Very good second LP from LA-based rock monsters
“R” they’re frightfully raucous, “A” they kick ass, “W” – we’ll come back to
“W” – and “K” they kick even [I]more[/I] ass. Yep, Buckcherry, a skinny, Cro-Magnon-jawed proper-rock band who’d far rather take loads and loads of non-prescription drugs and then be driven down Sunset Boulevard in a motorised open-top Jacuzzi packed full of Botox’d über-totty than, say, read a book or listen to Radio 4. The crazy mothers.
You like AC/DC? You like The Cult circa the classic ‘Electric’? You like Sabbaff, glam, Primal Scream and the half dozen Zep tracks that aren’t, like, total shite? Buckcherry do. ‘Time Bomb’ is unmitigated, unreconstructed, unapologetic, balls-out, cock-hard, fret-wanking, big-biceped, testosterone-overdosed, swirling, clanging, hollering heavy bastard frikkin’ shitty glam-pop meddle. And it
is a joy to behold.
The first track ‘Frontside’ kicks your head in with a sweat-soaked terror-ride through the coagulated coke, snot’n’dried semen caked underbelly of the LA nightmare.
As does ‘Ridin’. And the title track (“Life ain’t nothing but bitches
The rest of the album then fucks you up the ass, comes in your face repeatedly, kills you, eats your corpse raw, trashes your entire house and then burns the bastard down (it’s probably best if you just go with the flow).
What? Are there no girly ballads or ‘mature’ tracks that suck? Of course there are! But who gives a fuck? Because the “W” stands for [I]”WAAAAAAAAAAAAAUGGGGH! Let’s frikkin’ RAWK!” [/I]