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Local H only has two members, but the quality of their music is decently on par with that of their contemporaries. To compensate for Local H's lack of musicians, lead vocalist Scott Lucas wields a guitar that is electric and bass all-in-one, while drummer Joe Daniels provides back-up vocals and beats his drums unusually loud, resulting in explosive, guitar-grinding, drum-driven tunes. The duo definitely deserves credit for their ability to turn out loud, catchy instrumentals, yet lesser key elements in the album prevent it from landing a permanent spot in my CD case.

Local H's songs all follow the same pattern; clever, wailing, grunge guitar and drum beats that repeat throughout each tune, regressing to soft interludes and then hitting hard over and over again, sometimes reaching a climax that just isn't climactic enough, much like bad sex. While some songs do satisfy, others leave a yucky slacker-loser-Generation X taste in your mouth. No wonder the back cover of the album shows Local H's boys leisurely reading the paper in their pajamas with a bunch of cats milling about a mostly barren room, procrastinating. Sounds like some Rice students I know.

Local H's lyrics are similar to Beck's silly ravings, but they are delivered in a much different style of music that, compared to Beck's brilliance of form and delivery, makes them sound stupid. Only musicians with immense talent can really pull off goofy lyrics, and Local H's jagged edges don't include them in that category. The album's first song, "Alright (Oh Yeah)," serves as a perpetual team rallying cry for the band; it's hard-hitting and fast-paced, with Lucas repeatedly (and annoyingly) yelling, "All right! Oh yeah!" Except for a few other words, this mantra is the entire, drawn-out song. Can we say desperate for lyrics?

Perhaps all artists have their own issues that they need to deal with, but Local H's recurring ridiculous song themes and lyrics quickly lost my attention. "Cha! Said the Kitty" focuses on

determing the ownership of a shared cat after the breakup of a relationship: "I don't wanna live with that/You don't wanna take it back/I don't wanna live with that/You don't wanna kitty cat." Please. Pick something better to whine about and to mass-market.

Besides the rest of the silly songs on Pack Up the Cats , there were some cool tracks that made me want to pull on my dancing shoes and thrash around, or at least break something valuable. I highly enjoyed the excellent guitar riffs and somewhat sensible lyrics throughout tunes like "Hit the Skids, Or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Rock," "Cool Magnet" and "Laminate Man." "What Can I Tell You?" is one of the best songs on the album, entertaining with a semi-hypnotic, guitar melody interwoven with Local H's characteristic distorted guitar assaults. The track deviates toward metal as well as toward more meaningful lyrics. Lucas exclaims, "Whatever you want/Whatever turns you on ... What can I tell you," perhaps pleading that he will do anything in order to get something.

The second best song on the album is the last track, "Lucky Time," which stays mellow throughout, with a soft, apologetic mood. Local H brings down the intensity of their guitar and drums here, but the grooviness of the beat remains quality. The lyrics are poetic, with a more serious and contemplative theme. With a hopeful sadness, Lucas sings, "I'll never be just who I wanna be." With its lack of direction and laziness, this album truly screams "Gen X" all the way.

Every song on Pack Up the Cats continues into the next with little or no transition and sometimes absolutely no change of melody -- nearly every song sounds the same. Lucas' vocals are a cross between a throaty Kurt Cobain and the lead singer of Fastball. The band's instrumental aspect was nice but lacked variation, and their attempts at originality in lyricism and other elements they foolishly included (e.g., the sound of cats meowing) only contributed to the album's ridiculousness. Though it does have its high points, the same coolness found in their previous album just doesn't emanate from Pack Up the Cats .

This item appeared in the Arts & Entertainment section of the October 16, 1998 issue.