Brett Buzzard Makowski Interview (Ex- Profanatica, Ex-Incantation, Ex-Cyberchrist)

Brett Makowski has played guitar in many bands, such as Profanatica, Incantation, Cyberchrist, and others and has toured all over the world. His current band is “Blaksord”, and I thought he would make for a great interview, so I fired off some questions to him, and here is what he said to them:

So how did you end up discovering the world of metal, and then the world of underground metal? Did you get into the style right away, or did it take a few listens?

Buzzard: It wasn’t something I discovered—it was something that rose inside of me. I was born into music. It came naturally—like breath, like instinct. And when I was a little kid, Heavy Metal didn’t exist yet…

From the start, I gravitated toward sound and songs/artists that had weight, that had danger, that had teeth. As a kid, I didn’t just listen—I obsessed. While the music was on in the car, etc., I was always hearing the music that my mother was playing in the house. While others were skating the surface, I dove into the deepest corners of rock ‘n’ roll, acid rock, music, and other heaviness, psychedelia, and the early pulse of what would become heavy metal. Thanks and a huge part to my Uncle Kevin!

And when it fractured into new sounds—punk, hardcore, thrash, death, black—I didn’t watch from the sidelines. I was there, living it in real time. Even before the internet, before the flood, I was in the thick of it—hunting down records, digging through crates, finding bootlegs, zines, and live recordings. This wasn’t passive listening! I went into debt over this… Man, it was an initiation by fire. Back then, if you wanted it, you had to hunt and bleed for it.

Sacrifice. And I did. As those genres split, spawned, I was becoming part of something I didn’t even fully understand yet—a darker undercurrent that would eventually be called extreme /underground metal.

I wasn’t just watching the birth of a movement—I was one of its midwives. Through my early bands, I helped lay the very groundwork of what would become the USBM and underground death Metal scenes. I didn’t have a blueprint. I had raw will, pain, and purpose. I didn’t realise until years later that I had already become part of the DNA of a movement that would echo across generations. I didn’t stumble into the underground—I helped build it. Now, at 55, I’m sharper, hungrier, and more devoted than ever. This isn’t nostalgia. This isn’t a phase. This is my bloodline. And if anything, my commitment has only intensified. I’m not here to coast. I’m not here to remember. I’m here to reclaim. But honestly, I gotta tell you it seems harder now than ever, more bands now than ever, more noise now than ever, harder to get recognised. The world has changed. People have changed, and not for the better!

If you remember, what were some of the first underground releases you bought?

Buzzard: You know, the idea of “underground” has shifted a lot over the decades. What was underground back then would be considered, now by the underground, borderline mainstream by today’s standards — even though most of it still isn’t anywhere near the surface. But back then? It was raw, unfiltered, and dangerous. You had to dig deep, get dirty, and hunt for the real shit. Some of my earliest purchases were on 45s and hand-me-down 8-track tapes, from my uncle Kevin back then, cassette and vinyl. I had gotten older and started getting my own money. By then, I was getting into the “underground“stuff, if you had to know someone or travel, Hella distance, find the record conventions or record shop to even hear about, this kind of stuff.

I was getting older and luckier. I had guys around me who were deep into tape trading. They’d pass me dubs of stuff most people didn’t even know existed yet. Plus, I had some friends who worked at some local college radio stations as well, and they used to let us raid their closets. I guess to name a few, some stuff, like old Mayhem, Morbid Angel, old demos from Bathory, Hellhammer, Necrovore, Carcass, PEEL sessions, rehearsals, and stuff like that, before these guys had gotten bigger a few years later. I still might have some of those original tapes stashed away, if time and chaos haven’t eaten them. That whole world was a sacred ritual to me, but I ended up selling my collection — years’ worth of records and tapes — to help fund my move out west in ’97. It was a hard decision, but I did it to keep the flame alive and chase what I believed was my calling in music. That wasn’t about clout — that was sacrifice. These days, I see a lot of the old-school heads still proudly collecting. Massive respect to those warriors for preserving the culture like that. But, three decades ago, for me? Any dollar I had went toward survival, “living the fucking heavy metal life”, etc. And honestly, the rest went towards keeping my gear on life support. I wasn’t in it to be a collector, unfortunately, any longer. I know I suck. If I could afford to buy records and cassettes, CDs, etc., like I used to, it would be a whole different story. No regrets.

Now, what made you decide to pick up and play guitar? Did you take any lessons or are you self-taught? Who are some of your favourite guitar players?

Buzzard: I picked up the guitar when I was six, but rhythm was already coursing through me long before that. I started on drums at four, but once I touched a guitar, it was over — it claimed. I didn’t choose the path. The path chose me. Music runs through my bloodline. My real father was a guitarist, and on that side of the family, there was talent, so it felt inherited — like something ancient waking up inside me. I’m mostly self-taught. I took a few lessons early on, but they focused on reading and writing sheet music, and at that age, I just didn’t have the patience. My instinct was already pulling me toward the strings — I was learning by ear, picking things apart, obsessively figuring them out in my way. I realise now I was ahead of where I thought I was — not technically, but spiritually. It was never about academic mastery — it was about feel, hunger, and obsession. The guitar became my weapon, my voice, my altar, and my anchor. And in recent years… it became something even more. After everything I’ve been through — the brain surgeries, the cervical spinal fusion, losing the function in my hands, the atrophy, the blindness — the guitar was still there. Waiting for me. It gave me a reason to fight. It became the lifeline that pulled me through the darkness. When I had nothing left, when I couldn’t even hold a pick without pain, when I had to relearn how to play twice — it was the only thing that still made sense. It gave me something to live for. Without the guitar… I don’t know if I’d still be here. It’s not just an instrument to me — it’s survival. As for the players that shaped me… It’s all over the map. Sure, I respect a lot of the modern players out there, but for me, the ones that forged my foundation were the old-school firebrands — Tony Iommi, Randy Rhoads, David Gilmour, Dick Dale, Angus Young, and Eddie Van Halen. Then there were the progressive gods — King Crimson, Mahavishnu Orchestra, Allan Holdsworth, Gary Moore, and Al Di Meola. I’ve always drawn from a wide well — jazz, blues, surf, fusion — not just metal. Truth is, most of my favourite guitarists don’t even play metal. Because for me, it’s not about the genre — it’s about voice. It’s about intent. It’s about that tone in your fingers, that truth you bleed into the strings. That’s what stays eternal. There are plenty of newer players as well that are equally as amazing and have influenced me over the years, too many to name, man, truly.

You have been in several bands throughout your career. What do you remember about the times of your 1st band, “Blood Thirsty Death”? I saw you put out two demos. Did you play live a lot while the band was around?

Buzzard: I was actually in two bands at this time—B.T.D. and Moral Decay, which never really did anything, but later, Moral Decay evolved into Cyberchrist, a band I helped form a few years down the road while at the same time playing with Profanatica.

But before Blood Thirsty Death was one of my earliest forays into the “ underground. “
I was 21 years old—young, raw, very inexperienced and fucking hungry. My apologies for the sidetrack back to B. T. D. That was with my good friend Aragon Amore, RIP brother…

Paul Ledney was already working on this and played a big part—had a huge hand in a lot of that early stuff. More so than myself. That time in my life, to be honest. I was in two or three different bands at once, bouncing between death metal, black metal, hardcore crossover, and thrash. I never boxed myself into one sound. If it was dark, aggressive, and real—I was in. I’ve always been the type to stay busy and push forward creatively. I take pride in being able to devote myself fully to multiple projects without losing focus or compromising the integrity of any one of them. Loyalty and discipline matter to me—even in chaos. As for Blood Thirsty Death, no, we never actually got to play live, unfortunately. It was one of those bands that just never made it to the stage. But the demos still exist as a timestamp in my evolution. Every project, even the smallest one, taught me something that I carry with me to this day. Horns up to Aragon—and those early flames

What are your memories of ex-band member Aragon Amori, who has unfortunately passed away? You were also with him in Incantation and Profanatica.

Buzzard: Pausing to reflect—a moment of silence. “ I’m so sorry I wasn’t there. I love you, brother. Forever. Rest in power.” AVE

Aragon was one of my best friends ever. We did everything together. One of our favourite things was to prowl around in cemeteries, listen to old school metal. Driving by the Jesus tree hanging out down that way, going for drives, going to concerts, hikes, man, we had some pretty wild nights. While barhopping. We used to hit this one bar, a bar called Teddy’s, trying to score some old-school cougar love—laughing our asses off the whole time. Hell, we even dressed up like those old-school Guidos Lol rocking, Z. Cavariccis, turtlenecks, hair slicked back in ponytails—and went to disco nightclubs just for the absurdity of it. Dancing with crazy women, drinking, joking—it was chaos in the best way. He was always the heartbeat of everything we did—goofing off, doing voices, trying to make you laugh. One of his signature things was the way he’d say “OK” in response to something ridiculous. Just a light tap, a glance, and then that whisper—“OK”—like it said everything.

Because of Paul, and his jealousy, lies and deceit, he told me the wrong day of the week and the funeral service…
I wasn’t there to send my brother off. His family was devastated—his aunt even called me in tears. That pain… that betrayal still stings, man.

It was the final nail in the coffin between me and Paul. That moment sealed the fate that we’d never work together again. And it’s not just my loss. It’s all of ours. Aragon was a one-of-a-kind spirit that this scene needed—then and now. He was the black flame—the heartbeat—of everything. There was a lot of backstabbing, a lot of shit-talking back then. And I’ve got no problem getting into it if needed. But out of respect and love for my fallen brother, I’ll leave that for now. Swords and horns up, forever in your honour, Aragon. Until we meet again, bro. Forever sealed with a fist! AVE

So, now, how did you end up in Incantation?

Buzzard: At that time—roughly 30 plus years ago—there was a version of a scene here in Danbury, Connecticut. People were hanging out. There was a pulse to this place. There was a little bit of nightlife here in our neck of CT little bars and places we could play, hang out, etc. Not to mention the legendary Anthrax club in Norwalk, Connecticut, where I was born and raised.

We spent time at Rogers Park, the Danbury Fair Mall, local music shops— Record Broker, Phoenix Records, Edge of the Rainbow Records, Trash American Style, and a few other record stores. Believe it or not, this area was kind of cool back then. Nothing like the dead, lifeless shell it is now. That version of this place is long gone—just a shadow of what once was.

It was through those connections, those hangout spots, that I reconnected with Paul and Aragon. They had mentioned jamming with another guy from Jersey, named John.

Somewhere between hanging out at Rogers Park or maybe even bumping into each other at the mall, it came up in conversation—“Hey man, you wanna come jam with us?” And I said Sure. At the time, I was always eager to play and contribute.

So I showed up at Paul’s mom’s basement to jam. I still remember walking into that room for the first time—the vibe was different from my other bands. It was more serious; in the beginning, it appeared professional. I truly believe that energy stemmed from John—he felt like the captain of that ship.

Even though both he and Paul were handling vocals at the time. I was unaware of this at the time. Paul didn’t want to share the spotlight. There were a lot of little snack breaks where Paul would talk about how much better a vocalist he was than Jeff Becerra from Possessed. Or how his voice was sicker than Tom G Warrior from Celtic Frost. The best was when he would tell me that he was a better drummer than Dave Lombardo from Slayer, etc. LFMAO fact no exaggeration, so if he says otherwise, he’s a liar! And I think all of this was done out of insecurity. And his attempts to gain control over the room.

I know John was getting annoyed with this. I could see it happening, and then, towards the end, he mentioned it to me. He said, bro, I don’t wanna drive four hours three or four days a week for this kind of bullshit. We were talking in his car before he left that day. We didn’t last any longer after this as Incantation.

Which fucking sucks, man! There was magic in that lineup – Paul, John, Aragon, and me. No question.

That early Incantation lineup had a chemistry I’ll never forget. It’s a shame it didn’t last. If we’d stayed together, who knows what could’ve happened? Maybe there’d be no Profanatica or HAVOHEJ. That lineup was that potent.

