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As much as I'm looking forward to the next one from Ira, Georgia, and James proper, it's gonna have to work awfully hard to match the effortless blast that is Fuckbook.
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Fuckbook’s 30 minutes are about as inconsequential as albums get, but they’re also perfect as a low-ambition vacation from the band’s usual sound, and as convincing a tribute to the beauties of loud, fast, hooky rock ’n’ roll as you’ll find outside a Nuggets collection.
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Fuckbook is a fantastic, energy-fuelled riot of an album and--if you wish to view it as such--yet another brilliant addition to the embarrassment of riches that is the collected works of Yo La Tengo.
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It’s clumsy, cheap, loud, fast and endlessly re-playable.
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There’s genuine replay value here, even if the recording of it took about half as long as the convoluted fictional biography (complete with Photoshopped fake album covers) in the liner notes.
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Fuckbook is the best joke fake lo-fi cover album since Pussy Galore’s Exile, except with the added irony of the roasters becoming the roastees.
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An album full of cover versions is not really essential listening, although there are a few songs here reminiscent of the better covers from past Yo La Tengo albums.
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These sparse, unfastened and more importantly, exuberant covers are all flash and no substance. But that doesn’t mean they aren’t specially well done and loads of fun, either.
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The songs are neither here nor there, which, to me, is exactly what a cover should be. That the men and woman behind Yo La Tengo have created yet another fine album after 25 years of existence and 11 full-lengths is outstanding.
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The sound quality is appropriately assy, and guitarist Ira Kaplan has fun playing a pissed-off leather-jacket pimplehead. But Yo La’s gentle side naturally peeks out.
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In the end, Fuckbook is a disappointing Yo La Tengo album, but the band’s made it clear that it doesn’t want it to be that, instead just a pretty good Condo Fucks record.
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Beyond a scrappy/winsome take on the Beach Boys' "Shut Down," there's not much to distinguish one track from another. It's all shits-and-giggles, all the time.
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UncutThat spirit of garageland spontaneity pervades Fuckbook. [Apr 2009, p.84]
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It's as much of a prank as an album, but after over 20 years as one of America's most consistently rewarding indie rock acts, Yo La Tengo are entitled to a bit of fun.
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As an homage to bands that paved the way, though, Fuckbook succeeds.
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The pseudonym and title (a wink to Yo La's mostly-covers Fakebook) indicate how this lark, with oft-inaudible vocals, is meant to be held up against the band's canon.
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