San Diego's Rocket From the Crypt are the amalgamation of all things working class. On Scream, Dracula, Scream! the six-piece band pits the ferocity of West Coast hardcore against a wailing horn section, sing-along choruses and fat, hoagie-eating rhythms. The Rocket members' dress may be strictly bowling-alley chic, but they aren't boneheads.

Rocket are actually more renowned as leaders of San Diego's underground-rock scene than for their unrivaled sound. Remember when that city was gonna be the next Seattle? The band decided to let that hype die down while expanding on the sound of its '93 album Circa: Now!

On Scream, Rocket roll up their sleeves and dig deep into the blue-collar essence of the Clash, Springsteen, Zeppelin and various '50s rockers. Rocket apply it to their own world – one where factories have been replaced by minimalls. Songs like "Fat Lip," "Suit City" and "Drop Out" teem with attitude, while "Born in '69" and "Misbeaten" foam over with frustrated suburban gusto. John Reis' gravelly vocals cut through songs with a smart-ass edge, bumping up against equally sneering trumpet and saxophone. Still, this album is not quite as anthem filled and addictive as the group's past EPs and singles.

It's actually more daring. Some of the experimentation that drives Reis' other band, Drive Like Jehu, can be found here in subtle doses. Chiming church bells, squiggly guitar and zingy "scooby doo's" by backup singers (think the Fifth Dimension) all permeate Rocket's swaggering trademark sound. Maybe they haven't made an album pasteurized enough to top the alternative charts, but Rocket From the Crypt do offer an alternative to whiny-boy rock and cookie-cutter punk. Dracula supplies a lunch-pail-and-thermos soundtrack for the jobless generation. (RS 721)

LORRAINE ALI