The “pocket” and groove
By Michael J. Thate, PhD
We have all heard of “spacetime” in some form or another. It refers to the conceptual framing of space and time by Hermann Minkowski as a way to communicate Einstein’s 1905 theorem of special relativity. Minkowski space, as it’s come to be called, fuses three-dimensional space with the fourth dimension of time. I make no pretense to understand the physics of spacetime.
Intriguingly, the conceptual framing of spacetime appeared earlier in literary circles such as Edgar Allen Poe’s 1848 essay “Eureka” and H. G. Well’s 1895 novel Time Machine. It also appears, at least implicitly, in certain mystical writings that speak of “being caught up” into dimensions or states of consciousness where space and time bend into one another. Or, they fall out of the normal rhythms of the everyday and mix with the All or the One.
What is more interesting to me—and indeed, more mysterious and mystical—is a deeper lack of understanding of the geometric shape of time I’ve experienced in group musical performance. From time to time, I get together with a little jam band we’ve pompously dubbed, “Special Forces of Nothing in Particular.” We only jam at each other’s homes because, well, we’re terrible. Or at least I am. There is a profound disparity between my level of musicianship and the joy I experience playing my Fender Strat. We have different styles and tones in the “band”—if you’ll allow it. Our rhythm guitarist plays dreamy, flowing phrases. My finger picking traipses mainly through stock pentatonic shapes with a phrasing that can best be described as stuttering.
Occasionally, however, we find it. That “it” being what the pros call “the pocket.”
The pocket usually refers to the shape of the tempo put down by the rhythm section of bass and drums. Many more technical definitions of “the pocket” exist. Perhaps the most compelling definition I’ve found is that of Mark Levine’s in his The Jazz Theory Book. Levine refers to “being in the pocket” as that moment when the music finds a groove, when members of a rhythm section lock and play well together. The groove frees the soloists to explore and express and even transgress—but it always urges a return. And, remarkably, the groove or the pocket can range widely in terms of tempo from genre to genre.
I know as much about music theory as I do about theoretical physics—which is to say near nothing. But the sensation of “being in the pocket” is nothing short of magical. What is powerful to me about such experiences is that they happen in a group. The groove is shared focus. It is mind melding. It is playing as one.
Perhaps this sheds some shard of light onto mystical experiences in general. It is an experience of the death of the Self—that nimble organ that sorts space and time into discrete instruments. When we sail into the mystic, as Van Morrison beautifully sang, we experience the flowing together of space and time. We find the groove. Or, perhaps better, the groove finds us, and the groove bids our soloing to return.
Playing well together requires a lot of listening and little of what that old fashioned notion of love. The more our jam band plays together, the more we learn each other’s tendencies, preferences, strengths, and limitations. Our rhythm guitarist, for example, has a set of stock riffs in the keys of E and A that sound great. We know this. So, at our best, we usually play toward and from those keys. When we are at our best—when we are in the pocket—we stay together with give and take. I pick at a much faster tempo. It sounds good when enveloped and constrained but can quickly get out of control and run away from the group. So, I’ve had to learn to be patient, kind, and all the rest in my playing.
This is how I’m thinking about our ethical, political, and societal challenges these days. There is real differences in point of view. Those don’t bother me. What is concerning is our inability to find any sort of value alignment. There’s too much soloing without a return to a groove. When engaging with others with whom I disagree—or with positions I find troubling—my habit is to attempt to enter their groove. I try to listen for the pocket and see if there is space where I might be able to pick around and play.
In his challenging book, This Life, Martin Hägglund suggests that freedom requires owning the responsibility of what to do with the time that remains. This echoes Hannah Arendt’s conviction in The Human Condition that we cannot be free until we face the reality that we are subject to necessity. The many insecurities of our moment are compounded by our disregard for facing constraints. We blather on with our talking points without falling into a groove of value alignment. And this is ruining us. It’s killing us. We don’t need to agree. The ability to disagree is a species feature that hedges against our underdeveloped brains. We do, however, need to think hard about value alignment. We need to learn to listen to the music. We need to feel our way back into a pocket from our discordant soloing. We need to find a groove.
