Posted in Whathaveyou on January 23rd, 2026 by JJ Koczan
Hey, if you’ve got the room, use it, right? Massachusetts-based doom folker Buzzard — aka multi-instrumentalist, programmer, songwriter, etc.-ist Christopher Thomas Elliott — will next month issue an expanded CD limited to 50 copies of Fall 2025’s Everything is Not Going to Be Alright (review here), with three extra songs to take it from an EP to LP length. Vinyl to follow? I don’t know, but the hint is dropped, so do with it what you will.
What I’ll do, apparently, is go ahead and put a news post together for the thing so that when the weekend comes I can put my preorder in for a copy. I haven’t heard the new songs — “All the Rage,” “Immovable Object, Unstoppable Force” and “Choosing Life” — but I look forward to doing so, and if you haven’t heard the rest of Everything is Not Going to Be Alright, there are seven reasons why streaming at the bottom of this post. And yes, obviously the antifascist stance is a draw here. I wish more voices in the underground were so clear and unequivocating.
This was an email from Bandcamp, via the PR wire:
New from Buzzard: Everything Is Not Going To Be Alright (2026 remastered expanded version)
Hello, folks. Pre-orders are up for the remastered and expanded CD of Everything Is Not Going To Be Alright, due to ship Feb. 20. It’s limited to 50 copies.
In addition to the original 7 songs, the CD contains 3 brand-new tracks, making the long EP a full-on LP. All tracks have been remastered for greater clarity, power, and sparkling anti-fascism.
This is the first physical media release of the album, made possible by the positive responses… [and] Most importantly, your downloads, follows, and reviews make this release possible. Extra special thanks go to the folks who attended the Listening Party a couple months ago. If it weren’t for this support, the CD (and possible other physical media releases of this album, stay tuned, fingers crossed…) would not happen. Heartfelt thanks.
Buzzard‘s new EP, Everything is Not Going to Be Alright, will be released on Nov. 7. For Christopher Thomas Elliott, the project’s sole denizen, it (probably?) tops off a busy year that began with a full-length release called Satiricus Doomicus Americus (review here) and that this Spring brought new levels of tonal weight and metallic intention to the established ‘doom folk’ sound — Doom Folk (review here) was also Buzzard‘s mostly-acoustic-guitar-based 2024 debut — and in Spring, another full album, Mean Bone (review here), followed. That’s three records in about 13 months’ time from the Massachusetts-based solo outfit, and with the seven tracks/30 minutes of Everything is Not Going to Be Alright — fair enough for it to be billed as an EP since the other outings are longer, but it’s also still definitely longer than other full-length releases I’ve encountered in the last week — Elliott continues the thread of growing progressively heavier each time out, pushing himself to see how far into doom metal he can go while retaining the clear-voiced Americana aspect of his songwriting, which is likewise growing more malleable around a foundation in verse/chorus and (duh) folk traditionalism.
Whatever it’s billed as in your head-canon — it’s ‘short-album’ in mine, in part for the flow between songs and the implication of narrative cast across the lyrics to all of them. And if the title didn’t give it away, Everything is Not Going to Be Alright is themed around this troubled, fractured moment in United States history. Elliott has a relatable axe to grind with the future his generation was promised and that which has been realized, and beginning with “This Land is Your Land (Until it’s Not),” he lays bare grievances for redress, and whether it’s the role of corporations in fascism or the more personal appeal in “Fever Breaks” (video here), “Together we could save your farms, your hospitals, your schools/I’ll help you quit the cult of klepto-fascist rule,” before laying out a final regime-change riff, Elliott not only stands on the cliffside to summon Yog-Sothoth as “Screaming into the Void” posits but is a witness to the dismantling of the remaining post-Citizens-United vestiges of US democracy seemingly as it happens in maddening, overwhelming real-time. As “Doom Folk Fury” starts out its first, acoustic-led verse, “Ever since 2024, I don’t give a fuck no more,” the rest of the lyrics there (and no, the references don’t end with Clutch) and in the surrounding six pieces reveal that apathy as aspirational. If Elliott didn’t care deeply about his country’s present and future betrayal to the ideals it once touted, his response to it wouldn’t be so passionate.
