Buzzard’s Doom Folk (2024) is an album that defies expectations, bridging the gap between the haunting weight of doom metal and the stripped-down honesty of folk music. The album combines gloomy-yet-cheeky, Sabbath-inspired riffs with the raw storytelling tradition of American folk music, creating something wholly unique. In this interview, Buzzard’s mastermind Christopher Thomas Elliott delves into the origins of the project, the creative processes behind Doom Folk, and the influences that shaped its distinctive sound.
How did your personal journey as a musician lead you to explore the fusion of doom metal and folk music? Was there a defining moment that set you on this path?
First off, thanks for the chance to talk about Doom Folk with your listeners. I appreciate your thoughtful and thought provoking questions.
I grew up an only child in a rural area where the cable TV did not run. My musical roots grew from both the working class classic rock radio and local college radio, plus trawling through local record shops and Columbia House mail order catalogs. I can point to a couple defining moments.
On the metal side, my first musical purchase as a kid was a 45 of “Back in Black” (along with “Stayin’ Alive” (LOL!) I still remember the excitement electrifying my every nerve as that AC/DC riff exploded out of the headphones in my quiet house. The power of the minor key grooves in bothsongs pulsed with a life I could barely conceive existed. Soon I was spinning Sabbath, Metallica, Fates Warning, Voivod, Candlemass, and Trouble records. I was a lifer.
On the folk side, I can point to two Dylan songs. First, the dark and driving “Masters of War” showed me how folk could be badass both musically and lyrically. I mean, talk about doom folk: “I hope that you die/And your death will come soon/I’ll follow your casket/on a pale afternoon.” Secondly, “Talking World War Three Blues” was not just smart but also cynical, with the singer commenting dryly on a post-apocalyptic hellscape. The song showed me how folk could be witty in a way that wasn’t corny but rather scathing Also, Dylan was my gateway drug to the full spectrum of Americana: deep blues like Blind Willie Johnson and Son House, weird folk ballads from the Harry Smith Collection, the songbook of Johnny Cash.
Over the years as a folk singer-songwriter, I often slipped in doomy influences–a tritone here, and galloping strum there. As the years wore on, I found myself listening to singer-songwriters less and less, even favorites like Townes Van Zandt, Robyn Hitchcock, the Handsome Family, Gillan Welch, James McMurtry, Todd Snider, John Prine. Instead, I realized my musical diet was mostly metal, prog, and classic rock, with some jazz, hip hop, and funk. My metal friends tend not to listen to much folk; my folkie friends definitely don’t listen to metal. So with Doom Folk, I embrace the dichotomy.
When you were writing music for Doom Folk, did you start with a melody, a lyrical concept, emotion or an idea you wanted to express?
Actually, Doom Folk has a very specific original story. In 2019 a friend sent me a picture of a buzzard perched on a cross that his brother-in-law had taken in a Cleveland cemetery. (This photo is included in the Doom Folk CD digipak.) We were like, “That image screams Doom. There should be a band that goes with that photo.” Another friend ran with the concept, creating a logo for a fictional band named Buzzard. I was like, we have a logo and concept–all we need is a band. So, I started writing music. To recap, Buzzard the band comes from the Buzzard logo which comes from the photo of a buzzard on a cross in a Cleveland cemetery.
Immediately, the first song I wrote was “Buzzard,” natch. I imagined the song as the opener for a self-titled debut, like “Black Sabbath” from Black Sabbath by Black Sabbath. I began with a very particular musical vision: a primitive doom riff accompanied by banjo. The gospel-derived call-and-response lyrics sprung from that image of a buzzard on a cross in a cemetery. That’s exactly where it began.
The rest of the songs flowed quickly, as I unleashed all my pent-up images of witches, Satan, and zombies and tritone-forward acoustic guitar ideas. Plus, a few songs like “Death Metal in America,” “Cockroaches and Weed,” and “Lucifer Rise” which I had written in previous years now had a home.
I’m definitely expressing a dark musical vision and existential worldview, starting with the album cover, which I designed using my friends’ logo and photo and adding Master of Reality purple. That image serves as my guide. It sums up the vibe and message. Sabbathian doom, minor key Americana, cosmic pessimism, animal rights, and so on. Buzzard serves as a catharsis for negative feelings: anger at human beings, hostility towards religious institutions, and sadness about the plight of the planet. But Buzzard also aims for a joyful aspect: big riffs, dark atmospheres, fun wordplay, surprising storytelling, vivid imagery, scathing irony. Rhymes, riffs, doom, death. That’s Buzzard.
Being from Massachusetts, do you feel that the environment there helped forge your connection to folk music and Americana?
I grew up in upstate New York with hard rock and metal on the radio, in the air, and in my blood. Not folk. To me folk was Gordon Lightfoot and corny campfire songs, which did not appeal to me. It wasn’t until digging into Dylan, the Dead, Phil Ochs, John Prine, and Johnny Cash in my early 20s that I discovered that Americana could be relevant to my taste and worldview. In the 90s I lived in Boston, where I performed at coffeehouses and folk clubs. This connected me with the “lone guitar and point of view” mode of the Greenwich Village troubadour and urban protest singer. I also focused on the comedic performer aspects of Loudon Wainwright III or Arlo Guthrie; I had songs which could really get a crowd laughing, believe it or not.
