Tankard
The Morning After

THE REVIEW

Third full-length dated 1988 for the Frankfurt thrashers, after the less than stellar debut “Zombie Attack” (’86) and the more than decent “Chemical Invasion” (’87).

Certainly among the peaks of the band's now twenty-year career, “The Morning After” faithfully reproduces what was - and will practically be until today - the musical formula of the previous records: decidedly aggressive Teutonic thrash metal (thanks also to the particularly raucous vocals of Andreas Geremia, today the only remaining member of the original lineup, along with bassist Frank Thorwarth), built on riffing that may not be particularly original or technical, but sufficiently varied and, above all, incredibly fast, with essential arrangements and some of the craziest solos ever.

The record presents itself as extremely compact, devoid of dips in tension, catchy at the right point - especially thanks to the excellent vocal lines - but lends itself to certain criticisms regarding the originality and variety of the compositions. Worth noting is the cover of “Try Again” by Spermbirds and the hardcore-esque and throat-tearing conclusion “Mon Cherie.” An excellent album, therefore, recommended (and, in some ways, essential) for every lover of '80s German thrash... and do you think Tankard can be summed up like this, in a few lines?!? Apart from the music (on which I don't think there's much more to say), what really makes Tankard great is an added value lacking in the vast majority of metal bands: (self) irony. The issue is very simple: Tankard is a band of indefatigable goofballs and they are proud of it. We are talking about a band that, at one of the last Bang Your Head Festivals, took to the stage in pajamas to protest against the disrespectful scheduling that had them performing at two in the afternoon (a more suitable time for a nap than a metal concert).

But above all, we are talking about a band that for 20 years has chosen to discuss, with great participation and knowledge of the facts, one of the subjects most dear to the average metalhead: boozing (so much so that the “tankard” is nothing but the typical German beer mug, sometimes even equipped with a freshness-saving lid). The drinking – and here's the genius – is brought up with any excuse: as a divine law (as in the opener “Commandments” , in which the existence of some commandments to be added to the ten canonic is hypothesized: “Thou shalt not waste nor spill it. Drink your beer and be done.”), as a snapshot of the modern man's daily life (the traumatic post-bacchanal awakening of the drunkard of the title track) and, even, as a horror element (the evil creature of the night named Lohocla, who steals beer from honest drunkards and gives title to “Feed The Lohocla,” indeed). For the sake of the record, however, it should be noted that, at least in this album, a certain variety of themes can be found: in “F. U. N.” the band addresses its audience directly, asking for greater moderation during concerts, in “Desperation” there is a foray into a merciless analysis of the compositional neuroses that assail the lazy artist, up to “Help Yourself”, a rare case where the band puts aside irony to address, though with their typically over-the-top style, the burning theme of religious wars.

If we then add the ultra-referential, and very likely autobiographical cover (even though the one from the latest LP “The Beauty & The Beer” is unmatched), and the fact that Gerre has a beer belly like Santa Claus after a business dinner based on reindeer meat, it is easy to understand why the group can boast such an affectionate following. In short, Tankard will certainly not be remembered (if they ever stop thrashing one day) for having churned out who knows what masterpieces (with possibly the only exception of “The Morning After”), but they deserve due respect for having produced more than dignified extreme music for over twenty years. They may never have reached the heights of success or historical-musical “indispensability” of the triad and perhaps they can be accused of excessive artistic coherence (a refined way of saying they’ve been doing the same stuff for twenty years), but they remain an important piece of '80s German thrash scene, arriving to us with constancy and dedication to the genre, offering, among other things, a party alternative to the stereotype of the evil, sullen, and violent thrasher.

And that, if it certainly does not exempt them from legitimate criticism of their musical production, at least makes them more likeable to us.