And passion is a guiding principle here. It’s shown as a kind of fervency that extends to the arrangements of the songs themselves, which from the doomly lumber of “This Land is Your Land (Until it’s Not)” through the three-and-a-half-minute epic finale “Lunatic Lighthouse Keeper” — which becomes a kind of dark-hallucinatory response to everything else happening lyrically before it; an endgame of apocalyptic, swirling, still-melodic heavy metal depicting Lovecraftian universe-death and renewal; it’s also a new pinnacle for outward-facing heaviness in Buzzard‘s sound; atmosphere, impact and craft; it’s perfect because you don’t know what’s real, and while I’m run-on ranting I’ll tell you it’s among the best songs I’ve heard this year, easily, and not the first by Elliott on that list — can convey chaos but is never actually out of control. Elliott keeps a firm grip on his craft, and has enough distance from his subject to not get lost in his messaging. The songs vary accordingly, and on purpose. “Doom Folk Fury” picks up from its beginning with a cathartic sweep of a chorus and follows suit from the opener before it in utilizing a break-and-redirect bridge to foster depth of character, arrangement and narrative in the songs. Later, he’ll use more keys as well, but as “Doom Folk Fury” surges through its second hook (I’ve typed out the lyrics below, from memory; note the reference to “Cockroaches and Weed” from Doom Folk and the Satiricus LP) and passes the three-minute mark, it leaves distortion momentarily behind and sets up an all-the-more satisfying return.
This structure is put to use throughout, in a variety of ways, as “Screaming Into the Void” uses its chorus of “I upload, repost share and BCC a prayer/But the stars at night give zero likes, not a soul says ‘hey there,'” to contrast a verse that’s like half-nerd-rapped, or at least rhymed for rhythmic emphasis while surrounded by a willful overdose of tonal fuzz. The lyrics and one-liners make a it highlight,. Declarations like, “I fought bullies in the kiddie pool/I hated jocks in high school/I did drugs/I still do/I’m doing them now,” are likewise clever and empowering, and the later backing vocal line, “Elliott phone home,” references the movie E.T. with a taunt that, being named Elliott, rings true to kids being shitty to each other. A bit of autobiography amid essaying; not a complaint, especially leading to a ’90s Bowie call and response ending. “Terms and Conditions Apply” speaks with a broader stroke in calling out the asterisks of American social progress. “You’re free to speak your mind/Terms and conditions apply,” and such. The repeated title line grounds the proceedings, but as “Screaming Into the Void” used its soothing hook melody as its departure from the full heft of its layered guitar, “Terms and Conditions Apply” more directly employs loud/quiet tradeoffs between its verse and chorus, and so Elliott does kind of the same thing in a different way. This creates an album-style flow across the EP, which, again, culminates in “Lunatic Lighthouse Keeper” with a new level of stately aural force.
It wouldn’t be possible if there weren’t two sides of Buzzard‘s sound to dynamically oppose each other. In so doing, “Terms and Conditions Apply” is very much the centerpiece of Everything is Not Going to Be Alright, but Elliott is an apt enough songwriter to break his own rules, and the prior-standalone-single “Fever Breaks” does that, pushing the guitar down in the mix to give the vocals more space but keeping largely to its central level of intensity. The guitar becomes a clarion and there’s a takeoff later, but “Fever Breaks” feels more folkish for its comparative straightforwardness, and it pairs fluidly with the imagined better future of “Take the Tyrant Down” that follows, the penultimate track being acoustically-based on balance, save for the somewhat theatrical chugging departure in its second half, an urging procession as repetitions of “Down down down” are complemented by the reminder “Sic semper tyrannis” (“ever thus to tyrants”), the obvious reference there to the US’ history of political violence — you might say it’s how the country started and it never really stopped — can only be called relevant, though I suppose if you wanted to say “unsubtle,” that would also apply to its righteous rage. Mellotron provides an epilogue to “Take the Tyrant Down,” which like “Fever Breaks” is a classic protest song, if varied in its manifestation.
If we — that is, the speaker in the lyrics and the audience carried along with the (at least partially pretend) storyline — are trying to see a future beyond oppression and bootlicking, “Take the Tyrant Down” is hopeful. “Lunatic Lighthouse Keeper,” on the other hand, is crushing. The present it sees is the title-character crashing ships against the shoreline, “Just to see the sailors drown,” and is driven by omens and voices in his head to consume all light with some dark magic and, in the end, using that same power on himself to start creation over. “Turning the mirror on himself, he explodes with the light of a trillion suns” leads into the last chorus, “Golden fire/Devoid of form/There never was nor shall there be safe harbor from this storm.” The description in the second verse as “Obsidian beams of nothingness swallow the passing cars/douse the lights of cities/Snuff out the moon and smother the stars” is no less immersive than the downer chugging riff around which the song is based, and the bleak triumph of “Lunatic Lighthouse Keeper” seems to underscore the idea that perhaps the best future of all, as regards the universe more broadly, is one free of humanity. The notion of ‘burn it all down’ writ on a cosmic scale. Heavy fucking metal.
