Posted by 
War, Whiskey, and the Art of Going Solo
Interview by Nicky Meyer: June 2004, still echoing somewhere in my memory like a backstage buzz
Some people take up yoga when they need a mental reset. Chris Caffery? He wrote 60 songs, made a double album, and taught himself to sing. The guitarist best known for his work with Savatage and Trans-Siberian Orchestra doesn’t do things halfway—even when diving into the uncharted waters of a solo career.
“I wanted something positive,” he tells me. “And instead of sitting around getting depressed, I made a solo album.”
And not just one—but two. Because, of course.
Split Personality, Side A and B
“How would you describe the album?” I asked, expecting a genre tag. Instead, he grinned.
“Very schizophrenic. A very schizophrenic heavy metal CD.”
He’s not wrong. Faces / God Damn War is a two-headed beast—one snarling and political, the other a vulnerable deep dive into Caffery’s inner workings. Most artists might’ve trimmed it down, made the “sensible” choice. Chris went the opposite way.
“I couldn’t narrow it below 20 songs. There were ballads, rap, metal… and then metal about me and metal about war. Cutting either side would’ve meant losing part of myself,” he says. “So I kicked and screamed until I could release both.”
Classic Caffery: a man who doesn’t edit out his contradictions. He amplifies them.
On Learning to Sing—and Doing It Anyway
“So… singing. Why now?”
Chris admits he was still learning, but he shrugs it off with a smirk. “If I did the record now, it’d be better. But for a first try? I think I did really good.”
And honestly? He’s right. Sure, there are a few shaky moments, but the rawness is part of the charm. I told him as much during the interview, even if I may have mentioned a missed high note or two. He laughed. Big smile. Maybe a little surprised.
Two Discs, One Story
At this point in the chat, I asked the obvious—why a double album and not just Faces or God Damn War on its own?
“Because I didn’t have time to record the other four CDs I’ve got sitting around,” he deadpans.
Fair. Turns out, Faces and War were written side by side. “People kept saying ‘Just release Faces!’ But if I did that, I’d leave out War, and that would mean leaving out my heavy metal side. Release War alone? Then I lose the emotional record. I’m not cutting myself in half.”
There’s a kind of stubborn poetry in that—refusing to slice the truth down for the sake of marketing. It’s all or nothing with Chris. Always has been.
Grace in Gunfire
One of the standout moments on the album is a cover of Amazing Grace. Not what you’d expect sandwiched between war anthems and inner angst.
“I imagined myself in the studio with machine guns going off in the background,” he says, as if that’s a totally normal recording condition. “That song, for a soldier who might not come back, becomes a way to make peace with the end. It’s gospel. It’s last rites. It just felt right.”
It’s one of the rare moments where he lets silence do some of the talking. Not many artists could pull that off without sounding like they’re reaching. Chris doesn’t reach—he punches.
Artwork, Abandonment, and a Greek Puzzle
When I asked about the album art—still unseen at the time—I was expecting a classic “Yeah, I threw something together” story. Instead, he tells me about a Greek artist in Athens who caught something raw in his expression.
“It’s my face, kind of lost. That’s how I felt. For 17 years, I stopped playing, and I didn’t know what to do. Then I found it again—by singing.”
There’s something beautiful in how he talks about it—like someone who cracked open a box of old grief and decided to make it into a record instead of letting it rot in the attic.
On War, Then and Now
I couldn’t not ask about 9/11. His lyrics practically demanded it.
“September 11 changed everybody,” he said, serious now. “The U.S. was so fired up for revenge. But somewhere along the way, the message changed. We went from fighting terrorism to claiming we’d ‘freed Iraq.’ The war didn’t help. Our economy’s suffering. Our global image has changed. And I don’t think anyone really won.”
He’s not ranting—just frustrated. The kind of anger that’s rooted in care, not chaos. And it’s this that gives God Damn War its backbone.
“I’m just anti-senseless death. That’s all.”
