Yesterday’s Freshies is full of respect for its influences but never slides into being lazy or derivative—it’s a perfect blend of subtle connection and in your face charisma, and a prime example of the punk aesthetic commandeering the pop genre. Think perhaps the New York Dolls sharing a whiskey sour with Pulp, or even Dream Syndicate if they were sipping a deep port in the back alley." /> L.A. Record

VENEER: YESTERDAY’S FRESHIES

October 25th, 2017 | Album reviews

VENEER
Yesterday’s Freshies
Burger

There are times when being introduced to something new can rearrange your view of aesthetics, art and the like. There’s not enough room here to explore the idea of music being a more emotional or visceral experience—or whether the pop-ists or rockists are ultimately right about anything—but this Veneer record might be central to that debate. Yesterday’s Freshies is full of respect for its influences but never slides into being lazy or derivative—it’s a perfect blend of subtle connection and in your face charisma, and a prime example of the punk aesthetic commandeering the pop genre. Think perhaps the New York Dolls sharing a whiskey sour with Pulp, or even Dream Syndicate if they were sipping a deep port in the back alley. Freshies seems to examine the confusion that comes with being an artist in our current circumstances and advances a certain acceptance at being a perpetual outsider. It’s an albums worth of attempts at reconciliation, but the final verdict remains ambiguous at best. Every song seems to be a soul-searching exercise, each leading into the next set of story-of-my-life rock ‘n’ roll self-examination. These kind of literary exercises are what separate the average records from the potentially timeless, and Freshies aims to explores these kind of high-art narrative strains. Songs like “Dreamwalker” display a palpable tension between the inner landscape and the external rhythms of life, and excitement of living—and failure that sometimes comes with it—are everywhere on this album. See: “Growing Up,” with its wrestling between conception and perception, the surrender of one’s self into an accepted pose and the search nonetheless for a true identity and experience.

—Nathan Martel