Is Elliott screaming into the void? Maybe. To some degree or other, everyone is. But what I’ll tell is that I got sent this EP maybe a month ago and I’ve sat with it more than I’ve sat with anything else I’ve listened to this year save for Satiricus Doomicus Americus, which came out in January, and that in the anthemic defiance of “Doom Folk Fury,” I’ve found both catharsis and comfort, and felt a little less alone in the inflicted terrors of this moment for that. While free speech lasts, I can hardly think of a better use to put it toward. The end of the line in “This Land is Your Land (Until it’s Not)” is “Everything is not going to be alright… unless we fight every little thing.” So maybe it’s not so hopeless as one thinks.
“Doom Folk Fury” premieres on the player below, followed by the lyrics and Elliott‘s own, far-more-concise summary of the EP’s mission.
Please enjoy, and keep your head up. We’re all we have and we need each other. You’re not crazy for feeling crazy and you’re not the only one. Thanks for reading.
Buzzard, “Doom Folk Fury” track premiere
“Doom Folk Fury” lyrics:
Ever since 2024, I don’t give a fuck no more I faced the facts and the fact I faced is the fucked up face of the human race. Hockey teams compete for the Cup as couples smack each other up. Holy yahoos take up arms as chickens cry on factory farms.
Oh-oh-oh Pure fuckin’ Doom Folk Fury Whoa-oh-oh Pure fuckin’ Doom Folk Fury Fight a fascist, fight a bully, fight the church Get out of the country Whoa-oh-oh-oh-oh Pure fuckin’ Doom Folk Fury
So much fury, so much sound, so much love to go around No thank you, I do not comply with POTUS, ICE or the FBI I try to see things from all sides but I end up gouging out my eyes Truth hits me like a firehose when I can’t see what’s right under my nose (yeah, here it comes…)
Singin’ oh-oh-oh Pure fuckin’ Doom Folk Fury Whoa-oh-oh Pure fuckin’ Doom Folk Fury The way we shit on each other and smile Makes me sad, it’s fucking vile Whoa-oh-oh-oh-oh Pure fuckin’ Doom Folk Fury
See the new beginning — viruses and cockroaches evolve! Monuments erected for time immemorial dissolve! Smell the forest flowers, hear the mountain choirs in the air! It’s beautiful! It’s brutal! It’s real! And none of us are there! None of us are there.
I used to check my phone but now I don’t I used to follow the blow-by-blow of the constant news like a fiend for dope I used to care but something broke Something broke I don’t know what In my head, in my heart, in my gut.
Whoa, whoa Well Pure fuckin’ Doom Folk Fury Singin’ whoa-oh-oh Pure fuckin’ Doom Folk Fury I can’t believe what we did to the great white shark What a world we wasted Whoa-oh-oh-oh-oh Pure fuckin’ vegan Doom Folk Fury
My hopes were high And so was I The higher the dream The farther you fall All we can do Is to help each other muddle through
Politically charged 7-song EP pulls zero punches. Artwork by Jari Tanduk.
Tracklisting 1. This Land Is Your Land (Until It’s Not) 2. Doom Folk Fury 3. Screaming Into the Void 4. Terms and Conditions Apply 5. Fever Breaks 6. Take the Tyrant Down 7. Lunatic Lighthouse Keeper
Created by Christopher Thomas Elliott: vocals, electric and acoustic guitars, bass, drum programming, dobro, keyboards.
Buzzard, Everything is Not Going to Be Alright (2025)
Posted in Questionnaire on September 2nd, 2025 by JJ Koczan
The Obelisk Questionnaire is a series of open questions intended to give the answerer an opportunity to explore these ideas and stories from their life as deeply as they choose. Answers can be short or long, and that reveals something in itself, but the most important factor is honesty.
Based on the Proust Questionnaire, the goal over time is to show a diverse range of perspectives as those who take part bring their own points of view to answering the same questions. To see all The Obelisk Questionnaire posts, click here.
