REVIEW: WEHRMACHT 'VIVA SHARKO!' (FOAD)

Closely affiliated with Cryptic Slaughter and Spazztic Blur, placing them right at the heart of that particularly troublesome strand of crossover thrash that didn't get plaudits within the scene that birthed it – too fast and abrasive for the classic thrashers, too inane for the burgeoning extreme metallers, and too obviously metal for the punks, Portland, Oregon five-piece Wehrmacht gained a diehard following with the founding generation of grindcore instead.

Perhaps now they'll get their dues. Cripple Bastards' screecher Giulio had a hand in this release (he runs FOAD Records along with Marco Garripoli, who ran the original FOAD zine back in the dawn of recorded history), Erich Keller of Fear of God has waxed (hurrhurrhurr) lyrical about them on his superbly involved blog (and again), and the mighty Napalm-chuffing-Death covered 'Fright Night' on 'Leaders Not Followers: Part 2', and this super limited boxed set, containing both 1987's 'Shark Attack' and 1989's 'Biermacht', is a trouser-moistening proposition for archaeologists of extremity.

Remastered and bundled in with assorted demos for a jaw-dropping total of 57 tracks, 'Shark Attack' is the high point, (and  an aside someone really needs to compose a thesis on thrash metal's fascination with sharks), raw, raucous and totally unafraid to piss away  an entire song, aptly titled 'Puke', with 50 seconds of someone being sick and the rest of the band reacting to it in a mirthless 'Beavis & Butthead' style. 'Biermacht' is more family friendly, with the sort of bounce that plunderers of Suicidal Tendencies and SOD repeat ad infinitum in their shitty neo-thrash DayGlo abortions, but the slight air of menace and the venomous vocal delivery, which has occasional shades of Verbal Abuse's snarling Nikki Sicki, remain uniquely Wehrmacht's.

Unwittingly (or maybe not, it's easy to think of a band who write songs about beer as idiots) Wehrmacht found that perfect balance between stupidity, simplicity and speed, stumbling through the back door into a whole new array of genres and sloshing inspiration around like pilsner from a pint glass. This is party thrash, certainly, but look at who was partying.