In 2008 my partner Lisa and I moved to Western Massachusetts and continued as Austin & Elliott, playing around New England but never further; these years the music would became increasingly dark. We found a little modest success here and there, but we were always different, never quite fitting in with the folk scene here. Personally I never related to a lot of the singer-singer styles common in New England coffee houses. But my tastes are weird, so who am I to judge?
What’s your favorite track on Doom Folk? Is there a special story behind it?
Like I said, the first song I wrote for the project was “Buzzard”. The musical aim was to combine banjo and a doom riff, which is just the coolest sound to me. Lyrically, it’s simple but faithful to the album cover’s aesthetic. It may not be the best song, but it’s my initial statement of purpose. It’s the flag I stuck into the ground, saying, “Here begins doom folk. Abandon hope, all who enter.”
Besides “Buzzard,” I get a special kick out of the on-the-nose “Gods of Death,” which was inspired by the famous Lovecraft quote “That is not dead which can eternal lie/and with strange eons even death may die.”
“Death Metal in America” is the type of lyrics-forward social commentary narrative song you might hear in a folk coffeehouse, but written by someone who goes to death metal shows and owns every Cattle Decapitation album on vinyl. You don’t come across that every day.
I’ll add one more thing that many fellow artists might relate to. At some point in time, for at least a hot minute or two, every song has felt like a favorite or best ever. You have to feel that way in order to maintain the excitement and motivation to revise, record, and obsess over the track until completion. If I don’t, I’ll abandon it sooner than later.
Can you share some of the biggest musical influences that shaped your sound on Doom Folk, whether they come from the metal world, the folk tradition, or even beyond those genres?
Let me make some parameters so I don’t go on forever. Though not all of them may be audible, all these artists influence how I make music, even if it’s just subtle thought processes on Doom Folk and Buzzard songs I’m working on for upcoming albums:
Top 10 Doom Metal Bands (besides Sabbath: Yob, Candlemass, Trouble, Isole, Gates of Slumber, Electric Wizard, Solitude Aeturnus, Warning, Witch Mountain, Opeth (Damnation, mainly).
Top 10 Americana/Folk (besides Dylan): Townes Van Zandt, John Fahey the Handsome Family, Robyn Hitchcock, Todd Snider, Gillian Welch, Blind Willie Johnson (the death metal of delta blues), James McMurtry, Fred McDowell (blues riff master), Johnny Cash, Randy Newman (check out “God’s Song (That’s Why I Love Mankind)”)
Random musical artists that influence Buzzard: Zeal & Ardor, the Cure (Pornography), Earth, Frank Zappa, Graham Central Station (funk), Betty Davis (funk), Uriah Heep, classical composers Beethoven and Haydn, and 70s French and Italian Prog (too many artists to name).
And what about non-musical influences?
Basically two realms. First, weird fiction, horror, and science fiction, starting with H.P. Lovecraft as a kid and continuing today with Thomas Ligotti, John Padget, Mark Samuels, Jeff Vandermeer, China Mieville. Lately, I’ve been reading modern lit put out by Grimscribe Press and gothic classics on Hippocampus Press, as well as collecting spoken word vinyl from Cadabra Records.
I’ll also include horror films, especially Italian horror and Romero zombie films. Dawn of Dead made a huge impact, showing how genre art can create satire, powerful, shocking and genuinely funny. I grew up in Binghamton, New York, where my high school (incidentally, street number 666) was located next to a shopping mall where we always hung out, where I worked my first job at a pizza place, and where I met the band Cinderella in a Spencer’s Gifts. So the mall satire of Dawn of the Dead resonated with me.
My second non-musical influence is stand-up comedy, especially George Carlin, Bill Hicks, Louis C.K. and Bill Burr on the social commentary side, plus Anthony Jeselnik, Mitch Hedburg, Maria Bamford, and so many more. Like a solo folk singer, stand-ups have total freedom to express a worldview without compromise. It’s so powerful, whether the intended effect is laughter, escape, catharsis, outrage, introspection, or community building. To paraphrase Kurt Vonnegut, the purpose of art is to make us feel less alone. When the point of view expressed by a singer or comic clicks with you, you can rest assured it’s not you that’s crazy, it’s the world.
What role does improvisation play in your creative process? Do any of the tracks on Doom Folk have elements that came about spontaneously?
Not much improv, apart from jamming to brainstorm ideas at the beginning of the creative process. My process is less improvisational and more compositional. I write, revise, compose, tweak, repeat, until the final arrangement, word for word and note for note, feels right, or else I quit. I liken it to sculpture, a slow process of carving and molding into form what begins as a hunch or vision in the mind. The key is to be fully present and mindful while writing; the act of writing itself is a performance of sorts. You can’t phone it in at any point.