Savatage, Butcher, and the Ghosts in the Studio
I wasn’t going to ignore the elephant in the rehearsal room—Savatage. Or Doctor Butcher. Or the many fan rumors swirling around his name like moths around a spotlight.
“I get asked about Doctor Butcher all the time,” he says with a chuckle. “We had plans since ‘94. But if you don’t tour, you don’t make money, and if you don’t make money, no label supports it. In the end—it’s still a business.”
What about Savatage?
“There might be something in spring,” he says. “Nothing’s recorded yet. It’s supposed to be an anniversary record. I’m just waiting, same as the fans. Maybe with better phone numbers.”
When I asked if he still felt Chris Oliva with him while playing, the answer landed heavier than I expected.
“I do. Especially when I’m alone in the studio. One solo before ‘Abandoned,’ I kicked everyone out. Just me and the guitar. I felt him there. All of them, really. And it reminded me why I had to do this solo thing—before I did something to hurt myself.”
Tour Buses, Tinnitus, and the Search for Silence
Ask Chris what being on the road means to him, and his answer cuts through the clichés:
“It’s the only time I feel at peace.”
Even though he groans about packing buses, chaotic rehearsals, and photo shoots that take forever, it’s clear touring is where he breathes best. There’s a rhythm to the chaos that suits him.
Still, he admits he wishes he’d taken better care of himself. Especially his ears.
“I don’t know what silence sounds like anymore.”
It hits harder than any lyric.
Cookbooks, Childhood Dreams, and Ringing Regrets
Caffery isn’t just plotting his next record—he’s also juggling a few… let’s call them side quests. A cookbook. A children’s book. His own hot sauce. A photography project.
“None of it’s ready,” he laughs. “They’re all being built simultaneously—like a race to see which one finishes first. My money’s on the cookbook. I just need a little quiet time to cook every day. Maybe hide out at my mom’s and pretend I’m not a rock guitarist for a week.”
When I asked what he’d change about his life, he didn’t dodge the question. He listed a few regrets—mostly tied to youth, bad decisions, or too much alcohol. But one stood out:
“I really, really should’ve taken better care of my hearing. I’ve got ringing in my ears all the time. It gets worse. I don’t know what silence sounds like anymore. That’s… weird.”
We both let that one sit for a beat.
Legacy, Boats, and the Unexpected Bucket List
“What do you want to be remembered for?” I asked, already knowing the answer would be something simple—and probably not about chart positions.
“For being honest. For giving everything I had—even when I didn’t have it. I’m not perfect, but I believe in what I do. I care.”
And travel? Still high on his list.
“Antarctica. I want to spend a month at a weather station. Just me, a bottle of scotch, a pool table, and the temperature dropping. Total disconnection.”
Oh, and also: Hawai’i, Alaska, Austria, Thailand, New Zealand, Cambodia, Russia, Helsinki (which, to be fair, he was headed to that Tuesday), and—best of all—a dream of renting a boat for a year, circling the world slowly, anchoring in a new place each week.
“Just tell the captain—‘Take me there.’ That’s it.”
Not your average retirement plan. But then, Chris was never built for average.
Rapid-Fire Mayhem: The Word Game
We ended with a lightning round—because no self-respecting rock interview should escape without one.
- India? “Spicy.”
- Stardom? “Overrated.”
- Groupies? laughs, blushes “See last answer.”
- Super Bowl? still laughing “See last answer.”
- Red wine and cola? “Mixture.”
- September 11? “Sad.”
- Cats? “Mysterious.”
- Friendship? “Kemp, my friend.”
- Jealousy? “Pisses me off.”
- Aliens? “Human beings.”
Final Note
Interviewing Chris felt less like talking to a metal icon and more like catching up with someone you vaguely remember from a party years ago—except now he’s baring his soul, talking about ghosts, and handing you a hot sauce sample on the way out.
He’s wired different. Honest to a fault. Driven without the drama. Still a little broken around the edges, but maybe that’s what makes him real. And realness, it turns out, is what Chris Caffery wants to leave behind.