Thank you for reading and thanks to all who participate.
The Obelisk Questionnaire: Christopher Thomas Elliott of Buzzard
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How do you define what you do and how did you come to do it?
A lone guitar and a point of view. My elevator pitch is “What if Bob Dylan listened to Black Sabbath and read H.P. Lovecraft?” because it’s 100% true and authentic to who I am.
As a kid, I bonded with Sabbath’s We Sold Our Soul… via a Columbia House mail-order subscription. “Wicked World” and “War Pigs” were the first socially conscious songs that resonated with me. To this day, I spin Sabbath on the regular, including my collection of original Vertigo pressings. Iommi worship runs through my veins.
I also wasn’t the first teenager to become entranced by the bleak cosmology of Lovecraft. Growing up in rural upstate New York, I would stare up at the stars, imagining the vast expanses. Lovecraft was the first writer who reported back what terrors might be lurking. His stories felt relevant to the way I saw the world, where religion and other human endeavors were failing rather spectacularly.
In college, Dylan is the musician who opened up the world of narrative songwriting and Americana music. Beyond every official Dylan release, I’ve collected over 300 bootlegs of live shows and outtake collections. Lyrics-forward songwriting was where I started finding my voice.
The first songs I wrote were purely humorous and satirical (examples, “The Minuteman” about premature ejaculation and “Your Dog Is Dead” about, well, the death of your dog, like Monty Python’s dead parrot sketch). However, I never felt comfortable being called merely “clever,” as that to me connotes superficiality and smugness. In my 20s, my first modest successes on stage were making audiences laugh, to both my joy and my chagrin.
Over the years, I’ve worked on improving my musicianship and writing chops to add soul, guts, and heart to my songs. Buzzard is one of the most exciting creative periods in my life because I’m finding a way to bring together all of these musical and literary interests, and the possibilities feel endless. YYMV on all counts, but that’s my story.
Describe your first musical memory.
The first music I bought were 45s of “Back in Black” and “Staying’ Alive.” I have a vivid sense memory of listening to that AC/DC song on headphones in my quiet, remote country home. I can see it now: motes of dust falling from the sunlight as the riff exploded out of the silence. It was revelatory. An entire world of possibilities came to life. The electricity of that guitar lick and groove rewired my brain with drive and imagination. That may sound hyperbolic, but that’s how the sense memory sits in my mind.
Describe your best musical memory to date.
That’s tough – so many to choose from. As an audience member, I’ve managed to see some of my favorite bands up close in small venues: Trouble, Candlemass, Zeal and Ardor, Opeth, Blue Oyster Cult, Kreator. One Dylan highlight was seeing him perform for the first and last time the obscure deep cut “10,000 Men.” Not a great song necessarily, but it was a fantastic on-off performance. Historic, to a Dylanologist.
If I had to pick my one favorite show, it might have to be non-musical: Mitch Hedberg. I saw him in his prime in Boston. There’s a reason he’s a legend we still talk about. It was one of the greatest performances I’ve ever seen. The recordings you find online are great but don’t quite capture the magic he conjured. Every joke killed. Pure joy.
Speaking of comedy, as a performer some of my favorite memories come from Club Passim in Cambridge, where I had the opportunity to play humorous songs in front of packed crowds. While I like the music I make now better than the music I made then, I do sometimes miss the rush of making audiences laugh. And I mean explosive guffaws, not tepid chuckles. I had a few songs that killed comedically, but I just never had the talent or drive to create a full-on musical comedy act–my ultimate ambitions were different. I’m envious of stand-up comics who have that gift.
Besides that, so many of my favorite music memories are not on stage or in public, but playing my heart out alone in a room, recording in my studio, or composing songs for hours.
When was a time when a firmly held belief was tested?
That’s an interesting question. One answer is, “every day, when another current event chips away at any hope I might have for humanity.”
Another answer is “How firm are my beliefs, anyway?” My understanding of the world is like that of an ant crawling on a superconductor. (And that may be doing the ant a disservice, as we humans know little about insect consciousness.)
As Bertrand Russell once said, “I would never die for my beliefs because I might be wrong.” This sounds about right when it comes to political ideology.
Other answers that come to mind are personal enough that they feel more appropriate to discuss on a psychologist’s couch rather than in a Google doc. So, I’ll leave that stone unturned, except to say that evolving from a child into an adult entails shedding illusions about the nature of family, personal identity, and culture. (Isn’t it odd that the word “disillusioned” carries a negative connotation, when it should be considered a good thing to discard illusions?)
