especially something like this lyrical, beautiful singing: I'm thinking about how a tenor would sing or how a soprano would shape their vibrato. As a bassoonist, I guess I have the sort-of privilege of being an instrument that has to breathe, so I have to not only be mindful of the phrasing, but also the physical endurance. It feels like more of myself is being poured into the instrument, because, well, it literally is.

What do you find yourself telling your students frequently?
Oftentimes as musicians, we can get so in our own head. And my favorite thing to say is "Get out of your head and into the music." We're very introspective individuals by nature, so for me, just sitting down with the music and listening to it and hearing what it's trying to say—and then being able to effectively communicate that—can be more difficult than anything technical.

What advice would you give a younger musician who sees your career as a model?
Keep going. As musicians we seek validation from others too frequently, and to a fault, honestly. There is something powerful in just knowing the capabilities you have and being able to put that out there.

I think a lot of musicians—maybe more specifically young Black and brown musicians —who don't see themselves onstage. It's important to me that young people who are thinking about doing music—especially those who don't see themselves reflected back—keep going. Persevere, because rejection is not a "no," it's just a redirection into something else.

Learn more about studying woodwinds or bassoon at SFCM.