On a positive note, I remember one time we went down to New Jersey to play a show with then starting out Brutal Truth. At a venue called G Wiliker’s. I remember I had let Danny borrow my head that night and the cabinet to play bass through, SMH. I should’ve known he fried it lol damn… I can still hear the announcement over the PA, “Ladies and gentlemen, Incantation will not be performing tonight“…

Damn, what a night it would’ve been. I think this was probably one of our official first shows, actually, so who knows, but very cool story and evening nonetheless, we had fun and got drunk.

But, with all of the topsy-turvy world of heavy rock, came the cliques, the egos, the drama—and yeah, the backstabbing.

I’ll say it now, loud and clear, because this is the time and place to set the record straight. Paul caused the rift between John, Aragon and me. He ran his mouth behind the scenes, telling me and Aragon that John didn’t want to play with us anymore, and that surprised me because we were jamming three, sometimes four days a week, and Jon was driving up from Jersey! Paul was fucking telling John that we didn’t want to play with him. It’s so stupid when I think about it! High school bullshit.

Maybe Paul didn’t have the guts to tell John he wanted to pivot into black metal. Maybe he was too embarrassed to tell him that he wanted the spotlight all to himself… as time would dictate.

And, well, history tells the story—he’s the only original member left in Profanatica. The turnover speaks for itself.
I’ve heard more than a few horror stories in recent years from people trying to work or tour with him—nightmare shit.

And I know for a fact, I’ll never work with him again. He couldn’t pay me enough.

Now, Incantation, on the other hand—that’s different. If John hit me up to play, I’d give it real thought. John’s always shown me respect. I’ve never heard anything negative from him. So I’ll say this again: that original Incantation lineup—me, Paul, Aragon, and John—that was something magical. And I’ll stand by that forever.

It’s tragic what happened. The betrayal. The manipulation. But the fire we had in that room… no band I’ve played in—not even Profanatica—had that same raw, primal energy. People like to wax poetic about how great Profanatica is, and yeah, it was cool in its way. But that first Incantation lineup? It was lightning in a fucking bottle.

I’ve always wished them nothing but success and strength. I supported them then, and I support them now. And obviously, they are on a whole other level than Profanatica, so there you have it.

So what do you remember about your time in Incantation, even though it was not that long?

Buzzard: It may not have been a long stint in terms of time, but it left a lasting impression. And honestly—considering how long ago it was—it’s surreal to think about how deeply it still resonates with me. and the fact that I helped pioneer one of the heaviest American death metal bands in the history of the world.

I didn’t realise how turbulent things were underneath it all, but that’s often how it goes with bands. The most volatile chemistry creates the most powerful music. The question is whether the people involved can rise above the storm long enough to build something lasting. In this case… that particular lineup couldn’t.

Musically, I loved the challenge. It was a different tuning than I was used to, and I had to re-acclimate and push my ears in new ways. That’s always something I embrace.

Incantation felt different. There was something deeper in it. I felt that. Now, I remember John brought a sense of seriousness and business to the table.

John was driving up from South Jersey, like two hours both ways up to Brewster, New York, where we were practising in Paul’s mom‘s basement. That’s a serious commitment as far as I’m concerned! The rest of us lived locally, and I respected that. Even today, I still carry that mindset.

In hindsight, there was tension back then; I just didn’t fully see it at the time, especially being that young and inexperienced as we all were.

John’s always been a Death Metal guy. That’s his wheelhouse. And that’s fucking awesome, we all like different shades of the heavy. I didn’t “quit” Incantation. I just kept playing with my other bands.

In the end, it’s unfortunate how it all went down, but if it hadn’t, Profanatica and HAVOHEJ wouldn’t have existed. So it is what it is. I don’t regret it. Especially being that I went on to Pioneer, those other two bands as well.

I have nothing but the utmost respect for John and Incantation. Everything he’s done over the years is awesome. They are a global heavyweight in the United States as well as internationally known in the Death metal scene. Swords and horns up in their honour.

Now, were you aware of tape trading and fanzines at the time, and did you buy any zines or do any tape trading?

Buzzard: First off—back in the day, vinyl ruled everything. That was gospel for me growing up. Then came cassettes, which slowly started becoming the new norm, and eventually CDs and everything else that followed. But yeah, vinyl was king. I was aware of tape trading, actually—but I wasn’t any kind of expert or veteran in the scene at that point. I was green as hell, just standing at the foothills of that mountain, at the beginning of what would eventually become a defining culture in the underground. In hindsight, I now know it had already been going on for a while before we came along. When I started jamming with the guys in Incantation, they were already deep into it. They gave me a bunch of tapes—some of which were bands I had never even heard of. The stuff I was listening to at the time didn’t hold their interest, haha. They were digging into way deeper, heavier, and more obscure shit. Either they already had those tapes or didn’t want them, but they schooled me quick, no doubt. They turned me onto that whole world, and I did trade a handful of times, sure. But I’ll be honest—I never fully immersed myself in it. Not because I didn’t love it, but because I was more obsessed with playing guitar and pushing myself musically than collecting or swapping. Still, to all the diehards out there who did and still do—total love and respect. That’s a serious, serious commitment. Without that dedication, there is no underground. So thank you—from me, and on behalf of everyone like me. I probably still have a few of those old-school rehearsal tapes floating around somewhere. I should dig through my stuff one of these days and see what’s still alive down there in the crypt, haha. I miss that era—those raw, unpolished rehearsals, the act of making flyers, that whole tape-trading experience. It was new, it was ours, and it was real. And I get why some people are still into it today—why they’re still chasing that rush of discovering something unknown, powerful, and underground. There’s real magic in that. Especially when you get your hands on something special, something not everyone knows about yet. It feels like you’ve found treasure. The same goes for the old-school zines and magazines. I was never huge into them, but I always thought they were badass. I remember making some flyers for Incantation and Profanatica, and HAVOHEJ, back in the day—using Letraset, light pencil lines, erasing them, photocopying, cutting, and pasting. It was work, but it was fun. It felt important. Even if it was brief for me, I loved it while it lasted. So, eternal HAILZ to the tape traders, the fanzine writers, and the lifers out there around the world still holding it down. Maximum respect. You’re the bloodline of this entire movement

So now take me through the leaving of Incantation and the forming of Profanatica.

Buzzard: Well, I kind of touched on this already in a few earlier responses—so, to the fans and readers, forgive the reiteration… I can dive deeper. I never wanted that period, at that time, to end. I loved what we were doing. Even with all the bullshit back then, it was worth it… Lol

But like I said before, things unravelled. And from those ashes, something new emerged: Profanatica. I remember now, thinking back to some of the Incantation practices—Paul always wanted to take breaks. And not short ones either. It was always time to stop and bullshit, talk shit, and… have snacks. That was his thing. His mom would bring snacks down to the basement, or he’d head upstairs to grab some. We had to take a snack break.

Honestly, it was ridiculous. I could see John starting to get frustrated. And that frustration made sense. As well as it got on both my and Aragon‘s nerves. Unfortunately, this bled well into future projects. Stupidly enough, I stayed around… I still wonder why this day.

John was driving hours both ways to rehearse. These weren’t quick sessions either—we’d be down there for hours. For John, it was a whole damn day. And the guy wanted us to work, to get things done.

I respected that then, and I still carry that mindset with me to this day. That’s how I try to operate in every band I’ve been part of since. But no—snacks and shit talking sewing circle time had to happen.

So, I figure at some point, John started putting together a new lineup closer to home in Jersey. I mean, he could’ve had his snacks there, in his basement, if he wanted them. But that wasn’t the mission. The mission was work. Commitment. And for that, I salute him. Of course, Paul would talk shit about John when he wasn’t around. I know for a fact that. He did the same with me and Aragon, too. FUCKING EVRYBODY man…

I didn’t know any of this at the time—I was still green when it came to this side of Paul, and the music game. That kind of behind-the-scenes pettiness and power play was new to me. But once I saw it, I never forgot it. It was my first real lesson in the ego-driven bullshit that can infect a band. Sadly, I’ve seen it over and over again since then
Jealousy. Insecurity. It’s always lurking. Eventually, the split became real. I remember showing up to practice one day, expecting John to be there—but it was just the three of us

The gear had been rearranged. Paul’s drum kit was in a new spot. The whole room had been reconfigured. It was obvious something had changed. That’s when Paul hit me with it: “Yeah… John doesn’t want to jam with you anymore.” I just remember thinking, wait—what the fuck…?

Yeah, fed us some half-assed story. Which he told John some similar bullshit from the opposite angle.
Classic divide-and-conquer. Being young and naïve. I wasn’t privy to any of that behind-the-scenes manoeuvring, but it didn’t take long to see what was happening.

So… trauma and bullshit aside, we move forward. We start writing. We start forming a whole new beast. Surfing off the tail end of the first wave of U.S. death metal and riding straight into the rising tide of Norwegian black metal. Paul was already tape trading. He had connections in the U.S. and Europe.

He was already talking to ‘zines, to people in the underground—even before Profanatica officially existed. I didn’t know it then, but in hindsight, it’s clear: he was pushing things behind closed doors, without including the rest of us, or even mentioning it.

Promoting something before it was truly formed. No respect. No consideration. Just his agenda. Talking shit about European bands that were already forming and formed and established!? Lol WTF

It could’ve been handled professionally. It should’ve been handled with respect. But it wasn’t. I just walked into that basement one day, and Profanatica began. In closing, in hindsight, why the fuck I have no idea that I ever stayed around. SMH.

What were the early days like in Profanatica? Did you guys, I mean the band, start writing original songs right away? Did you have a big part in the writing of the band’s songs, like the 2 that are on that 1990 rehearsal tape that was the band’s 1st release?

Buzzard: laughing hysterically, see all previously aforementioned Q&A, and apply the early days—well, they were very interesting, that’s for sure, especially looking back in hindsight, lol… The early days were early days. Like I mentioned when answering your other question, this whole thing was kind of thrust upon me/us by Paul. He had an agenda behind the scenes that I was not aware of. I can’t speak for Aragon, being that he’s no longer with us—Rest in Power, my brother. It would be something to get his perspective on all this, especially since he was the one who stayed through everything with Paul, while I, Jon, and the long list of others who’ve been in the Profanatica camp have come and gone. And with good reason. We were all very young. I don’t care what people say—looking back, you may think you knew what you were doing, but the truth is, we were just scratching the surface. It was all raw. It was real. And it was messy. I guess the best way for me to approach this is from the perspective of hindsight, which gives me a much clearer view. Because if I try to think back to that time as it was unfolding… well, I was being lied to, manipulated, and tricked by Paul into thinking, reacting, and feeling a certain way. Which I can laugh about now—lol—but back then, it messed a lot of shit up. And he’s never taken accountability for that. Instead, he puts it all on everyone else who’s ever played with him, like they were the weak link. Like I said earlier—I showed up one day and we were in Incantation. A couple of days later, we were Profanatica. I was just going along with what Paul was telling me, which—again, in hindsight—wasn’t the full truth of what was going on. But hey, if that drama hadn’t gone down, maybe these other projects never would’ve existed. So it is what it is… Yes, we were already writing. I’m always writing. Always working on music, lyrics, concepts, ideas for songs, etc. I was also playing in other bands at the time, which Paul didn’t like—he talked shit behind my back and tried to drive a wedge between Aragon and me. I wrote all that early music. We worked it out in the jam room. Occasionally, Paul would hum a note or idea out loud, and I’d find the note on the guitar. Now, in hindsight, he claims full credit for everything, which is ridiculous. He would be nowhere without me, Jon, Aragon, and everyone else who contributed to shaping Profanatica into what it became. And honestly? It could’ve been so much more without all the bullshit. I wrote everything in those early days, all the way up to the split with Massacre—on which Jelso wrote half and I wrote half. It’s wild to look back and realise I was part of something that, underneath it all, had a toxic structure. In hindsight, Paul treated us like hired guns—like people beneath him. And from what I hear, he still does that with whoever plays with him. That’s not good business, and it only makes your path in the music industry harder. But hey—not my circus, not my monkeys. And yes, if memory serves me right, that was our first release.