Once a song has taken shape and basic tracks are recorded, I might experiment in an improvisational manner with arrangements, harmonies, and additional instrumentation. The final recording includes fleeting moments of chance and happy accidents. But the underlying composition is deliberate and carefully considered, for better or worse.
What was the most challenging moment for you in the creative process that led to Doom Folk?
For me, the biggest challenges have less to do with the creative process itself and more to do with recording technology. I can’t afford a million-dollar studio with an engineer or producer. Everything I do is 100% DIY self-produced in a modest home studio that consists of an eldritch laptop, MOTU pre, DAW, Ibanez electric, a couple acoustics, a couple pedals, a few of Rhodes mics, cheap monitors – you get the picture. Most of my mixing is done in my car to get a realistic perspective; only the final mixes are reviewed on my budget audiophile home stereo. I like to think the lo-fi aspects fit the material, but I do endlessly and obsessively tweak mixes to get the best quality possible with my limited audio engineering skills. Besides the tech side, I’m also entirely self-taught musically, stubbornly independent across the board, from guitar playing style to songwriting craft, for better or worse.
Of course, the creative process too can be challenging, but that’s what I thrive on: the challenge of going from a glimmer of a song idea in my mind to a final lyric, song arrangement, and recorded performance that, despite any lingering doubts and self-criticism, I ultimately feel has artistic merit.
How do you envision your audience experiencing Doom Folk—is it meant to be listened to alone in introspective moments, or do you see it as something that can be shared and appreciated more in a live setting?
Buzzard began as a studio project with a wait-and-see-if-anybody-cares-and-asks approach to live performances. I imagine people listening to my music the way I listen to music: discovering it alone or from a friend and connecting with it individually. I listen to music all day, every day–it’s integral to my daily life, from my vinyl/CD collection at home to streaming in the car or at the gym. I go to great pains to make the musical ideas and words of Buzzard clear as day. for purposeful, intent listening
Since my songs tend to be about the lyrics as much as the music, I imagine people taking in Buzzard like books or movies: in private. Instead of focusing on me, looking at my face, or seeing my antics on stage, I’d rather the listener listen to the voice, riffs, and melodies. I imagine Buzzard as the type of music that I, as a listener, would not necessarily put on as background or party music, but I’d connect with on a more personal level. But of course people should listen (or not listen and discard!) however they see fit.
And do you plan to take Doom Folk live?
If opportunities arise, I’d consider, but I have no immediate plans. I’ve spent decades driving around to coffeehouses, church basements, and open mics, and it can be great to connect with an audience (and painful to fail). Ultimately, my “happy place” is not on stage performing as much as in a studio composing. Still, if there’s an audience out there who wants a set of doom folk, I’ll be there! As a music fan, I know how awesome it can be to hear some obscure artist live, so it would be an honor to deliver that experience to folks out there.
So, if an audience grows to the point Buzzard could fill a venue with like-minded souls, that would be amazing. As a music fan, I appreciate the power of being part of an audience sharing music that’s weird, irreverent, and honest about the dark side of life. I can imagine a Buzzard live show getting across the idea, “Friends, you’re not crazy; it’s the world that’s fucking crazy.”
Which bands or musicians would be part of a “dream tour” lineup for Buzzard, and why?
Short-term, my dream would be to do acoustic opening sets for metal bands. I wonder if there might be an audience for, say, a taste of doom folk in small clubs opening for Yob or Zeal & Ardor, two of my favorites who align with my values. As an opener Buzzard would be a light footprint – a surgical strike of 20 minutes solo or as a duo with my partner Lisa adding harmonies and hand drums. I also wonder if horror fiction fans would enjoy doom folk in literary spaces like the Necronomicon.
Buzzard/Christopher Thomas Elliott. Picture: Lisa Austin
What are your future plans for the project?
Release a ton more doom folk metal! The second LP Mean Bone is good to go for release in early 2025; the 13 tracks add more metal to the mix, while the lyrics explore human meanness and the plight of the planet. Whereas Doom Folk was composed on acoustic guitar, Mean Bone was composed on electric guitar with full drum arrangements. I can’t wait for doom folks to hear it.
Beyond that, I have three more albums in various stages of completion, each conceived with a theme. First, Late For the Slaughter, Early to the Feast aims for pure vegan doom folk fury, focusing on climate change, animal rights, and the environment. Second, The Song of Nonbeing Fills the Void centers on cosmic pessimism, horror, and science fiction themes. In addition, I have a long running side project called Satiricus Doomicus Americus, which I intend to release soon; it combines dark songs of political satire and social commentary with audio samples from vintage commercials and radio shows. The third Buzzard album will also be in that vein, titled Satiricus Doomicus Americus. All in all, some 40-odd Buzzard songs and counting.
Beyond Buzzard, I have a couple other nonmetal folk albums sitting on my hard drive waiting for me to get around to releasing on Bandcamp under Austin & Elliott. If you get the Doom Folk CD, you’ll get 7 dark bonus tracks from that folkier side of my music. There’s a lot of more stuff on Bandcamp for those inclined to venture further into my music.
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