Time Bomb

While Buckcherry's second disc doesn't exactly advance the form, dirt-simple shout-alongs like "Time Bomb" and "Porno Star" make them real contenders for raunch rock's throw-up crown. [4/6/2001, p.120]

Time Bomb packs an incendiary wallop that's as noisy as nighttime on the Fourth of July.

If it was 1985, they'd be the biggest band on the planet.

This album is nothing but a parade of their '70s and '80s hard rock influences worn proudly on their sleeves. And for that, rock 'n' roll fans should be grateful. Time Bomb is one romping anthem after another almost clear through to the end, a "hidden" piano ballad that serves only further cement the band's status as a throwback to the days of overwrought arena rock.

Buckcherry's overblown rock 'n' roll is exactly the kind of music that can be dressed up by production, almost (but not quite) giving the illusion that something exciting is happening when, in fact, its merely recycling the already recycled.

Ridin', Porn Star and Slammin' are as disposably trashy as their titles suggest, and even the trowelled-on angst of Slit My Wrists and Whiskey In The Morning sounds like a pool party at a Beverley Hills bordello.

Although a less consistent effort as a whole, Time Bomb is a lot more fun than its predecessor and suggests capacity for songcraft not evident on the band's debut. [#154, p.66]

With Time Bomb, Buckcherry still makes the unfashionable seem fashionable, but that doesn't make it any less dumb.

Buckcherry now captures the decadence of seventies and eighties hard rock better than anyone who actually lived it.