The fuzz-rock trio’s third LP — released in the fall and generally well-received by fans and critics — sounds like it could have come out in 1974, with crushing guitar riffs, groovy drums and howling vocals.

That said, bass player and vocalist Clayton Burgess is quick to point out that the band from Herndon, Virginia, isn’t trying to recreate the past.

“It’s not about being retro, it’s not about ripping off Sabbath riffs or replicating anything that happened,” Burgess says. “We have the gift of retrospection — so much to pull from and go forward with — and I don’t want to just rehash the past.”

This approach has led to three records unlike anything else coming from the D.C. area: classic doom-metal noise infused with the energy of ’80s punk and wrapped in the macabre aesthetic of horror flicks.

Burgess notes that the horror influence is much more apparent on early Satan’s Satyrs records, particularly 2012’s Wild Beyond Belief. “In the beginning of the band,” he says, “I think it was kind of the totality of the lyrical content — that was the subject matter — whereas now I just feel like it kind of colors the lyrics, acting as my secret ingredient.”

On “Alucard,” the sixth track on Wild Beyond Belief, Burgess bellows, “Archetype of evil dispatched on city streets / Creep in the cathedral, in a casket sleep / Does the fire in my eyes betray my groovy guise? / Stare a little deeper, you’re hypnotized,” channeling visions and revisions of Bram Stoker’s iconic blood sucker.

But Satan’s Satyrs is not a horror-metal band. “We’re not The Misfits,” Burgess says. “It just comes out because it’s kind of my personality. I tried to write a love song and it ended up being about Dracula.” That doesn’t mean that things are all doom and gloom, either, and Burgess says he wants his lyrics to serve as an escape for his listeners.

“I like a little bit of whimsy and fantasy in my music,” he says. “I don’t want it to be just like a [Ronnie James] Dio record which is purely fantasy, but I want to reflect things that I’ve experienced in my lyrics and then let them take on a new life and paint them with this sort of fantastical palette.”

“I tried to write a love song and it ended up being about Dracula.” — Clayton Burgess of Satan’s Satyrs

In a lot of ways, that approach is the defining trait of Satan’s Satyrs — the music is simply fun to listen to. It’s larger than life, aggressive and a little bit silly, which is refreshing in an era when so many metal acts take themselves too seriously.

“We’re at a stage here where music is so compartmentalized it’s ridiculous,” Burgess says, “and it’s not reaching out to people, it’s reaching out to niches. I want my music to be honest, I want it to have nothing to lose, and hell yeah, I want it to be accessible.”

In a lot of ways, then, Satan’s Satyrs’ sound is a direct reflection of the band’s rise from a solo project to being invited to play the 2013 Roadburn Festival by British doom-metal legends Electric Wizard — with whom Burgess currently plays bass and Satan’s Satyrs has toured — all thanks to an unsolicited demo he sent them in 2010.

“It’s just really cool to know that doing something like that — mailing a demo tape unsolicited has changed my life,” Burgess says. “So life can be a bit mysterious sometimes.”

Diaz and her bandmates — sister Phanie Diaz on drums and longtime friend Jenn Alva on bass — embrace traditional rock ‘n’ roll, rockabilly, delicate indie-pop and devastating post-punk with the same alacrity. As a live act, Girl in a Coma embodies all the power-trio glory and intensity of The Jam. The band’s most recent album, 2011 LP Exits & All the Rest, is widely considered to be its best.

For now, though, Girl in a Coma is on hold while its members pursue other projects. Phanie Diaz and Alva have a new band, Fea, and Nina Diaz’s debut solo album, The Beat Is Dead, scheduled for release in spring 2016.

With National Hispanic Heritage Month in full swing across D.C. and the U.S., Diaz recently passed through D.C. to perform at a National Hispanic Foundation for the Arts gala. Bandwidth spoke with the musician about her involvement with the organization, her recent transition into sobriety and her experiences as a musician in San Antonio, which — like D.C. — is a relatively large city without a major music industry.