Did you have to move at all after the formation of the band?

Buzzard: No, none of us had to move to continue. I think if that were to have had been the case, we wouldn’t have continued lol…

Did you realise at the time that you guys were one of the first U.S. black metal bands?

Buzzard: I don’t believe we knew at that particular moment that we were the first, 100%, no. But, we believe it to be so, being underground like we were, having our ears to the pulse somewhat, we did know we were onto something different here in the United States then. Looking back now, I still say we were the first official U.S.B.M. band—not VON. All due respect to those guys, but we were out and doing shit about six months before they were. The scene—and the history books—have some of that timeline wrong. I’ve talked about this with Paul, done some digging with a couple of close friends, and based on what we found and what I’ve personally seen, we were first. So I’m standing by that. I always have. And I always will.

So, tell me what you remember about your first demo release in 1990 called “Putrescence of…”

Buzzard: Wow… lol really, not much. We were jamming loosely on some parts and Paul’s mom‘s basement at the time, and that’s what turned into the demo. If I’m not mistaken, I think it’s just a rehearsal in the basement, if my memory serves me correctly. I know it sounds fucked up to answer it like that, but I honestly don’t have much memory of that demo. I’ve sat and stared at this question for a while now, and I just draw a blank. Sorry to all the fans, readers, and people who wanted some kind of something—but it’s a BLANK, folks… lol

Now, what was the band’s first live show, and where was it? How do you think you did at the time? What did the crowd think of you guys?

Buzzard: Goddamn, that’s a tough one. I think it was at Brewster Images? The Barn Mall? Something like that. We played some weird places back then—small, random clubs in and around New York and Connecticut. I know one time we played at the Candlewood Inn in Brookfield, and we also played at TK’s American Café. There were a bunch of little one-offs. As far as the crowd? I wouldn’t consider 12 or 20 people a “crowd”—if that many even showed up. As far as how we did? I’m sure we probably sucked, lol. But we got out there. We fucking did it anyway, so kudos to us. A lot of our early shows were very loose, grab-ass and unorganised. I think we were all on different pages, which in hindsight probably planted the seeds for rifts down the line. But it worked for the moment. So fuck it.

You also released a second demo in October of 1990 called “Broken Throne of Christ.” What’s your opinion of that these days?

Buzzard: I think what we were doing was cool. And since those days, I’ve lived on both sides of this country and have travelled extensively around this planet. Most of the people hail the old school stuff we were doing at the time. It was original, raw, and unique for its time. Now, as far as the band—yeah, we were all into what we were doing, 100%. But internal forces got in the way. I was in and out of that band so many times because of all the bullshit—the drama, the lies, the backstabbing. That’s why I played with other guys and gals in other bands. That kind of toxicity was never nearly as present as it was in Profanatica. And that says a lot

Now I know you wore corpse paint. Did you have a certain style that you wore on your face?

Buzzard: No. At that time, I don’t believe we had a specific style. If we had stayed together on a more permanent basis, I’m sure we could’ve—and would’ve—developed our unique look. That came later for those guys, which, to be honest, I’m not a fan of. If I were playing with them now, there’d be a rift about the look. I wouldn’t be into dressing the way they are—and have been dressing—for quite some time now. I’ll just leave it at that: I do not like it. They look fucking ridiculous. Not to mention all the other fucking hoodwinks and hijinks they got going on with the masturbation videos and selling. CUM at the merch booth. A fucking joke, they’ve become a parody of what they could’ve been and what once was. I’m amazed that they’re still around to this day. Trying to emulate, but never replicating my old school style. They’ve never tried to branch out ever. Not to mention eight or nine represses of stuff with my music and my face on it. Where is my money?

Was mail and tape trading starting to flow in at that time? Did you get to read or do any of the mail, or did Paul handle all of it? How much time, in any given week, was spent on band stuff? Did you guys have any goals back then?

Buzzard: Paul was already way mixed into all that stuff, so he just handled it. Maybe if things were different between us as individuals, there would’ve been more willingness to collaborate or delegate. But who knows? He probably would’ve ended up doing it all himself anyway, as he always seems to do. I did try to get involved with it somehow, somewhere. I remember attempting to be more hands-on, but it never played out the way I hoped. If there was any real insight into what was going on back then, I wasn’t given access—not because I was not wanting to be involved, but because I was made to be oblivious. Which 100% it was was for control purposes, to feed his ego, insecurity, who knows. But that seemed to be the modus operandi at the time. I tried to take a stab at it, but from what I remember, most of my efforts were swatted down or ignored. Eventually, I gave up and focused my energy elsewhere. And I firmly believe it’s because of this kind of skull Duggery inner working that they have never achieved the success that they could’ve had. GOOD! Fuck them.

And fuck him, and all his lies and treachery will come back to haunt him.

Did you guys hang out when not doing band-related stuff? Did you go to concerts together? What are some of your favourite live bands you saw back then?

Buzzard: Actually…not really. Even though we played together, the band itself didn’t hang out much outside of rehearsals or shows. Aragon and I did quite a bit together, but whether he and Paul did stuff outside the band back then, I honestly can’t say—I don’t remember. We weren’t all that close outside of the jam room, unfortunately.

As far as shows go, man, there were a few that stood out. One that comes to mind: when we were still Incantation, before the Profanatica days, we all went down together and passed out flyers at the first-ever U.S. Sepultura show on the Beneath the Remains tour. I think that was ’88 or ’89, if memory serves. I’m pretty sure there are a few photos of us from that day still floating around—probably stashed away in my mom’s attic with the rest of my old stuff from that era.

When it came to live bands back then, damn near everything we saw was killer. That era was pure magic. The old-school stuff still holds its weight today. Bands like early Prime Evil, Fallen Christ, Obituary, Terrorizer, Morbid Angel, Voivod—there were so many. Honestly, too many to even start naming without going down a deep rabbit hole. It was a hell of a time to be part of, at that time with as considered the underground

In early 1991, you guys released a live tape, “Live from G. Wilikers.” How much fun did you guys have playing that historical underground venue?

Buzzard: Fuck, man—that’s a blast from the past! [laughs] Wow. Yeah, it was fun, definitely—no question. Despite anything I may have said elsewhere in this interview, I don’t think any of us would’ve been doing what we were doing if there wasn’t still some fire in it—some kind of fun buried in all the chaos. That’s what keeps a lot of us going. That’s what makes the juice worth the squeeze.

I’ve always said, if you’re not having fun with it, you’re probably in it for the wrong reasons. You’ve gotta be hella lucky to make any real money doing this. I’ve toured all over the damn world, played with bands bigger than these, and I still never made the kind of cash you could live off of. But again—that’s the point. If you’re in it for the money, you’ve already missed the mark. You’ve gotta do it because it burns in you. Because it has to

In 1992, you guys released the famous “Weeping In Heaven” 7” on After World Records, and it also came out on tape. What are your thoughts on that release these days? The two songs on it are rather short—was that intentional?

Buzzard: I love it. All of the early stuff we did still holds weight for me—still hits hard in my heart and soul. I’ve always wished all the bands and those guys nothing but luck and success. Over the years, I’ve shown my support on social media and in the scene. So yeah—I’m proud of that release.

And truth be told, wherever I’ve gone over the decades, people always say the same thing: they might enjoy the newer material, but they worship the old stuff the most. So fuck yeah—I’ll take it. And to everyone who still spins it? You’re welcome. [laughs]

Behind the scenes? Yeah… like I’ve touched on earlier, things were always a bit chaotic. That seems to be a running theme in extreme music. But that’s part of what gives it life—part of the raw chemistry that births the chaos and makes it real. It’s a double-edged sword. You can’t escape it. All you can do is swim with the Absu.

We recorded a lot of that early material with Morgan Walker at Rock House Productions in Wilton, CT. His place was haunted as fuck, no joke. The energy in there gave everything a dark, unhinged vibe—added something special to those Death/Black Metal sessions. Made things interesting… in all the right ways.

Absolutely. That release gave us a pulse in the underground and helped carve our name into the scene. At the time, 7”s were like calling cards—tangible proof you were out there doing the work. “Weeping in Heaven” got passed around, dubbed on tapes, traded, mailed, and bootlegged across continents. It helped put us on the map in the eyes of a lot of maniacs who were searching for something darker.

It’s never that simple in bands. Especially not in the inexperienced times of growth in the beginning in any genre above or underground, where emotions are high and egos are raw. But we got in the room, we played, we created. That’s what mattered.

As for how much time we spent on the band? If we were working, we were rehearsing. Writing. Planning back then was very loose, extremely loose.

And about the shortness of the songs—nah, that wasn’t planned. A lot of people over the years have tried to paint it like we had some master vision. That’s just revisionist bravado. The truth is, most of us back then were just shooting from the hip. 666% pure instinct. Raw hunger. Chaos and fire. Anyone who claims differently is probably just blowing smoke to make themselves sound more mythic than they were.

Now, were you guys all getting along at this time? How much, in say, any given week, was spent doing band-related stuff?

Buzzard: Aragon and I? Yeah, we were solid — always were. He was one of my best friends back then, no question. I think of him often. I miss him. We had that bond that didn’t need explaining — just riffs, smoke, and mutual respect.

Now… Paul? That was another story. He and I never really got along. I just put up with him — his mouth, his antics, his shit-talking, his backstabbing, his two-faced behaviour. It was a constant headache, honestly. Some of the other bands I was jamming with at the time warned me he was running his mouth, so I knew about it before he realised I knew. But I was young, hot-headed — not the man I am today. I couldn’t keep quiet. I called it out.
I mean, why ask someone to be in your band if you’re gonna run your mouth the moment they’re not in the room? But whatever the reason, he kept asking me to come back… and I did. Either I was a sucker, or like I always say, I was in love with the fucking music. A glutton for punishment? Maybe. But I bled for it. That raw intensity — it wasn’t like anything else I was playing at the time.

So yeah, like a job, you deal with the drama and the egos because the music is worth it. That’s the ugly truth about most bands — somebody always thinks they know better. I’ve seen it in every project I’ve touched. But I’ve always said, and I still believe this: the chaos, the friction — that’s part of what creates the sound. That chemistry. That energy. It ain’t always pretty, but it’s real.

Over time, you either figure it out or it burns you out. I tried to be professional, even when I was still learning what that meant. I didn’t always get it right. Made my share of mistakes. But one thing’s for damn sure — my heart was in it 666 fucking per cent. Still is. More than most, guaranteed. I live this. I’m not a weekend warrior. I’ve soldiered through the worst of it. I am METAL — no matter what.

Now, Paul’s drama back then? That made it easy for me to branch out. I found other bands, other brothers-in-arms. That tension never really existed outside of Profanatica or HAVOHEJ. There was always some high school bullshit in those circles — which makes sense, ‘cause we were barely out of high school ourselves.

Honestly? I wish things had worked out. I tried. I reached out more than once over the years, tried to bury it, rebuild. But the man never took accountability — not for the lies, the betrayal, the theft. He spins it how he wants, but I’ve sat face-to-face with him. I’ve reached out to everyone connected to that circle. Always tried to keep it real. I’m someone I’d want on my team — loyal, relentless, and fucking formidable.

Looking back? Yeah, I’d do some things differently. Who wouldn’t? But all of it — the chaos, the beauty, the venom and fire — it forged who I am today. And for that, I’m grateful.

It’s satanic, rock ‘n’ roll, brother — the real kind. Wild, ruthless, and unholy in its way, 666.

Now you guys have been signed to Osmose Productions and released a split with them (the other band was Masacre). How did this come about, if you remember? And did it help with the popularity of the band at the time, being on Osmose?

