Mike Lovatt Interview: Resilience, British Trumpet Sound, and the Soul in Every Note

If you’ve listened to a great British big band, a John Wilson concert, or a film score tracked in London, you’ve probably heard Mike Lovatt. Players know the sound—golden core, vocal phrasing, authority without edge. But this story isn’t just about credits. It’s about grit. At 14, Mike was hit by a car while cycling. Teeth out. Lip torn. Clavicle broken. He thought the trumpet was over. Six weeks later—no teeth yet—he stood on stage at his dad’s school concert and played. That comeback didn’t just restart a career; it rewired his relationship with music. Every note matters. Every note has a soul.

I’ll be honest with you: this episode hit me hard. Mike taught me when I was younger, and we’ve shared a lot of bandstands since. Hearing the full arc—family, accident, rebuild, the seasons of a working life—reminded me why we do this. It’s not about being flashy. It’s about being consistent. It’s about being reliable. It’s about communicating.

Born Into Sound: The Early Spark

Mike grew up in a musical home. His father was a music teacher; the house was a museum of instruments—trumpet, trombone, sax, clarinet, violin, piano. The switch flicked when he saw an Eddie Calvert record in a supermarket carousel. Stage lights reflecting off a trumpet bell. He took it home, dropped the needle, and tried to play along immediately on an old Selmer student horn. No method book. Just ears and excitement. That’s important: the ear came first. Long before “technique,” he learned to sing through the instrument.

The Crash, the Bridge, and the Decision

Fast-forward to a country lane with nine-foot hedges. A car swerves. Mike hits the deck—blood, shock, teeth in his hands. Surgery stitched the lip; a sympathetic dentist built a bridge that—astonishingly—has held through four decades of professional playing. People still ask why he never “fixed” things with implants. His answer is simple: once he could make a sound again, that became the new normal. He rebuilt around reality. That mindset—respect the instrument, respect yourself, and move forward—has defined the rest of his life.

Sound Before Tricks

There’s a temptation in the trumpet world to chase gear, hacks, and hero notes. Mike cuts through that. The sound comes first. Always. He talks about thinking of the soul of every note, an idea he associates with the great studio lineage—Euan Rasey, Manny Klein, Conrad Gozzo, all those MGM heavyweights. Listen to those records and you don’t hear “louder, higher.” You hear intention. You hear phrasing that breathes like a singer. You hear connection.

Here’s what actually worked for Mike (and for me):

• Lead with the ear. Sing lines before you play them. Even sight-reading in a session? Scan and silently sing.

• Polish the middle. If the middle G rings, the rest of the horn organizes itself.

• Short, honest warm-ups. A few bends, resonance checks, then play music. Don’t “practice until you sound bad.”

• Believe. Build positive loops. When it feels good, bank it. Start tomorrow from that memory.

Motivation That Doesn’t Fade

Is the fire still there after thousands of pits, sessions, and halls? For Mike, yes. He treats every show—whether Abbey Road or a cramped West End potting shed—as a chance to connect with one person in the room. That line matters. If you’ve ever sat through a long run, you know how easy it is to go on autopilot. He refuses. You show up. You try your best. You respect the music and the people who paid to hear it.

I used to butcher high notes like it was my job. The turning point wasn’t a mouthpiece or a magic routine. It was deciding to make every note mean something. That’s Mike’s influence all over me.

The Brass Pack and Passing It On

Mike isn’t just playing—he’s building. The Brass Pack is a 25-piece ensemble (think big-brass swagger with orchestral color: harp, horns, full battery) arranged by the brilliant Colin Skinner. It’s modern in feel but rooted in the craft of Billy May and the great British studio tradition. They’ve played sell-out festival shows and released a live album.

Even better, there’s The Brass Cubs: workshops where school-age brass players rehearse bespoke charts in the morning, then join the pros onstage at night. You should see their faces. That’s community over competition. That’s how a tradition stays alive.

Lessons You Can Use This Week

This might sound simple, but it’s the boring stuff that lifts your ceiling:

1. Choose one North Star. For a month, go deep on a single player or record. Transcribe phrasing and time, not just notes.

2. Daily resonance check (5 minutes). Long tones centered around middle G, slight bends, soft releases. No heroics.

3. One tune, many contexts. Play the same melody ballad-soft, then dance-time, then with plunger. Find the soul in each.

4. Gig like a human. Make eye contact. Breathe between phrases. Invite the room in.

5. Write it down. After practice, one line: “Today sounded best when…”. Bank those wins.

Consistency beats intensity. Ten honest minutes every day will move you further than one heroic Sunday.

Seasons, Identity, and the Long Game

We had a real talk about career “seasons”—the rush of early breaks, the grind of middle years, the wisdom on the far side. Here’s what stuck with me:

• There is no competition for being you. Yes, there’s competition for work. But musically, no one can beat you at being yourself.

• Respect is the throughline. Respect the horn. Respect your colleagues. Respect the room.

• Keep the 12-year-old alive. If you can protect that childlike curiosity—while keeping pro standards—you’ll last.

Mike still practices like he’s got something to prove. Maybe that’s the secret. Not anxiety. Just hunger.

Watch the Full Conversation

We go deep on: Jessye Norman and John Wilson stories, rebuilding after the crash, practicing around cold sores and bruised chops, and how to keep motivation when validation is thin on the ground.

Watch the full interview on YouTube → (add your link here or send it over and I’ll embed it in the copy)

Join Us Inside the Academy

If this episode lit a fire, you’ll love the Louis’ Trumpet Academy. It’s not a practice factory. It’s a place to build sound, range, time, and confidence—together.

• 4+ live calls per week

• Daily play-alongs

• Modular warm-up systems

• Hours of guided video

• Support from a pro community

Start your 7-day free trial → https://www.skool.com/louis-trumpet-academy-6100/about

Final Word

Mike Lovatt’s story isn’t about a miracle recovery. It’s about choices. When the old setup vanished, he built a new one. When the room got small, he played big anyway. When the work got routine, he found a way to care again. That’s the job. That’s the craft. And that’s the invitation—to make every note a little prayer, and mean it.

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