A rare solo release by this young anti-anesthetic American fiend, coming on a heavy vinyl LP incredibly devoid of scratches, bumps and fizzles. Should someone miss something in that sense, no worry: Mr. Wooley provides his own penetrating views on how a trumpet can be employed outside the circles of “imitation of old masters”. There is no Kind Of Blue memory to clutch at here. The first side – recorded at the artist’s home – presents a series of incredible variations on what sounds like the enhanced cries of an impulsively raging colon, later turning into the shrieking chaos heard in the opening phases of a Moto GP race. In between, few instants of contemplation before the next move. The product, a cynical dismemberment of methodological canons, seems to portray the growth process of a man who, alone with himself, is hypothetically deciding if he wants to go on searching or remaining with mum and dad for the whole life. The second half comprises a live performance in which the Jersey City blasting whisperer uses a Fender practice amplifier to elicit all kinds of feedbacks and related semi-controllable physical responses, at times muttering indecipherable messages through the instrument’s embochure. The sonic outcome might be unserviceable for lovers of pacifism, the howling-and-snarling racket depicting a cross of temerity and structural accuracy while removing the “sheer noise” sticker from the piece. Play loud for better results, regardless of the consequences you’ll experience with family members and pets.