Ah, a boy and his guitar. His acoustic guitar. I wanted to coin a new portmanteau word, ala Lewis Carroll, to signify the conjoining of folk and punk and all I came up with was “Folunk.” Pronounced “flunk.” Which is, coincidentally, the grade I would have to give Bryan Dunaway’s latest effort. Folk music and punk music are, in many ways, spiritually related, but as certain misshapen Appalachian hillfolk have demonstrated, it’s not always a good thing when relatives intermarry. After listening to No Aim At All, I’m not sure the folk-punk admixture thing works. Plus Mr. Dunaway thanks shmuck actor/bon vivant Corey Feldman in his liner notes – an untenable punk gaffe if there ever was one and one that undoubtedly guarantees Dunaway’s accrued “punk points” will take a serious hit. No amount of successive days wearing a Clash shirt can rectify that. I admire his gumption, his DIY work ethic, and his nicely folded up cuffs on his punk rock jeans; but this disc strikes me as musically tepid and lyrically not all that clever. Something you might hear in a coffee shop on open stage night. I don’t like coffee, I don’t like coffee shops, and I don’t like coffee shop punk. For fuck’s sake, whether it was Les Paul or Leo Fender who slapped the first one together, the electric guitar was invented for a reason. Wasn’t Terrible Ted Nugent who once said ”Anybody wants to get mellow you can turn around and get the fuck outta here!”?
–aphid (Street Trash)