By Brian Turk
By Drew AIles
By Taylor Boylston
By Bree Davies
By Emerald O'Brien
By Gina Tron
By Jon Solomon
Wooley--who, like Miles, plays the trumpet--is working on a master's degree at the University of Denver's Lamont School of Music. But he's also studying at the feet of Miles, whom he learned about several years ago by sheer happenstance. "I started to steer toward the more free side of things and the avant-garde at the end of high school when I got Ron's album, Witness, as a fluke," recalls Wooley, 23. "A friend of mine bought it for me for my birthday, thinking it was a Miles Davis album; she knew I liked Miles Davis, and she just saw the name 'Miles' and picked it up.
"I didn't know who he was, either," Wooley continues. "But it was that album that broke through for me--steered me toward where I wanted to go. I mean, I had a sound in my head, and Ron's album was the first thing outside my head that I had heard that actually sounded similar to that sound. It was incredible."
This discovery occurred in Oregon, Wooley's home state. He was born in Clatskanie, a small coastal town, and by the early Nineties had become a skate punk. "I skateboarded for a long time," he notes. "I quit about a year ago because my knees couldn't take it anymore, but I've actually been thinking about taking it up again, just to have something to take my mind off music for a little bit every day. I've always loved it." When he was riding the sidewalks, jazz didn't provide his soundtrack. But he believes the scene's influence can be heard in his current work: "That's the culture that I grew up in, and I know a lot of it comes into my music. The punk rock that's involved in the whole skater lifestyle is a part of who I am, and it comes across in the way that I play. I don't ever want to turn my back on that."
That Wooley also nursed an interest in jazz shouldn't come as that big of a surprise. "Aside from Clatskanie being a fishing village and mill town, there were a lot of artists in the community," he explains. "It's up on the Oregon coast, which is just really a beautiful, inspirational spot, so there are a lot of poets and people like that doing their thing. So these people were very supportive. Plus, my dad and my mom were both in my corner as well, even when I started to get into some of the more Ron type of things and sounds. My music wasn't something that they would put on to listen to in the car or anything, but they saw that it was what I needed. They saw that this made me feel good and that I was actually able to express my feelings through it. I've never been really great at expressing my feelings orally, through the spoken word; I don't seem to be able to articulate things that way. So that music was really the only way I could do it."
By the time he enrolled at the University of Oregon, Wooley's fondness for Witness had blossomed into an obsession with the work of John Coltrane, Ornette Coleman, Anthony Braxton and the like. Fortunately, he soon hooked up with several kindred spirits who shared his tastes. "There just happened to be five or six other people who were listening to the same things, leaning toward the same musical directions," he says. "During the five years that I was there, we just all kind of grew up together and formed a bond between us. We'd introduce each other to different players and concepts and talk about music. And that was really where everything started. I started coming up with ideas for the way I wanted to play."
Eventually, Wooley and a pair of classmates, bassist Eric Warren and drummer Charlie Dogget, formed a group called the Sangha Trio. The act's first recording--Frantically, Frantically Being at Peace, issued on San Francisco's Slippery Slope imprint--is a strong debut that finds the players paying tribute to the approaches of their mentors even as they struggle toward defining a more personal style. According to Wooley, the freshness of the disc has everything to do with the Trio's methodology.
"Usually there's no predestined compositional thing we're going for," he comments. "It's really kind of a game. One person starts playing--not thinking of anything, but just playing the first thing that comes out. From that, this person has a responsibility to build things. The other two come in either as a textural thing or as a solo voice--whatever is needed. We're all really into twentieth-century classical composers, so sometimes we'll just figure out a form as we go or a two-theme approach. Then one person will make a bold move, and it's up to the other people to react to it in whatever way they feel works best, whether it's going with or against it.