BAJEN DEATH CULT, Bajen-a-voo-doo (2004, Tifo)
A leering skull, silhouetted in green, and wearing a bone necklace or something. He looks quite smug, actually, which is not too surprising, considering he’s just some asshole Swedish hooligan (although surely there’s a more appropriate Swedish term of art). We apologize for the shitty low-res scan of the cover, but physical copies are only available at the stadium, and the people who already own this keep it behind glass in their personal shrines.
People in the United States often take sports WAY too seriously, but there is really nothing in American sport that compares to the insanity of European football superfandom. Take for instance Bajen Death Cult, a band formed by members of Grave, Unleashed, Grand Magus, and Necrophobic in order to sing songs about their local team, Hammerby IF. Grown men, in other words, writing, rehearsing, and recording songs about soccer. This is not an isolated incident, either. All metalheads should know by now that “Up the Irons” is a rallying cry not so much for Iron Maiden, but for West Ham United. Years before their first album, Vanden Plas released a single in tribute to 1. FC Kaiserslautern. Bobby Schotowski (Crows, Sodom) and Waldemar Sorychta (Despair, Grip Inc., producer of every good LP on Century Media ever) formed Dortmunder Jungs to celebrate BVB-Meisterfeier. You see the pattern here. These people are all crazy. They choose their cars based on the availability of their team’s colors. They name their children after players from the 70s. They see a phrase like “Central Attacking Defensive Center Back” and nod in sage understanding. Getting back to Bajen Death Cult and their EP, this is basically raucous Hellacopters-style metal punk, with a ballad thrown in for good measure. The lyrics are all in Swedish and are about saves and slide tackles and penalty shots and handsome Nordic men taking dives and punching one another in the groin when the refs aren’t looking. I assume. Naturally, there is no reason for anyone to seek this out, lest they live in whatever tiny part of Sweden that pledges allegiance to this particular team. Go sports!
— Friar Johnsen