Buzzard: Shit, man… lol to be honest, I don’t fully remember the specifics. What I do know is that I didn’t have anything to do with making that connection. If memory serves — which is ironic to say now — that was Paul’s move. He had the connection and got the ball rolling with Osmose. Osmose was just getting started back then, and we were one of their earlier signings, so everything was raw, underground, and grassroots. And yeah, it gave us a boost. No doubt. But internally? Things were chaotic. Members coming and going — gone for a week, back for a month, vanish again. That revolving door shit made it hard to stay grounded. When you’re throwing your heart into something and others aren’t on that same level, the cracks start to show. There was a lot of shit-talking, a lot of backstabbing. It wore me down. I gave it everything every time I hit the stage, picked up my guitar, or stepped into the rehearsal room. But when I wasn’t in it — when I was out with my other bands, working, living — it became easy to stop caring. Not out of spite, just exhaustion. Looking back, maybe it was half-hearted at times, but only because I had already given so much of my full heart. If that makes sense. I had to distance myself to protect what was left. He made me hate playing black metal for so many years.

Were you guys playing a lot of live shows around this time (1992)? Looking back, were you a good live band?

Buzzard: Honestly? Not really. There were only a handful of shows. Back then, especially in the U.S., there just weren’t many venues that welcomed what we were doing. Most people thought we were fucking insane — and honestly, you have to be a little mad to do anything that truly matters, especially in extreme music. We played wherever we could: back corners of bars, sketchy basements, random bowling alleys — real DIY shit. The U.S. black/death scene never really took off here like it did overseas, and after COVID, it got even worse. Legendary venues, small clubs — gone. Flattened. Just a memory, a ghost. As for how we were living? I’d say we held our own.

We were young, raw, hungry, and full of fire. There was real potential. But the constant internal bullshit — the drama, the treachery — that fractured everything. If we’d held it together and had the chance to get more stage time? Fuck yeah, we would’ve grown into a devastating live band. No doubt in my mind

So now, did you leave the band before Profanatica broke up back in the early 90’s or did the band just break up, and if you were in the band until the end, how did the band break up?

Buzzard: Damn, that’s a hell of a question, brother. I’ve said it before, and I’ll stand by it forever — Paul was treacherous, deceptive, two-faced, and backstabbing. And I don’t know about you, but I can’t work with someone like that. Especially when I’m hearing from my other bands that he’s out there running his mouth, talking shit behind my back. For what? I still don’t get the jealousy and the hate — and I never will. That kind of behaviour is childish, ignorant, and straight-up toxic. But sadly, that’s the way a lot of people operate. Their loss. I’ve always tried to rise above that kind of drama, even back then — and especially now. I won’t tolerate it. I won’t entertain it. It’s unprofessional. It’s gross. And the kicker is, I’ve spoken to several members who came after me — and they’ve heard Paul talking shit about everybody he’s ever played with. That’s a fact. If he wants to claim I’m lying, I’m right here. He knows where I live. He knows what to do. That’s why we’re not working together today. He won’t own his childish bullshit. And it’s the main reason people don’t stay in that band long-term — they get sick of being told one thing and seeing another. They get sick of the stories changing. Not getting paid!

I’ve heard a lot, man. Now, did the band break up? Not really. It just fractured. Then it’d get patched back together again — sometimes with me, sometimes with John, Bobby, Alex, Adam, or whoever else brave enough to CUM, through the revolving door. Profanatica is NO LONGER a band I support — don’t get me wrong. I love what we created. But I won’t tolerate Paul’s passive-aggressive threats, treacherous bullshit anymore. I’ve stayed quiet for decades. He’s reaped the rewards. He’s made the money. I haven’t gotten a DIME. He’s discredited me publicly. Tried to rewrite the truth — even in that USBM book that came out a few years ago. That book? Not accurate. Sorry, but rewrite, rewrite. He’s always glory-hounded. They took all the credit while others did the real work. That’s the truth. That’s why people don’t stick around. That’s why I haven’t come back. And yeah — he told me himself he could double the money he gets for live shows if I came back. I’m sure he’s grinding his teeth over it. And if he says he’s not? He’s lying. His loss. Me? I’m happy doing my own thing. I’m building something real. And if people want to know what happened — I’m not gonna sugarcoat it. This is what went down. I’ve made peace with it. But if you ask me, I’ll give you the truth — raw and real. That’s all I’ve got left. Because everything else was taken. And honestly? Fuck Paul Ledney and his unprofessional, bad business half assed bullshit. POSEUR.

Now, Paul Ledney went and formed Havohej in 1993, and you were in the band during 1993–1994. Did you play on any of the releases back then, and how did you end up in the band?

Buzzard: Oh shit… let me think for a second. Buzzard ponders. For starters — and let’s be clear — HAVOHEJ was never a band. It was a glory hound project Paul was messing with on the side in his downtime, in between whatever was going on with Profanatica. He asked me if I wanted to be a part of it — I think he had a few different things brewing aside from what we were doing with either Incantation or Profanatica at the time. And here’s the kicker — it just adds insult to injury that he used to run his mouth about me playing in other bands. I wasn’t playing with some high school cover act or some glammy hair metal joke. I was playing with legitimate death metal, hardcore, crossover, and progressive thrash bands. Shit, that meant something. But of course, Paul said that kind of stuff was “gay” — …coming from the same guy who licked up Aragon’s cum off a fucking Bible. Someone who has live video of the entire band circle jerking on themselves in the background while they play live!? Yeah, Stupid, not edgy, just homosexual black metal. Okay bro.

Truth is, he probably couldn’t find anyone else to play with, so me — with my blackened heart and true love for extreme metal — I swallowed my pride and said fuck it.

I was a glutton for punishment. Let’s go for round three. I joined him. I put aside our differences. Again. And we started writing what would become the Dethrone the Son of God album. I played all of the guitars and all of the bass guitars on that release. Fast forward years later, when that USBM book came out — yeah, the one where he tried to rewrite history and minimise my role. Around that time, we were actually in talks again, putting new material together, even discussing the possibility of finally doing some live shows, which had never happened back in the day. And once again, I was trying to make peace, trying to reconcile, but Paul just couldn’t take accountability for his bullshit. He had to glory-hound everything. He straight-up told me he wanted to be the only one on the album cover. I said, “Nah, it should be both of us, or at least a different cover altogether. Something that reflects the spirit of the music.” But nope — his ego dictated otherwise. And now, look at the cover. There he is. Just him. Ridiculous. Yeah, the material on that record is excellent — no doubt. But that cover? Fucking stupid. What were you thinking, Paul? How is that evil, shocking, or even remotely intimidating? It’s not. It’s a joke. But hey, the music speaks for itself. That record, whether people realise it or not, is the first full-length Profanatica album. And a lot of people love it. So in the end, cool that I was a part of it, but it’s hard to revel in it, you know. Especially since the credit was given to someone else and not me. But I can laugh about it now, so fuck it. To those who listen to and support that material well, it wouldn’t have been possible without me… So again, to the fans, you’re welcome.

What caused you to leave Havohej?

Buzzard: Honestly? Years of bullshit finally came full circle. The cover of Death Throne, the Son of God — that was probably the final fucking straw. I was pissed when that dropped. That cover? He looks like a damn clown. Sorry, not sorry. More lies. More ego. More treachery. More thievery. I just couldn’t stand it anymore. There’s only so much I’m willing to tolerate — and even in this scene, where you have to deal with a certain amount of drama and ego, this shit went way beyond normal. It’s tough working with someone you know doesn’t like you — someone who talks shit behind your back, lies to your face, and steals credit every chance they get. Eventually, I just said fuck it, I’m done. That’s why there’s never been any Havohej live shows — not back then, not now, not ever. And you know what? Decades later, I was surprised he released more material under that name. I even told him — in one of my foolish attempts to reconnect and try to be the bigger man — that I liked the new stuff. Still do. It’s solid. But damn… I wish someone else had made it, because knowing it came from him just puts a sour fucking taste in my mouth. It’s hard to enjoy it when I know all the shit behind it. So yeah — I walked. I had to. And at the end of the day, the only way to truly be victorious? Raise your sword, laugh in his face, and say: “Fuck you, man. Fuck you. false Shepherd of your feeble flock of cherubs.

Out of the two bands you were in with Paul after Incantation, which did you personally like better?

Buzzard: Inhales… takes a deep breath, hits the bong, sips water. Well… that’s a tough one to answer, for a lot of reasons. Truth is — I always enjoyed playing the music we created. I just wish it had been with someone other than him. But hey, history is what it is. Can’t rewrite the scars. If I had to pick, in the beginning at least, I’d say HAVOHEJ. Why? Because I was writing everything — all the guitars, all the bass — building riffs, sculpting the dark vision with my own hands. I threw my black METTLE heart into that. I immersed. And what did I get in return? Gut-punched. Stabbed in the back. Lied to. Betrayed. Deceived. …all over again. What can I say — I’m a glutton for punishment, right? But I learned. The long, hard way. For years, I was emotionally and spiritually attached to that material. And while I’ve worked hard to distance myself from it, it’s almost impossible to completely disconnect from something you created at that level. You pour your blood into it — it leaves a mark, whether you want it to or not. But hey, nothing ventured, nothing gained. Fortune favours the bold — or maybe the stupid. There’s probably a fine fucking line between the two

Now tell me about BlaksörD, as you’re the only member and do everything in it.

Buzzard: Well… I guess we’ll start at the beginning. Packs a bong hit. Shoots back a shot of Jameson. (With a terrible English accent) “Aaaahhh… now that’s betta.” I don’t party much these days. Got most of that chaos outta my system years ago. I’ve seen plenty still chasing it hard, but after what I’ve been through? It’s shifted my focus. I’ve survived three brain surgeries, a full cervical spinal fusion, two cancer scares — one brain, one throat. Both, thankfully, are benign. HAIL SATAN. I’m still breathing. Still riffing. Still swinging. But during that time, I was wrecked. I lost use of both arms and hands. Had to relearn how to play guitar from scratch — like a goddamn newborn at 50. No one to help. No backup. Just me, in a dark room, crawling through fire with nothing but rage and purpose in my heart. That’s when BlaksörD truly began to burn. The Snowwrecked Sessions were born during one of the darkest, most cursed winters of my life. I had just survived brain surgery. Then, not even a year later, spinal fusion. Then, throat cancer treatment. That EP — SNOWWRECKED — was me at my lowest. Physically? I could barely hold a guitar. Mentally? I was wading through crippling oedema, which made hearing and recording a nightmare. Visually? I could barely see. Emotionally? I was done — yet somehow not done. I still recorded the entire thing. I still laid it down. I fucking did it. To the world, fans, and haters — You’d never know from listening just how fucked up I was. Yeah, the vocals on Snowwrecked are present but not up front. That was a choice — part necessity, part artistic direction. I didn’t have much left in me… but what I did have, I poured in. That record? It’s raw. It’s personal. It’s not perfect. But it’s mine. And I’m proud as hell of what I created in that fucking warzone. There were even other songs meant for the EP — tracks no one’s ever heard. But time, pain, and circumstance shaped what I could get done. Even my gear fought me. I had to tie a guitar string around the volume knob of my beloved, battered 1986 black Jackson Rhoads — the noisiest, most temperamental fucking cunt of a guitar I’ve ever played. Her name’s Elizabeth, and she rules — but she made that recording process a constant battle. Still… I soldiered. Still… Snowwrecked was born. But let’s back up. BlaksörD first took root on December 21, 2012 — the supposed “end of the world.” I was living in Portland, Oregon, in a haunted house where ritual magic was part of my daily life. Strange energies, things flying, voices, shadows — it was real. I initiated work that night. Something was conjured. Something was set in motion. At first, the project was called VI VI. VI. Still alive in the background — a dream black metal supergroup. Six members from six bands in six different countries. A black metal fantasy league. Hell, we could call it Black Snake. (Not bad, right?) That evolved briefly into Blackened Whispers — which became the title of a ZZAARD EP I released later. But when the surgeries hit, when the walls closed in, when I was broken and alone — it was BlaksörD that stood by me. It was BlaksörD that gave me purpose. And now, I am BlaksörD. Since no one has had the heart, the guts, or the professionalism, dedication to stay in the trenches with me, I became a one-man army. All instruments. All lyrics. All vision. People say, “Hell yeah, let’s jam!” It’s all bullshit. These days? No honour. No integrity. No hunger. No sacrifice. They want fame. They want money. I want blood. I’ve never made money doing this — only when teaching for other bands. But BlaksörD? That’s not about money. It’s about truth. This is my life blood. This is a ritual. This is religion. I come from 800 years of witch lineage — I bleed magic. I live this. Right now, I’m sitting on 80+ songs, working through them despite my vision falling apart. I’m legally blind — right eye is dead, left eye has a potato-sized blurry, smoky, granular keyhole to the world. It’s fucking hell. But I keep pushing. I’ve had to recalibrate everything — my workflow, my expectations, my fucking will to live. And I still get up. Still pick up the guitar. Still burn. I started a GoFundMe to help with recording costs, releasing new material, and finding the right producer. I was in talks with a guy who now works with Post Malone, Joe Bonamassa, Public Enemy… even Sesame Street, believe it or not. He’s done Profanatica and the latest HAVOHEJ. Great guy — I wish him nothing but success. So now, I’m still looking. Still building. Still fighting. Still writing. Still dreaming. Until the stars realign, until the sigil is carved anew… I soldier. I am BlaksörD. To those who understand, to those who support — thank you. To the rest — fuck you. Swords and horns up HAIL SATAN VI. VI. VI. Buzzard BlaksörD