This interview has been edited for brevity and clarity.

Bandwidth: This trip started around the National Hispanic Foundation for the Arts gala. How did that come about?

Nina Diaz: What I’ve come to realize is that in Hispanic arts, it’s a small world. We’re all connected, which is a good thing because in my culture we’re all like family. “What can I do to help you?” “Don’t piss me off.” It’s very close, [with] forgiveness and anger, but we still — bottom line — want to help each other out.

How I got hooked up with [this gig] was Felix Sanchez from the National Hispanic Foundation for the Arts, he’s the one who puts it together, and his nephew is a fan of Girl in a Coma. He went to Brown University with my manager, Faith. So that’s how they are connected.

It seems that part of the foundation’s mission is furthering the presence of Latino and Hispanic artists in media — in entertainment and music. Does that resonate with you?

It does, especially now that I’m understanding what I could possibly do. With Girl in a Coma, it just happens to be that Jenn and Phanie are gay. It just happens to be that we’re all women. It just happens to be that we’re all Latinas. We just want to play music. So, with that, we started our thing without us knowing we were influencing the gay community and Latina communities. Then we took on the responsibility.

Girl in a Coma is known as being such a well-oiled machine, and it seems that with your solo project, you’re pacing things a bit differently.

Yeah, my manager is noticing what each of us did in Girl in a Coma, because now we’re split. [My role in] Girl in a Coma has always been the writer — and the victim in a lot of situations, too — and feeling like the weird front singer. Phanie’s the business, [like,] “Let’s say yes to everything.” Jenn is the muscle. Phanie’s a big reason why we were constantly on the road, which is not a bad thing. It taught me to be strong on the road.

“This is a big deal for me, to put my guitar down. It’s symbolic of me letting go, of me asking for help. To be able to do this shows how much I’ve grown. I’ve been through so many different phases: diva, quiet, all these different things. And the person I’m becoming now, I’m actually liking.”

I think I heard you say once that a lot of what benefits Girl in a Coma is that your bandmates were your sister and your friend first, and your bandmates second. Does that approach come into play with your band now?

When we first started to form, I knew right away that I wanted Jorge [Gonzalez, of Pop Pistol] to play drums. I knew I wanted my band to be made up of San Antonio-based musicians. I wanted to give people a chance to make their way up, rather than well-known musicians already, and paying them $200 a show or something ridiculous which I can’t afford right now. I wanted to give other San Antonio musicians a chance; maybe after playing with me, who knows where this could take them?

When we started, it was all new for me to be a boss. Right now, we’re still in the middle of getting to know each other. But of course, with Jorge, it happened by accident that we ended up [starting] a relationship. It’s funny, they say, “Don’t eat where you s**t,” but a lot of people do it, like No Doubt and Selena. So we definitely have that relationship, but then balancing it with, I’m his boss. But it’s good that he’s the drummer, so he doesn’t get in my way too much.

Speaking of Selena, you’ve been doing “Techno Cumbia” in your solo sets. Of course, you did “Si Una Vez” on Adventures in Coverland. You’ve also done “Come On Let’s Go” from Ritchie Valens. As far as U.S.-born artists of Latino background, do you feel a connection to those artists?

I definitely do. Especially not being fluent in Spanish. Ritchie Valens, Selena — their first language was English. … They felt more comfortable speaking English than speaking Spanish. I feel the same way, I’m not fluent at all in Spanish. I can sing it, but I’m still learning how to speak it. …

So, I can’t help but feel connected with them. But I’m also me. A lot of times I’d get so caught up in trying to be like someone else… that you forget who you are, and you end up being like a poser, you know? … Now at the point where I’m at, especially with my solo music, I find myself thinking for me, and knowing I’m Nina Diaz, these are my struggles, and this is what I’m going through right now.

