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This isn't Local H's best album, but it's certainly their most daring and emotionally naked, and the results are truly impressive.
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The concept is basic and brilliant: a song for every bitter month of a year of off-again/on-again romance, from splitting the record collection in January to “A token e-mail/ A drunken text/A sorry go-round of cell-phone sex” in October.
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Twelve Angry Months is Lucas' best album in a decade, and arguably his catchiest. Not his most powerful.
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You start out rooting for Lucas when his ex keeps his Pretenders album. But the more mean-spirited he gets, the more his melodies fail him.
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For what is in essence the ultimate expression of inadequacy, self-loathing, failure, and impotence, 12 Angry Months is a tough little thing.
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The songs sometimes dip slightly below the absurdly high quality level Local H normally provides, yes, but most of my unease here is because it’s so painfully on target.