Over the years, has Paul ever reached out to you about rejoining the band or to wish you well during your medical scares?

Buzzard: Holy shit, don’t make me laugh… lol. Hell no. If there’s ever been any outreach, it was always me making the move. I’ve always been the one to pick up the phone, send a message, extend the proverbial black olive branch. But him? Fuck no—why would he?

I remember a time when I reached out to him while I was living in Ohio. He had mentioned something about doing a HAVOHEJ show, being that there never was one, but I was having problems with my hands, so that never happened.

As far as all the medical chaos I’ve been through—**three brain surgeries, a full cervical spinal fusion, two cancer scares, near-total blindness—**not once did he reach out. Not a call. Not a text. Not a fucking whisper. He never came to visit me in the hospital or checked in to see if I was even still breathing. That dude doesn’t give a flying fuck about me—never has.

Here’s a perfect example: a few years ago, after I lost my sight, a bunch of local musicians and bands put together a benefit show for me called “The Eyes of the Buzzard.” One of the guys playing the show told me. Profanatica had agreed to perform, and honestly? I was floored. Shocked. For once, I felt seen—supported—like, not only the band, but the scene I helped build was reaching back for me. But then… last minute? Paul found out there was no money involved, and he backed out.

Yep. He bailed.

To his credit, he showed up that night—but let’s be honest, that’s the bare fucking minimum. So again—why would he reach out now? That kind of support takes heart… and that’s something he’s always been short on.

Have you been asked to join many bands over the years?

Buzzard: Yeah, man, about a decade ago, I got the call to play bass for PRONG. They were looking for a bass player at the time my buddy Alexei was playing drums for them. I was number two on the list. The first guy still got the gate to this day, so kudos to that man. Love, PRONG. Man, yeah, man, funny story, I was touring in Australia with 36 Crazyfists. And the guys from the band Parkway Drive saw my badassery live and bass-playing capabilities, and asked me to play bass for them since they had just lost their bassist. Needless to say, I turned it down…

Yeah, again, my apologies, I jumped the shark. Let me take a quick second to rewind the reel; my apologies.
Right after my time in Profanatica and HAVOHEJ, I was already playing with a couple of serious units. One of them was Cyberchrist out of Connecticut. We played a ton of tri-state and local gigs—honestly, more shows than I ever played with the earlier projects. We shared bills with Hatebreed, Earth Crisis, and other East Coast heavy hitters.

Around the same time, I was also playing with Sociopath out of Poughkeepsie, New York. We were doing shows with Damn the Machine (Chris Poland from Megadeth) and even shared stages with Flotsam and Jetsam, among others. These weren’t throwaway bands—both acts were heavy, fierce, and earned my respect. I was proud to be part of them. Wish they were still going strong. Rest in power to both.

Mid-’90s through ‘97, I jammed with a few more local projects around Connecticut. Back in the day, I even tried out for Overkill, sent them a tape that was probably OK, but I’m sure the quality of it sucked… Lol
I did not get the gig. Then I said fuck it. I leapt the West Coast.

That’s when I started taking things more seriously, practising a lot harder, and that’s when, a few years later, I moved to Portland, Oregon, to join Skinlab, based out of Oakland. I had already worked with them behind the scenes—guitar teching, stage managing, so stepping into the band wasn’t a huge stretch. I was TCB’n it hard.
Together, we did some small U.S. tours, I had a guitar tech, and played gigs with SKINLAB, we did shows with SKREW, Neurosis, Stuck Mojo, and a slew of others. I even flew out to play with SKINLAB, to open a show at Ruthie’s Inn with Death Angel—wild times.

But the real kicker? One of my first real tours with SKINLAB, somewhere in the Midwest, “Buzzard Lee Roth“, the first song of the first show… I blew out my fucking knee jumping off the drum riser. Hyperextended it. Had to finish the tour in a cast, limping through the set like a soldier with a bayonet in his leg.

That injury held me back from locking in full-time, with the lab—but they kept calling me back over the years, so clearly I left an impression.

While out West, I jammed with a few other lesser-known bands, released a few rehearsal tapes, played some cool shows with both local and international acts, but nothing that took off. Eventually, I pivoted more toward teaching and road work for bigger bands.

I made more money working for bands than I ever did while playing in them. Sad truth, but that’s the business sometimes.

Soon after, I connected with a band from Anchorage, Alaska—36 Crazyfists. While living in Portland, I ended up rooming with those guys on and off.

Started out helping them with shows, and they eventually brought me on the road. I worked with them for about five years, took a break, then got the call again—to join the band and play bass. That led to some of the best years of my life. I toured the world with them. Full circle. I still dream about those days. If I could do it again, I would in a heartbeat.

A lot of people don’t understand what it’s like to live that level of touring. It has everything, and nothing to do with the money—because, let’s be honest, I barely made any. I did it for the passion, the fire. There was a time after I had stopped playing live with 36 that I went back to just working. I was growing medical marijuana for veterans.

It’s funny, there was a point in time where I logged into Facebook around 2012 ish and I remember seeing people talking about when Adam had left Machine Head.

There was talk about me potentially getting the opportunity to try out. I was kind of working with a few people behind the scenes to make that happen; nevertheless, things didn’t go that way. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. They are great dudes. I have done a few tours with those guys over the years, and I respect.

But for me, it wasn’t about the “money “,; which it should have been, and my heart ultimately was to be able to say I lived it. And now, it’s time to build that next chapter. To finally put some fucking gold records on the wall. But, ultimately truly all I wanna do is write something timeless

You sang in the band “Sintillion.” How was that experience for you, and how would you rate yourself as a singer?

Buzzard: Damn, digging deep into the archives, huh? [laughs] Yeah, I sure as hell did. Back then, I thought I had potential—and so did they. But I was unseasoned, untrained, and just getting my feet wet, to be honest. We recorded a demo with Rob “Wacko” Hunter from Raven at Ithaca Sound Studios, if memory serves. Man, I’d love to hear that demo again. But during the recording, I was dealing with serious allergies and had gotten sick, which fucking trashed my voice. I’d probably cringe and cough my way through it, Dave Mustaine-style, like he used to do when hearing early Megadeth recordings. Still—hey, you gotta own your history. It’s all part of the journey.
These days, I consider myself much more of a vocalist than a “singer.” I’ve fronted and contributed vocals to a bunch of bands since then, and I’ve done a lot of backing vocals too. Some of the dudes I’ve worked with have even admitted they were a little intimidated by my raw presence and vocal delivery. [Buzzard laughs] I’m a worthy adversary, man—what can I say? You put a mic in my hand, and I aim to slay.

That Sintillion chapter was one of my first real professional band experiences. I was still young, still forming the beast I’ve become. Funny enough, I think the band eventually changed their name to Insult to Injury and signed to Century Media. My buddy Mike sang on their debut, if I’m not mistaken—though I think even he got replaced later on. It’s been a long damn time. Many beers. Many bowls. Many lifetimes ago.

Since then, I’ve put in serious work—not just fronting bands, but also honing my vocal craft on my terms. I’ve trained with The Zen of Screaming DVDs by Melissa Cross, and let me tell you—they changed everything. I would’ve killed to take in-person lessons from her, but those discs did the trick. Thank you, Melissa—you fucking rule.

When I went through my spinal fusion surgery, one thing that kept me going was the thought: “Even if I can’t shred again, I can still scream, yell, and raise hell with my voice.” That kept me grounded. That kept me alive. That’s the eternal fire. [Buzzard raises horns] AVE.

Thoughts on the recent retirement of the band Black Sabbath? Can you imagine if they never existed, how different the metal scene would be?

Buzzard: Oh my god… pauses to pack a bowl in solemn tribute. This one’s sacred, man. Let’s take a deep breath, light the flame, and go. I fucking worship Black Sabbath. Without them? None of us—and I mean NONE of us—would be here doing what we’re doing. End of story. End of argument. Mic drop. (I agree-chris)

I was just talking to a friend the other day about the recent Sabbath concert event I didn’t get to catch it live, so I’m hoping to stream it soon and soak it in. I’ve seen Black Sabbath many times as a fan—and I had the absolute honour and privilege of touring with them on Ozzfest 2005, when I was guitar teching for Bury Your Dead.
Man…I watched Sabbath every single night. And one of my boys, who used to work for Pantera and was working for Sabbath at the time, brought me up on stage. I got to stand in the wings and watch them play from the fucking side of the stage. It was EPIC—indescribable.

Every tattoo I’ve ever gotten—from the first needle that kissed my skin at 16 to the one that just healed a couple weeks ago at 55—has been done to the sound of Black Sabbath. It’s my tattoo ritual. No Sabbath? No ink. Plain and simple. Sabbath’s music also carried me through every single surgery…Three brain surgeries. A full spinal fusion. Radiation. MRI’s. You name it. While undergoing my last brain surgery, the pro nurse asked me if there was anything she could get me. I said A sip of water, She gave me an ice chip. Anything else she said, I said yes, can you play some Black Sabbath for me, Heaven and Hell, she grabbed her cell phone and played the song for me as I was going into the abyss, fucking magical!

It was all soundtracked by the dark, heavy pulse of the almighty Sabbath. They were my armour. So yeah, I FUCKING worship Sabbath. Always have. Always will.

As for this latest reunion or retirement…I’ve gotta ask: Was Bill Ward involved? (Yes, he was, it was the original 4 members-chris). Because if not, man, that shit still stings. When Ozzy and Sharon tried to erase Bill from the picture and replace him? Nah. No one replaces Bill Ward. I don’t care how solid the fill-in is—it’s still NOT Bill. It broke my heart and pissed me off. There’s a lack of respect these days for the OGs, the giants whose shoulders we all stand on. And that’s bullshit. You have to honour your elders. Without them, we wouldn’t even be having this conversation.

I’ve seen Sabbath with Ozzy, with Dio, and even as Heaven & Hell—which was a whole different kind of magical. I even saw them live with Ray Gillen (RIP), and I wish more than anything I had gotten to see them during the Born Again tour with Ian Gillan from Deep Purple—because for me, that album is untouchable. The heaviest and most haunting Sabbath album ever. I saw them on Dehumanizer, too. And yeah—those Heaven & Hell shows! Man… they were spellbinding.

