What's a band to do once they've released consistently great albums for a quarter of a century, gained a sizable global following, collaborated with the likes of Kevin Shields and Yoko Ono, had their name etched into the pantheon of indie rock legend and continue to evolve their sound through experimentation and finely tuned craftsmanship? If you're Yo La Tengo the answer is to rename yourselves Condo Fucks, create a laughable false history and back-catalogue (See: Condo Fucks City Rockers) and release a ramshackle garage punk album of sixties pop covers. That it’s sonically far removed from any of the band's previous output matters not; Condo Fucks should be considered an entirely different entity. Recorded live in a single take, Fuckbook barrels through thirty three minutes of lo-fidelity joy, taking songs from a golden era in popular music and grinding them through a filter of filthy distortion and dirty feedback. “What'cha Gonna Do About It?”, holler the Fucks in an opening cry of defiance as they begin proceedings by out Hiving The Hives with a Small Faces classic before ripping through hits by The Kinks, The Beach Boys, The Troggs, Richard Hell and The Flamin' Groovies, nary a care about scratching everything up along the way. Its frequently messy, the vocals often inaudible and the drums could do with more volume, but it’s the spontaneous nature of the recording that also delivers much of its charm. At its pulsating core Fuckbook captures a group of accomplished musicians taking a break from their art to have a roaring great time tearing through a bunch of their favourite songs. Everybody wins.