To deliver one concrete answer in regards to allowing our beliefs to evolve, I’ll say this. In my journey to becoming vegetarian, there was a tipping point. I was visiting a farm and a pig walked up to the fence separating the two of us, laid down, and looked at me. We made eye contact. So acutely and deeply did I sense the presence of a sentient mind capable of reason, joy, and sorrow, that I knew I could never eat an animal again.
Where do you feel artistic progression leads?
To finding your own unique voice. You ask yourself, “What can I do creatively that nobody else can do?” An artist starts as derivative and progresses towards self-actualization.
To paraphrase the self-help books, there will always be a better guitarist or drummer than you, but there can never be a better you than you. None of us can (or should) agree on what is good or bad art, but the least subjective aspect might be whether the audience perceives a fully-formed expression of the artist as an individual. You know it when you see it: art that has fully manifested a one-of-a-kind vision (like it or not).
Artistic progression reaches its apotheosis when your name becomes a shorthand for an entire aesthetic. When a reviewer describes a new artist by comparing them to you, you know you’ve arrived.
The ultimate achievement is to become such a singular figure that your name becomes an adjective: Dylanesque, Orwellian, Kafkaesque. Only a handful of artists arrive there in popular culture, but within niches and genres, it’s possible to establish an identity distinct enough to serve as a touchstone.
How can we evolve? Progression is not just a matter of becoming a better player or composer, but also becoming a better human being. This includes expanding your experiences, questioning your assumptions, deepening your empathy, freeing your imagination, connecting with your community, and so on. To play with the famous Walt Whitman quote, you should contradict yourself more often in order to contain more multitudes. That’s how you grow.
How do you define success?
Narrowly defined, success means reaching a goal, however small or grand. Professional success could mean completing a job for a client, marital success could mean reaching a 20-year anniversary, and artistic success could mean selling 20 or 20,000 records or simply pressing the publish button for a song on Bandcamp.
But rather than focusing on success, it might be more useful to think in terms of purpose. A purpose-filled life can bring greater meaning and satisfaction than a success-obsessed existence. Emphasizing quantifiable success can set up feelings of frustration and failure, since so much remains out of our control. Instead of a success/failure binary, I try to reframe things in terms of curiosity, community building, and creative growth.
What is something you have seen that you wish you hadn’t?
I’m stumped. I can’t think of anything I wish I hadn’t seen. Is it because my life has been sheltered from war and trauma? Or because I’m grateful when I do see terrible and ugly things because the truth dispels illusions?
Describe something you haven’t created yet that you’d like to create.
Outside of art, in the “if I won the lottery” category, I’d like to create a wildlife refuge or animal sanctuary.
In terms of music, I’d be curious to explore heavy music in a band setting, some kind of Buzzard ensemble, however that might become a realistic possibility. I do have a picture in my mind of how this music might look on stage, with visual projections and lights.
Most realistically, I’d like to publish my lyrics in book form, both as illustrated chapbooks of select albums and a hefty omnibus volume of lyrics from across my career. This might coincide with a curated re-release/re-recording of the best previously released songs that have sunk into the void over the decades.
What do you believe is the most essential function of art?
To make each of us feel less alone. A book can make us think, “Oh good, I’m not the only person who sees things this way,” or a song can make us feel “I’m just as excited about this riff as the person who came up with it.” Art depicts the unique interior life of its creator, with whom we may commiserate.
Small talk, daily relationships, and may bring us together in their own ways, but art is where individuals can connect across space and time intimately about truths both terrible and terrific.
Say something positive about yourself.
I have been told that I’m a generally kind, patient, and agreeable person, and I won’t argue with that assessment.
Something non-musical that you’re looking forward to?
The fact I’m struggling to come up with an answer here tells me something. I need to get out more!
Recently I visited Portland, Oregon for the first time, and absolutely fell in love with the old growth forests. I look forward to planning another trek, driving up the coast from Northern California to the Olympic Peninsula, stopping for long hikes and West Coast IPAs along the way. Bucket list right there. Deep in a forest and near waterfalls, I feel at peace.
In the extreme short term, tonight a buddy of mine is going to come over to smoke cigars and sip Blue Note bourbon in the barn. That feels like an appropriately Buzzard-esqe way to end this questionnaire.