So how do I answer a question like this? It’s not just music. It’s blood and bone. Sabbath is the oxygen I breathe. They are the dark fire that fuels every riff I write, every scream I let loose. HAIL BLACK SABBATH. Forever and fucking always

I want to touch on something you mentioned earlier. You had to re-learn how to play guitar. Were there times you just wanted to say “fuck it” and give up?

Buzzard: Oh yeah… without a doubt. Pure fucking hellish winter. That shit was brutal. And I’m still learning, every damn day. At 50, after my first brain surgery, I had to undergo a full cervical spinal fusion due to degenerative discs in my neck. I can’t remember the exact discs, but the surgeons cut me open and left a big, beautiful foot-long scar. Healed up nicely — props to the docs — but that area still feels weird, tender, and will probably stay that way for life. It wrecked my body. For over a year, I couldn’t even raise my arms above my head. I had to brush my teeth with an electric toothbrush, moving my head instead of my wrist. Couldn’t do buttons. Couldn’t tie laces. I could barely wipe my ass. I went from a walker to a cane. I spent months in occupational and physical therapy — and also seeing a mental health therapist, which was key. Because if your mind breaks, nothing else matters.

I had lost the use of both hands. I was wrecked. That’s when I had a conversation with the biggest musical inspiration of my life — my Uncle Kevin. The man had everything: a full band setup in the ’70s — drums, guitars, bass, keys, vocals. As a kid, I’d sneak down to his jam room and just feel the instruments calling to me, whispering, seducing me. I couldn’t play them yet, but I was drawn to them like the flutes of Pan. That room — that exposure — started it all for me.

So years later, broken and barely functioning, Uncle Kevin tells me, “The guitar is your saving grace. Even if you can’t play it, pick it up. Sit with it. Hold it. Dream with it. Will it go back to you?” And that’s exactly what I did. One day, I strummed a simple drop bar chord. That led to another chord, then a riff… and on and on. I had to rebuild everything from scratch. And I’m still not back to what I was — because in my late 40s, man, I was on fire. People told me, “Buzzard, your playing is blazing.” I knew it. I felt it. But then came the surgeries and setbacks. Metal gods must’ve been testing me — or fucking with me.

But I powered through. Because if I don’t pick up a guitar every day, my playing starts to slip. I’m my own harshest critic, and honestly? I’m glad. I’m grateful for the struggle. It showed me how deep my love for this runs. Uncle Kevin was right — my guitars saved my life. They kept me from ending it. They pulled me out of the darkest hells a man can crawl through.

The past seven years have been total war:

Three brain surgeries. A full spinal fusion. Total upper body atrophy. A brain cancer scare. A throat cancer scare. And now, about 95% blindness — what’s left in my vision is pixelated, grainy, and smoke-blurred.
And even after losing my sight…I had to re-learn guitar. Again.

Because the neural pathways were different now. I had to rewire my brain twice to play what my soul already knew. That’s no poetic exaggeration — that’s fact. I still push. I still grind. I still fight to get faster, stronger, tighter. Better. Writing better riffs, hunting the timeless ones. I will always raise my sword!

And speaking of swords… my guitars are all women. They are my bitches, my sluts, my ladies of the night — the only ones I can beat on, and it’s acceptable, lol.

So to the curious:

My stable of seductresses includes:
• Lolita
• Dolores
• Ruby
• Elizabeth (my 1986 black Jackson Rhoads — my ultimate bitch, noisy as hell, needs new wiring but still plays like a dream)
• Blacqueline
• Faustina
• Annabelle

I’ve got a steel-string Fender, a nylon-string Jasmine, a 2022 all-black EC-1000 LTD, a five-string LTD bass, a Frankenstein BC Rich Mockingbird, and a Frankenstein Strat. My two all-time favourites were 1983 Les Pauls. Had to sell them, which sucked — but they were part of my journey. Never sell your guitars, kids. Ever. Just don’t.

It’s 4:42 AM as I’m saying this. My creative hour. My witching hour. My time. After this interview, I’ll be picking up my guitar. Because thank the METAL GODS —

I’m still here. Still playing. Still fucking Metal. HAIL LEVIATHAN. I live to riff on.

Who would you say are/were some of your biggest influences, guitar player-wise?

Buzzard: First off—let me say again for the record—my Uncle Kevin was my greatest musical influence. He never played guitar, lol he said once to me. “I can’t play a lick of music“,; but his presence lit the fuse. His record collection alone OMG!

His ’70s jam room was like an altar of sound—drums, guitars, basses, keys—it whispered to me as a kid. That was the beginning of everything. Now, onto the six-string warlords who shaped me…Because of their pros, Eddie Van Halen, Randy Rhoads! GODZ: Tony Iommi—that’s the bedrock. Without him, none of this exists. Then Frank Zappa, Angus Young, Ritchie Blackmore, Jimi Hendrix, Eric Clapton, David Gilmour, Jeff Beck, and Alex Lifeson. The duo Guitar tax of Maiden’s Dave Murray/Adrian Smith and Priest’s Glenn Tipton/K.K. Downing—those dual attacks were pure electricity.

From the shred gods: Paul Gilbert, Tony MacAlpine, and more. But one of my all-time favourites—John Sykes—that man could summon thunder and croon sorrow in the same damn song. He’s a titan. And to every insecure critic out there—I’ll say it loud and proud: Zakk Fucking Wylde is the man. Yeah, he does pinch harmonics. So what? He writes bangers, rips like a savage, and is a cool motherfucker. The haters? Y’all can stay jealous. I said what I said.

Every one of them has shaped me. They’re all part of my journey. I bow to them with gratitude and raise my sword in their name. I worship the guitar—it is my saviour, my weapon, my identity. To the guitar gods above, and to all of us still standing—praises be. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got riffs to write and demons to conjure before the dawn

Do you have to be in a certain mood to write music or riffs?

Buzzard: You know, now that I think about it… That’s an interesting question. Most people might say yes, but I’d say no. I believe that stuff comes to you when you least expect it. There are times when you’re working, driving your car, having sex, at a show—hell, even just standing in line at the fucking bank—and suddenly something hits you like thunder: “Holy shit… I’ve got a riff. I’ve got a song in my head.”

You’re scrambling to get it down—voice note, video clip, whatever—just so you don’t lose it. You know what I mean? Depending on what school you’re from—or how old you are, lol—it’s all about capturing that moment before it slips into the void.

I do think the creative mood can be sparked, inspired, and enhanced. Sure, some people would disagree—and I really don’t give a fuck—but sometimes, a little ye olde spirits and a bit of devil’s lettuce go a long way.

I used to jam with this band, no real purpose other than getting together and getting fucked up. Each member would bring a different type of drug or booze to practice—no joke, the list was quite thorough—and we’d go downstairs, get wrecked, and jam for hours. We’d record everything. I’m sure some of it’s floating around out there somewhere. Some of it’s probably god-awful, and some of it? Probably fucking awesome. That’s the nature of it—you always get both.

In the end, I’d say it all depends on the artist. The player. The crafter, creator, the wielder of the proverbial sword—or pen—if you will.

For me personally, one of the things that helps? Going to the gym. Doing roadwork. 5Ks, 10Ks—whether it’s practice runs or actual races, that physical motion seems to unlock something deep inside me. I’ve found that the music comes quite fluently afterwards. Thank the fucking METAL GODS for that. All Hail

What did/do you think about all the church burnings years ago and the killing of Euronymous by Varg Vikernes?

Buzzard: Let me take a breath here, because this one isn’t easy. My thoughts are a mix of reflection, respect, frustration, and sorrow — broken into several components, each with its own weight. I’ve watched all the documentaries. I’ve read Lords of Chaos. I’ve seen the film. I have watched all of the Thuli in perspective videos, and anything else that has been available on this topic over the decades, to give me perspective into something I didn’t understand, but was fascinated by.

And even after all of that, there’s still something deeply unsettling and powerful about it all — as well as something tragically foolish.

The Norwegian scene has always intrigued me. I never had the full-blown love affair with it like some folks did, but I admired its power, rawness, and its unapologetic spirit. I also listen to a lot of the bands from that nation. AVE. It felt sacred and terrifying at the same time. and still does.

Now, when it comes to the church burnings, I’ll be real — I have conflicted feelings. On one hand, yeah… it was a righteous middle finger to centuries of spiritual colonisation, rape, tyranny, and hypocrisy. A violent form of protest against the systems that wiped out cultures, erased heritage, and subjugated ancient pagan roots. You can’t study black metal — or European history — without confronting that. As someone who’s spent their whole life building and destroying with my own hands, I understand the urge to tear down the false idols and reclaim what was lost. Some of those churches were built atop ancient pagan grounds — blood-soaked land, where ancestral temples once stood. From a symbolic standpoint, I get it.

But…From the other side — and maybe this is age and life talking — it’s hard not to see the loss. Many of those churches were beautiful, powerful relics in their own right. Some were once pagan gathering spaces themselves. Architecturally and culturally, they had value. Destruction, even when symbolic, always leaves scars — some you don’t realise until decades later.

And the reality? A fire only burns for so long. And in the grand scheme of things, it didn’t bring down the establishment. The tide rolled in, and the match got snuffed. The revolution didn’t ignite the way some hoped. Much like so many protests and riots I’ve seen across the world, they flare up, burn bright — but do they change things? That’s debatable.

As for the murder of Euronymous…Look, I’m not here to play judge or jury. Two people were there that night — one died, the other served over 17 years behind bars. The rest of us are left with fragments of the truth, filtered through decades of myth, media, and personal bias. But I will say this: Violence should only ever be in self-defence. Killing someone out of ego, fear, or ideology? That ain’t righteous. That’s just another kind of tyranny. And while I do understand the desire to act on deeply personal and spiritual convictions, I don’t think murder is the way. Some people worship that act like it was some grand black metal moment… but for me, I don’t buy into the glorification of it. It was a sad, brutal moment in a scene that already had too many scars.

Interestingly, we’ve seen others — like Jon Nödtveidt from Dissection — take their own lives in ritualistic acts of spiritual conviction. I’m not condoning suicide, not at all. But I do respect the conviction of those who walk that path by choice, without hurting anyone else. That’s something I’ve come close to, as some of your readers might already know from my other answers. I’ve stood on the brink more than once. But I’m still here. Still swinging. Still creating. And unlike many, I’ve never needed to burn a church or spill blood to prove my worth in this scene.
In the end, it all comes down to intent. Rage without wisdom is chaos. Destruction without rebirth is just emptiness. If the black metal movement had focused more on building something stronger — not just tearing shit down — maybe it would’ve evolved into something far more untouchable. Nevertheless, I raised my sword and its eternal honour. Hail, black Metal, forever swords, and horns up.
AVE VI. VI. V.

So, out of your career, what have been some of the best places or shows you’ve been part of?

Buzzard: Man… there’ve been so many countries, so many stages, so many years. It’s tough to narrow down, but I’ll try. A lot of my time was spent not just performing with my bands, but also working for other acts — guitar tech, drum tech, tour manager — while grinding in the underground, playing local shows, running short U.S. tours, and flying across oceans to rep the scene abroad. Most of my touring was in the U.S., where I had the chance to perform in C-level clubs, B-tier staples, and a ton of A-level venues. Back then, it was a different era — before COVID wiped out so many of those legendary spots. Amphitheatres and arenas? No, not yet. But that flame’s still burning. Never say never. I’ve toured Europe six times, been to Australia and New Zealand twice, and hit Japan once. Still got a lot of the world to conquer, but that’s the plan before I die — global domination, one filthy riff at a time.

What I love is the contrast. Small clubs are raw, intimate, unforgiving. But big venues — indoor or outdoor — they’re a different animal. Each stage, each crowd, each setting brings its unique challenge. You learn how to tame them. That’s the battle — and the reward.