It strikes me that there are parallels between San Antonio and D.C., where they’re these relatively large cities with significant Latino populations and no real music industry in the city. Do you think that not growing up in L.A. or Nashville helped develop your music more organically?

Yeah. If I had been from L.A. or Austin even, I don’t think I would’ve had the grasp over my music that I do, with such emotion and passion. … Unfortunately, not a lot of bands stick together because they don’t realize you need to go out and tour. You need to get out. You can’t just stay here.

You’re so known as a guitarist. To step away from the guitar — is that freeing in a way?

Yeah. It is. Like I told Travis [Vela, her guitarist], this is a big deal for me, to put my guitar down. It’s symbolic of me letting go, of me asking for help. “Can you carry this?” It’s a symbolic thing for me, and to be able to do this shows how much I’ve grown. I’ve been through so many different phases: diva, quiet, all these different things. And the person I’m becoming now, I’m actually liking.

I would imagine there could be unexpected challenges doing what you do, suddenly sober.

Oh yeah. I’m the biggest challenge to myself. It’s not so much other people. It’s funny, when I’m at a show and someone will come up to me and say, “Do you want a beer?” Someone next to them will go, “She doesn’t drink.” It’s nice to know that people have my back. You will never see a drink in my hand, nor will you ever see a straw up my nose ever again.

In a way, though, I’m the biggest person who can cause conflict for myself. If I just tell myself, “You’re not good enough,” or if those voices start coming in my head, of, “Why is it taking so long? What are you doing wrong?” That’s when I can drive myself crazy, or when a trigger can come at any moment. Being that I’ve been through so much, and I’ve put my family through so much, I know that I would never, ever have a drop of alcohol or ever go back to doing hard drugs again, because of all the pain. But talking about it is the way that I let it out, and getting other people to tell me their stories. I love that.

[But] you’re working at a bar?

Yeah, I’m bar-backing at Limelight in San Antonio, but it’s kind of slow. I’m doing open mics there on Mondays, and that’s a lot of fun. I used to do open mics at this bar called Martini Ranch about four years ago. It was a good time. But then that’s also when I was in my dark times as well. But now, being clean and sober, some of the acts that come through it’s like, “Ah, that’s why I did drugs.” For real! But then, God bless them. They’re having fun.

Now I can look at the bar and not feel anything. I can literally be behind the bar and be like, “I want a Red Bull,” or something else instead. Nina at 16 years old, if she had been at that job she would have been drunk in the first five minutes of working there.

From the 1960s until his unexpected death in 1994, Danny Gatton’s speedy fingers peeled off rock, blues, jazz and country licks to a small but passionate local audience. He called his music community in Southeast D.C. and Maryland’s Prince George’s County the “Anacostia Delta,” comparing it to the Mississippi region that birthed Delta blues and rock ‘n’ roll.

Anacostia Delta is also the name of Bryan Reichhardt’s forthcoming documentary about Gatton, one of two in the making — and Saturday night, the filmmakers plan to capture a tribute to the fabled musician at the Birchmere in Alexandria, Virginia. Tickets to the event, called “Celebrating Danny Gatton and the Music of the Anacostia Delta,” have already sold out.

“The arc of the film is really around this concert we are having at the Birchmere,” says Reichhardt.

An Indiegogo campaign video for Anacostia Delta:

Gatton stunned the music community in 1994 when he was found dead of a self-inflicted gunshot wound on his Maryland farm. A Washington Post obituary captured reactions from both local and national musicians who “expressed shock about the silencing of a guitarist famous for his mind-boggling chops and blistering speed.” Gatton was 49.

As friends told the Post’s Richard Harrington, Gatton possessed an incredible talent, but he’d never truly capitalized on it. He remained a family man even after — as legend has it — John Fogerty offered him a job playing guitar in Creedence Clearwater Revival. Gatton didn’t like to travel, friends said, and he’d grappled with depression for decades. He preferred to stay near home, in the Anacostia Delta.

