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Second Prize: Jon MorgensternMamaroneck High SchoolMamaroneck, New York In the Pocket It's all about the pocket. I had always assumed that the term meant that a piece of music was simply full of energy and volume, since in jazz band comments from my peers about the pocket almost always came after a wildly loud and funky piece. When I was ripping on the fat upright bass strings with my amp way too loud, and the horns were playing with all of their lungs, I thought that the band and I were deep in the pocket. But, I was wrong. So, what really is the pocket? I found the answer in my living room, with my metronome laying down a painfully slow 68-beat-per-minute tempo. A single lamp illuminated the ballad, "Sophisticated Lady" by Duke Ellington. With anxious fingers, I began. The metronome trudged along while my two hands began to create the music. Quarter note, dotted eighth note, now get to fourth position! Too slow. The metronome waved a finger at me, telling me that I had begun to drag. I nodded, and began again. Quarter note, dotted eighth, up to fourth! Get back to first! My fingers frantically fumbled for the right notes, while the metronome again clicked away with displeasure, scolding my incorrect tempo. This time I had begun to rush. Several more tries went the same way. Frustrated, I decided to try once more before I gave up for the day. I closed my eyes, listening to the dull, tense beats. I began, playing the quarter notes on beat, getting to the different positions on time, slowly letting go of my tension and discomfort. I began playing much more gently and melodically. I began to sway back and forth, leaning back when I read over a beautiful melody, and making odd grins and frowns when I could feel bits of emotion free themselves from the paper. The metronome, who had noticed my relaxed song, tried to hold me in line, snapping her clicks at me. I felt like liquid. Realizing defeat, she locked in with me, giving in to the power of the rich notes that danced through the air. The quarter notes she once shouted out became mellow. As I filled the room up with bliss, I realized that I had played through the entire piece. The piece faded away with a pianissimo. My metronome, realizing that she was now alone, angrily clicked her beats. She was trying to grab my attention. I set down the bass, went over, and turned her off. It's hard to describe the pocket. But I think that when you're in the pocket, you no longer have to worry about being perfectly in tune, or exactly on rhythm, because the music is alongside of you, guiding you. It takes a while to find this place, but once you do, you know that all of the practicing and all of the horrible sounds that you let loose on the way to becoming a better musician, were worth it. |
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