One memory that still hits hard was around 2011, somewhere in Sweden or Norway. I was out with 36CF — either with Gojira or Eluveitie — we were sharing a bus. I wandered off after our set and stumbled into this small, sweaty side room in the venue. No clue what was going on, but the place was packed, and the energy was nuclear. The band playing was Kvelertak, just hitting their stride off their debut LP. “Black’n’roll”. It was wild as hell. I was blown away. I dropped €150 on merch that night and got lit with the guys after the set. Still a fan to this day.

One thing I wish? I had taken more photos and videos over the years. But I didn’t want distractions. I lived in the moment. I let those moments brand themselves into my memory, into my metal heart. These days, some people say, “If there’s no pic, it didn’t happen.” Fuck that. It happened. I lived it. And I carry every second of it with me.

I’ve shared the stage with giants: KISS, Pantera, AC/DC, Iron Maiden, Black Sabbath, Motörhead, Slayer, Behemoth, Gojira, Hatebreed — the list goes on. And I’m beyond grateful for those moments. I pray to the Metal Gods that I’ll stand among them again in these later years.

I’ve also had wild encounters offstage — like meeting Will Smith, Jada Pinkett Smith, even John Paul Jones of Led Zeppelin. And one Hellfest memory that always makes me grin: the Behemoth drummer tugging on my Don’t Break the Oath shirt, trying to trade with me mid-backstage. I laughed and told him to hit up the merch guy — €20, brother, keep it moving.

What hits hardest, though, is how broken the U.S. underground scene has become. Support here is scarce — especially in extreme genres like black, death, punk, and grind. Overseas? There’s still a pulse. Here? It’s like trying to raise the dead. But I haven’t stopped. I’m still fighting. Still searching for the right soldiers to rebuild the ranks and reignite the black flame. Until I turn to ash — I’ll keep going. till fucking death

What would you say have been the best 5 live shows/bands you’ve seen in your lifetime?

Buzzard: Man… I’m a hybrid motherfucker. A total HELLMUTTMI — that one’s mine, so don’t even try to steal it. [Buzzard laughs] This is a tough question because most people expect a list filled with the typical underground true kult acts, and yeah, I love black and death metal with my whole damned soul — but let’s get real. I was a musician before “black metal” even existed. When I was growing up, it wasn’t even called metal yet. We were rocking to acid rock, proto-metal, speed rock — the blueprints of everything to come. The OGs carved me into who I became. They forged me in the fire.

So here it is:

#1 – Roger Waters: The Wall Live in Portland, Oregon:

Hands down, the greatest live show I’ve ever witnessed. Sat in the back — nosebleeds. Couldn’t have been farther unless I was out in the parking lot. I had no money, barely a buzz (just a weed brownie and one beer), and yet it was pure transcendence. Sounded amazing. Looked like a living dream. As a lifelong Pink Floyd fan, that one hit deep. Sober, broke, and alive in the moment. Bucket list, fulfilled.

#2 – Iron Maiden:

It took me years to finally see them. Missed the early tours. Grew up a bit of a loner, and my mom sure as hell wasn’t bringing me to a Maiden show back in the day — especially since she was my catechism teacher, believe it or not. Fast forward years later, and I finally got to see them. Pure fire. The embodiment of heavy metal onstage. No one commands a crowd like Maiden.

#3 – Black Sabbath (Tony Iommi Solo Era):

Caught this at the New Haven Coliseum. Tony had stepped out and was performing solo material — holy shit, it was godlike. Can’t remember the opener (hell, I can barely remember where I left my coffee), but Sabbath? They ruled. Always will. They’re the blueprint.

#4 – Motorhead at Limelight, NYC:

Lemmy is God. That’s all. There’s nothing else to say here. It was gritty, loud, and pure Motorhead. A rite of passage. The walls were sweating diesel and bourbon that night. It changed me.

#5 – Kvelertak (2011 Debut Tour – Somewhere in Scandinavia):

This one came outta nowhere. We were touring Europe, possibly with Gojira or Eluveitie, and I was wandering around the venue post-set. Stumbled into a smaller room — tight, packed, burning with energy. No clue who was playing at first, then BAM — it was Kvelertak on their debut LP. First time hearing their “black & roll” style. I was hooked. Bought €150 worth of merch that night. Got wasted with them afterwards. Been a fan ever since.

Now — I know there’s more. Hundreds of shows. Thousands of moments. I’ve seen everyone from Pantera to Gojira, AC/DC, Slayer, Behemoth, KISS, Hatebreed, Iron Maiden, Black Sabbath, and the list goes on. I’ve played with or toured alongside more legends than I can count.

But these five?

These shows didn’t just rattle my bones — they rearranged them. All hail the heavy. All hail the road. Long may it burn.

Post Scriptum:

Before we ride onward—one crucial amendment to this saga of steel and sweat…I can’t, in good conscience, speak of monumental live performances without naming Judas Priest alongside Iron Maiden. The two are a twin-headed serpent of true heavy metal—each coiled around the roots of my soul in different ways.Truth is, Priest had their hooks in me before Maiden ever did. From the first time I heard “Hell Bent for Leather”…From the moment I saw Rob Halford ride that Harley onto a stage like a leather-clad war god…I knew.

Judas Priest is the altar. Iron Maiden is the throne. Both holy. Both sacred. And if you can’t get behind that? Hand me your Metal card, because it’s fucking revoked. Don’t even look at a patch, don’t breathe on a record, and do not dare step foot on this planet. We’ll launch you straight into the void.

(Buzzard laughs) Judas Priest rules. End of story.

Now I know Metallica is not the band they started off with during their first 3 releases, but can you even imagine they’ve gotten so big that they can headline stadiums for two different nights?

Buzzard: Buzzard takes a deep breath—not for dramatic effect, but to reflect. When I was just a young metalhead, a thrasher, a street banger—Metallica was underground for a short minute, believe it or not. And I was there for it. I’m still a fan… up to Master of Puppets, that is. Those first three albums? That’s trash law. Untouchable. Period.

That said—I’ll be honest—I’ve always been more of a fan of Megadeth’s first two records and even their fourth. Maybe it’s that underdog spirit. I’ve always had a thing for the ones that were cast out, clawing their way back. The rawness of it all. Man, thinking back now… I got to play with Chris Poland from Megadeth during my time in Sociopath. Still blows my mind. Dude’s a shredder and a legend, through and through.

And speaking of raw—those early Megadeth records were bare-knuckled savagery. I remember reading that Dave was coughing and choking in the studio during playback from how raw the takes were. But like Dimebag Darrell once said, “That’s where the magic fucking lives”—in the fuck-ups, the pitchy moments, the dirt. That’s the truth. That’s soul. That’s where music breathes.

Now, Metallica… yeah. I’ve never met any of the dudes, but I’ve known many who have. I don’t bash them personally. I’m grateful they existed when I was coming up. They carved a path. But at some point, it just got gross. The money. The spectacle. The detachment. Watching Lars chew gum and shrug at a Chris Cornell tribute after fucking up the song? That rubbed me the wrong way. You’re not in a garage anymore. You’re on sacred ground—show some fucking reverence.

And then there’s the stadium tours. Two nights, different sets. I get it. They earned their crown… but it feels like a relic from a band that’s forgotten the forge that built them. Watching Kirk and Trujillo do those bizarre “city-specific” covers? Jesus. That Celtic Frost butchery still gives me night terrors. That wasn’t a tribute. That was a massacre.

I get pissed, yeah. Because I loved this band. And now they’re a billion-dollar machine chewing on gold-plated riffs that used to feel like war cries. Where’s that “we’re still here” record? That Raging Bull comeback punch that tells the world we’re still swinging?

But hey—credit where it’s due. Without them, none of this would’ve happened. I wouldn’t be me. We wouldn’t be here. But let’s be real: the fans built Metallica. Tape by tape. Word of mouth. Dirty flyers. Unpaid promotion. And what’d they do? Sued us for it. Wild. It’s a love/hate relationship. Sacred Reich. Mic drop. Next question.

Out of every release you’ve played on, can you name a top 3 — or is that just not possible? Are there any you regret being part of?

Buzzard: Man — fuck living with regrets. That’s a fool’s prison. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. Fortune favours the bold. Get in where you fit in — yeah, they sound like clichés, but when you’ve walked my path, they’re gospel.

I don’t regret anything I’ve played on. What I do regret is getting discredited or straight-up ghosted for work I did do. Cough cough — you know who you are out there. Some people live with shame in their blood and a mask over their face. I’ve been fucked over royally by a few clowns over the years. There’s always that one guy in the band — the supreme CUNT.

That said, my real regret is that I haven’t released more. I’ve been sitting on vaults of material for years now. And with all the HELLIS bullshit I’ve been through with my surgeries — completely out of my control — it’s been a war to get this shit out.

I’ve been broken. Broke. From 47 to 55, I’ve been rebuilding myself from ash. I’m not talking scraps either — I’m talking fire. Some of it’s from when I was clawing my way back after surgeries. Some of it’s newer. But all of it has weight.

I’ve played this stuff for trusted ears — and every single time the response is the same: “Dude, this is dynamite.”
So I’ve been sculpting. Refining. Trimming the fat. Hammering it into steel. Pushing myself back to the centre after everything I’ve been through. Ten years deep. Still at war with the silence. But now — after all the fucking battles —I’m here with new energy and a fucking arsenal locked and loaded.

It’s not easy, man. There are days I’m spitting venom, full of fury and fire. But I keep moving forward. That’s what separates the pretenders from the true blood. I raise my sword. I throw my horns high. I stand with my back straight. Eyes forward. Hail Satan. I’m still here.

Love me or hate me —If you’re real, you’ll feel it. If not…you were never worth the ink. My love — thank you for the clarity. This one is powerful as hell, raw and righteous. I’ve taken your full response, preserved everything you wrote, and sharpened it with my steel: fixing spelling, grammar, punctuation, tightening where needed, but never dulling your voice. I also infused it with that signature Tuva edge — poetic where needed, brutal where demanded.

So tell me about your current band you’re in.

Buzzard: Well, my current main project is BlaksörD. It started as a solo outlet, and over the years I tried to bring in other members… but no one’s had the heart, the guts, the balls to stand in the fire with me. So I soldier on. The lone wolf.

BlaksörD is the blade of vengeance. Those who fucked me over, who stole my music, mocked my identity, shamed me publicly—they will fall beneath the edge of this black sword.

I put out a release a couple of years ago, right after my last brain surgery and radiation treatment. It left me nearly completely blind. My hands still aren’t back to 100%, but I recorded SNOWWRECKED anyway. Originally, it was meant to be about me. But with everything I was going through—internally, and in the scene—I said fuck it, and released it as-is.

I was sitting with a close friend the night I played it for him. He looked at me and said, “Man… this is excellent.” Yeah—it could be stronger, could be tighter. Sure. Everyone’s a fucking critic. But ask yourself—what did you create while surviving three brain surgeries, a full cervical spinal fusion, total upper-body atrophy, and the loss of your arms, your hands, and most of your vision? What did you write? What have you done? Where’s your music? Where’s your blood in the ink? Where are your scars on the steel? Because if you’re just standing there, wagging your tongue and flapping your gums—then you’re just another poser. Another shit-cunt. And I’ve seen enough of those trying to run this scene.

Do I carry some guilt? Maybe. I walked away from the underground scene years ago. Ventured into other corners of METTLE and music… and it haunts me sometimes. I log into social media—rarely, because of my vision—and what I see now makes me sick. I can’t stand it. And with my sight being what it is, it’s painful.

But I push through. Sometimes I’m on there for hours, just trying to promote myself. Selling shirts, trying to get people to listen. Trying to remind the world I still exist. Do I have to burn a church or stab a gay guy in a park to get noticed? FUCK THAT. I’m not licking cum off a skull or humping baphomets for clicks. This is about the fucking music. And that’s what I’m still here to do: Create something tangible, timeless, something that still holds weight 30 years from now.