Born in 1945, Gatton grew up in D.C.’s Anacostia neighborhood and attended Ballou High School. In 1962 he and his family moved to Oxon Hill in Prince George’s County. A promising musician from a young age, Gatton played local gigs with artists from around town. Guitars weren’t his only passion: He loved old cars just as much.

Gatton had remarkable musical range. He recorded an album called New York Stories with noted jazz players Joshua Redman, Bobby Watson and Roy Hargrove. With his film, Reichhardt seems to want to capture how Gatton — like fellow Prince George’s County resident Roy Buchanan, named a top guitarist by Rolling Stone magazine — played with the greats, but still chose to stay at home.

“People knew [Gatton] here and celebrated guitar players knew him,” Reichhardt says, “but he was not in the popular mainstream.”

Gatton’s scene included the rockabilly, blues, jazz and country musicians who played honky tonks and dive bars across the Eastern Capital region. It’s a culture that Reichhardt has hoped to document for years.

“This is a film I have wanted to make since Danny was alive,” the filmmaker says.

Reichhardt says he’d discussed the idea of a documentary with Gatton before he died, but at the time he was “young and green,” and he didn’t follow through. When Gatton died, he attempted it again but didn’t finish. It wasn’t until he befriended Gatton’s bass player, John Previti — and was urged forward by writer Paul Glenshaw, with whom he’d worked on a 2009 film called Barnstorming — that he revisited the project. Reichhardt calls Previti “the spirit behind the film.”

“John has always wanted to do a film about the entire music scene that Danny came out of,” Reichhardt says. “That’s sort of the genesis of this project.”

Reichhardt fondly remembers his days seeing Gatton play live — and he aims to capture that feeling in his documentary. He and his brother used to see the guitarist regularly at Club Soda, now Atomic Billiards in D.C.’s Cleveland Park neighborhood.

“I would be in awe,” the director says. “Everyone would. It was impossible not to smile at what he was doing. It was just incredible how he would interpret songs… He’d do a funk version of a jazz standard, or a jazz version of a country standard. He was just phenomenal.”

Reichhardt aims to release Anacostia Delta in August 2016, around the same time as another Gatton documentary, The Humbler, is expected to come out. Director Virginia Quesada has been working on the biography film since 1989, five years before Gatton’s death. (Its title references Gatton’s nickname, which he earned for putting so many rival musicians to shame.)

An interview excerpt from The Humbler:

Reichhardt says Anacostia Delta will be more of an appreciation than a straight biography of Gatton. He’ll use footage from Saturday’s Birchmere concert — featuring musicians from Gatton’s universe, brought together by Previti — interspersed with interviews and footage of the guitarist. Bands in which Gatton performed, including The Fat Boys, Redneck Jazz Explosion and Funhouse, are planning to reunite for the show, with appearances from rockabilly guitar man Billy Hancock and octogenarian Frank Shegogue, whom some consider the D.C. region’s first rock ‘n’ roll guitarist.

Reichhardt wants Anacostia Delta to do for Danny Gatton and his community what the film Buena Vista Social Club did for Cuba’s forgotten artists. But there’s one problem: Gatton’s scene doesn’t necessarily have the same allure as the Cubans.

Younger viewers might view the Anacostia Delta scene as a bunch of over-the-hill roots rockers with a penchant for covers, unlike the Cuban artists living amid a U.S. embargo.

The director acknowledges that he has concerns. “I am worried,” Reichhardt says, “and the musicians are worried, too. Many of [Gatton’s] bandmates fear that his music will vanish. The fact that he was as great as he was and that this area as musical as it was will be forgotten.”

But Reichhardt has hope for what his film can accomplish. “Maybe we can create a renaissance for this musical scene,” he says.

Top photo: Still captured from the Anacostia Delta documentary.

“Celebrating Danny Gatton and the Music of the Anacostia Delta” takes place Sept. 26 at Birchmere. Tickets are sold out.