Louis Fragoroso was a small man with a very big sound. Very big. Long-serving saxophonist Bentley Drummond recalled, “Louis was no bigger than about five-two. Every town we visited his first question would be, ‘Where are the phone books? I need to see the phone books’. He wasn't interested in calling anyone. He needed something to raise him up on the drum stool. He used to carry his own phone books, but they'd get frayed and beat up. Small town gigs would spook him because the phone books might be real slim”. That aside, Fragoroso built a rep as a ferocious big band drummer. Imagine, if you will, a combination of Krupa, Bellson, Blakey, Elvin Jones, Philly Joe Jones, Billy Cobham and Billy Higgins, with a large side of Terry Bozzio – and you're half way there. Fragoroso may have been small but his ego, like his sound, was real big. This lengthy – some would say endless – set from the Sheboygan Arena catches the worst of LF. And the album title don't lie: that band could wail and jump. They make Woody Herman's Thundering Herd sound like a bunch of gazelles enjoying tea on the lawn. First up is a breezy Jazz Messengers-style original called ‘Flat Iron’ which features some half-decent soloing from the horn section before the leader enters like a salesman jamming his size 12s in the door. Fragoroso launches into the first of what will be many, many, manic solos; all of them increasingly cack-handed and uncontrollable. Throughout this remorseless album the words that come to mind are “bull” and “china shop”. Fragoroso should enter some kind of Hall of Fame for sheer stamina. There are bombs everywhere, frantic paradiddlings, unnecessary press rolls, more splash cymbals and crash cymbals than you can shake a (drum)stick at. After a while the band don't appear at all. In fact, while Fragoroso eviscerates ‘Fine and Dandy’, they can be heard leaving. Your critic did likewise.