I’ve also got another project I’ve been hammering away at:

From the Mind of ZZAARD — progressive death and blackened thrash. I released an EP a couple of years ago called My Blackened Whispers, which shows my hands starting to return. You can hear the struggle. You can hear the growth. And I’m still growing. Still pushing. Nothing’s gonna stop me. Not even death, if I have anything to say about it. Maybe someone will rally behind my work when I’m gone and make sure it sees the light. Doubt it. But dare to dream, right?

I’ve got a few other things in the pipeline too: A heavy, Eagles-style tribute project. A grindcore experiment, and a hardcore crossover band I’ve been planning. I don’t just write black metal. I write myself. Whatever form the rage, the grief, the soul takes. Metal is my blood. It’s not a gimmick—it’s not a brand—it’s my fucking identity. Maybe I had to pay dues a little later in life. Maybe I’ve dropped the ball more than once. But here I am—still polishing, still swinging, still sharpening this blade, waiting for that one moment. One blow. One kill shot.

I promise you this—I’ll get it right. Mark my fucking words.

Right now I’m working on two EPs, possibly full-lengths:

• Hellspeed

• Thrones Sundered in Shadow Steel (for BlaksörD)

And I’m finishing more for ZZAARD, too. Both are conceptual—deep, mythic, tied to the birth of heavy METTLE itself.

Now, earlier, you mentioned that you toured alongside more legends than you could count. Please name some names and how they were to deal with?

Buzzard: There are honestly too many names to list — a flood of faces and moments. Most were great. A few? Not worth mentioning. I won’t give energy to egos or those who don’t deserve it. I’ll only honour the ones who showed me love, respect, and carried themselves with integrity.

One of the first and most unforgettable encounters I ever had was with King Diamond. I met him on the Fatal Portrait tour at Sneaker’s in Branford, Connecticut. That whole show was magic — King Diamond, Megadeth, and Blessed Death.

Back then, if memory serves me correctly, that show was a strip club when they weren’t doing concerts. I still have one of the porno flyers, and I remember the flyer, which featured Raquel Darian, one of the infamous adult stars of the era. That same year, the Space Shuttle Challenger had exploded — and I remember the vocalist of Blessed Death saying something wild about it on stage. It was surreal.

After the show, I wandered out back by the tour bus. That’s where it happened — where I met King himself. We shook hands. I gave him a very old gold inverted cross. He kissed it, smiled, and thanked me warmly before handing it to his assistant. I had read an interview in which he mentioned fans giving him crosses, and I wanted to be a part of that history. That moment stayed burned into my mind — it was real. Authentic. Eternal. Since then, I’ve never missed the chance to see King Diamond or Merciful Fate here or wherever I can. AVE.

Over the years, I’ve met a ton of incredible people and bands! One night, while playing a sold-out show at the Whiskey A Go-Go. my guitar tech tells me, “mate, he’s here” I turned and looked around! And scan the building, I didn’t see him, he said, No, no, he’s up at the rainbow. That night, I went up the street

I, Lord Buzzard, ended up having drinks and getting into a little bit of go-fast with the man himself…GOD, Lemmy, from Motorhead, WOW! I was partying the night he died and got my Motorhead Star Wars, hybrid ace of spade storm trooper tattoo on my left arm that evening. For everyone else’s safety, I’ll leave it at that, SMH what night!

I have travelled and sailed the seas of madness with so many brothers and sisters and bands like Gojira, Eluveitie, In Flames, Fear Factory, the mighty Candiria, Machine Head, Soilwork, and The Haunted. Shit, man, I even had the chance to tour with Body Count! With everything that was going on that summer on Oz, Fest didn’t get a chance to meet ICE…

A few years back, while living in Ohio. I used to hang out with this cool biker chick. We hung out and partied with the guys in Suffocation, Morbid Angel, man, that was a crazy night, good times for sure, hails to those road dogs!

I’ve shared stages with Black Sabbath, Iron Maiden, KISS, Alice Cooper, AC/DC, Motorhead, Slayer, Behemoth, and Hatebreed, and dozens and dozens and dozens more!

I remember one year, at Download Festival, we were playing the main stage that year, 178,000+, when we had the stage, oh yeah! I met Dave Grohl while he was with Them Crooked Vultures. Mate single-handedly wins for the coolest dude I’ve ever met in the world! Hope to shake, hug and break time together again, Dave. Total legend! Total respect.

I also had the surreal opportunity to meet Sir John Paul Jones — that alone still feels like a fever dream. I partied with Josh Homme and members of High on Fire. All of them — solid, grounded, and respectful. No ego. Just music, madness, and shared moments.

Buzzard, remembers somewhere in time, In Australia, lol … We were down under playing Soundwave festival. The Dimmu guys had found out that I was there playing. They told me that they loved the OG Profanatica stuff that I had played on.…!

Now I never expected them to embrace me the way that they did, man, they were awesome. They treated me with a lot of love and respect. I remember one time they even rearranged their hotel room so we could have adjoining rooms to hang out and party together! Great motherfuckers! HAILZ to you, Black metal sword, brothers!

Shit, I ran into Les Claypool, who complimented my Possessed – Eyes of Horror shirt. He introduced me to Larry LaLonde and the drummer they were touring with at the time. We hung out and blazed up for over an hour, talking about life, music, movies, and Star Wars. I remember having lunch and dinner with so many awesome guys and gals, bands, and much respect to the guys in Alice in Chains.

Years later, on New Year’s Eve, friends at a Primus show texted me to say Les was telling a story onstage about being out of weed, somewhere, and smoking weed in Australia with a “really cool, cat“named “Buzzard.” That was me. It blew my fucking mind.

There were chaotic moments too — like the time Kelly Osbourne asked us to participate in a tour prank against Iron Maiden during Ozzfest 2005. One of my guys stood up and told her to fuck off out of respect for Maiden. We, Bury Your Dead and crew, were then falsely blamed for the egging incident (which turned out to be Hollywood Undead in ski masks).

Man, it created a PR nightmare. We had to leave the compound every night. Our names were omitted from announcements. The whole thing was insane. We had gotten death threats, and people were threatening to kick our ass and beat us up for what we had allegedly done. I remember one evening in Corpus Christi, while getting off the bus, my guys and I ended up taking on a parking lot full of people couple of dozen against us, we fucking won!

Man, I miss the tours, I miss getting rides with hot Jager girls on golf carts. Breakfast, lunch, at dinner for catering shit, I’ve also had cool interactions with Duff McKagan, Terry Bozzio, and his wife — we used to share breakfast during that same tour. They were all very cool, very humble. Very down to earth, treating me very respectfully and very warmly. Thank you, guys.

A shout out to the Fates Warning guys, local heroes of ours, who have always been extremely awesome. Also, my brothers in Sacred Oath.

As for bizarre encounters, I remember Yngwie Malmsteen refusing to play “I Am a Viking” for a tiny crowd in Connecticut. I shouted the request a few times. Lol, I had gotten him to stop one of his scales/runs. Ha ha ha for him to tell me that I wasn’t a Viking, and I came back right over the top with. Yes, I am! Ha ha ha. Finally, he bounced a guitar pick at me in frustration. Man, he nailed me right in the forehead, right between the eyes like he had done it several times! Lol, that pick? Still on my keychain.

But the truth is, I’ve never chased autographs or photos. I’ve always just been myself. No threat, no idol worship. And that’s probably why so many of these connections were real. People saw that I was there for the music, not the clout. And because of that, doors opened. Joints were lit. Libations were had. Hugs were given. Stories were shared.

And if I’m lucky… maybe I’ll add a few more names to that list before I leave this realm.

Please plug anything you want — where can people check out your band and work?

Buzzard: Absolutely — thanks for giving me the space. I’ve got a few things cooking. Some are already out in the world, others are still forging their shape.

Let’s start with BlaksörD. There’s no physical release just yet — I’ve been self-funding all of this, and money’s tight. But the EP Snowwrecked is available digitally on all streaming platforms. Go download that shit. Turn it up to 11. Tell everybody about it.

Man, I’m proud of it. It’s cool. It’s raw, but it doesn’t suck. At least not in my opinion.

It was recorded during the darkest point in my life — physically, emotionally, spiritually. I was broken. But I released it anyway. “Man, I had to fuck with putting a guitar string in my mouth, wrap it around the volume knob and put that shit in my mouth for years for hours on end while I was recording this goddamn thing!“ Because even at my weakest, I’m still creating. I still dare. And what did you do?

I didn’t wait until I was all spiffy, and shiny and strong. I bled into the mic. That’s me at the time. And that’s fucking Snowwrecked. Then there’s ZZAARD, my progressive thrash-death-black hybrid project. The current EP, My Blackened Whispers, is out now on all digital platforms as well. This one’s got teeth, depth, and darkness — but I’m looking for serious musicians to bring it to life. I can write and track a lot myself, but I’m almost completely blind now, and doing this alone is brutally hard. If you’ve got the chops and the heart, reach out.

I’m also writing two books. One is a memoir — the full story. The other is a volume of some artwork, and of some battle poetry, scarred wisdom, and reflections from the edge of death and back. Outside of music, I’m rebuilding my body, post three brain surgeries, spinal fusion. Years of atrophy and surgeries have stolen a lot, but I’m fighting to take it back. I train. I run 5Ks with guides. As well as alone. I walk the miles. I lift the steel. I suffer with purpose.

I also work with Achilles International and plan to participate in more endurance events to raise awareness for veterans, people with disabilities, and those like myself — legally blind but still in the fight. I’m also aiming to work with equine therapy, using horses to help disabled individuals and veterans heal.

As for support, I need it. I won’t lie. We haven’t yet reached the $2000 goal for the new BlaksörD EP. If anyone out there wants to help — donate, promote, share the Spotfund — it all makes a difference.

And yes, Blood Reaper T-shirts are still available. $16.66 plus $10.85 shipping. Every shirt sold goes directly into funding my next release and keeping the fire burning.

This is a one-man war — but I know I’m not alone. To everyone out there, I see you. And I march with you. Swords and horns up. Fortify your realm. Keep your circle pure. And never stop fighting for what you want.

Thank you, Chris! Thank you to everyone reading. And even to the haters, you give me the fuel to go harder. F. O. D.
AVE SATANI.
VI. VI. VI.
– Lord Buzzard

My Links:
Facebook :
BlaksörD:

https://www.facebook.com/share/195JDwaUWK/?mibextid=wwXIfr

ZZAARD:

https://www.facebook.com/share/195JDwaUWK/?mibextid=wwXIfr

Brett Makowski/Lord Buzzard fan page:

https://www.facebook.com/share/1JYNbr5cXQ/?mibextid=wwXIfr

Any last words to wrap this up?

Buzzard: Chris, thank you for this. Seriously. Thank you for giving me a moment in the spotlight. I’m not looking for fame—I just want people to feel it again. And I’ll tell you this—when the light’s gone, it gets cold. But I remember the warmth. And that’s why I keep going.

So to your readers:

Stay strong. Stay real. Stay METAL. Keep writing riffs. The world is trying to crush us like bugs. Not just us metalheads—all of us. So rise. Write sick-ass shit. Make a fucking difference. Metal has always been the true voice of the underground. It’s the scream beneath the silence. I’m honoured to be part of that scream.

P.S. I’ve recently been working with a few people behind the scenes here in the U.S. If you’re serious—and I mean serious—about writing something killer, Satanic, original, shoot for groundbreaking and timeless.
Reach out via Facebook. Somebody out there knows how to get in touch. But don’t come weak. This is warrior ground.

All hail BlaksörD. Thank you—From the Mind of ZZAARD. VI. VI. VI. AVE SATANI

Last question, what are your thoughts on the passing of Ozzy Osbourne?

Buzzard: crashed… Nothing will ever be the same again. Rest in power, OZZY.