The world’s richest, most successful deejay delivers the follow-up to his critically-panned, but commercially successful debut, Bunkka. God help us all. Judging by how dreadful the songs on Paul Oakenfold’s second artist album sound, it would be against the Geneva Convention to use them to torture al Qaeda prisoners. Apparently, that would fall under cruel and inhumane treatment – a fate I wasn’t spared from. Mind you, I was one of the few critic types who didn’t mind Oakenfold’s first effort. (Didn’t buy it? Well, you probably heard every track in a film or TV commercial.)
Though not a perfect release, his Bunkka collaborations with Perry Farrell, Nelly Furtado, and Hunter S. Thompson had some musical merit. The glaring problem here is that the songs are beyond terrible, and the album has no direction. One moment Oakey’s rocking a horrific pop-trance tune from hell (“Amsterdam,” “Save the Last Trance For Me”), and the next he has a flunky like Ryan Tedder crooning a shitty, melodramatic ballad (“Just the Way”) that’ll no doubt make its way onto Jerry Bruckheimer’s next mega-film.
Even the big guns Oakenfold, Inc. recruited can’t salvage this mess: “Sex N’ Money” with Pharrell Williams is too awful for words, and Brittany Murphy’s performance on “Faster Kill Pussycat” is beyond dismal.News flash: It’s also a horrible song, and Murphy can’t sing. “Set It Off” with Grandmaster Flash is as moronic as it is comical. The faux breakbeat track is founded upon a bunch of samples and the two exchanging the mantra “Wassup, Paul? Hey Flash, wassup?” Give me a break. Actually, give me some Tylenol. Reviewed by Darren Ressler File under: One of the worst records ever produced!