“I think it took us this long to get good. This might be a little presumptuous, assuming that now we’re good—maybe we’re not—but we’ve definitely gotten so much better than we were.”
That was the response from guitarist and vocalist Corey Weber when asked what is driving the country and Americana band Clarence Tilton to make their biggest push as musicians, somewhat late in life—at least late in a musician’s life. Corey, his brother Chris, along with Craig Meier, Paul Novak, and Jarron Wayne Storm, make up the band. The five of them have played in dozens of bands around the area, with many of them achieving success locally and regionally.
The band had already released two albums and an EP, becoming one of the go-to country bands in the region. Now they are releasing their third album, Queen of the Brawl, complete with management, tours, and guest artists such as country legend Marty Stuart on the song “Fred’s Colt” and Presley Tucker, daughter of Tanya Tucker, on “Flyaway Cafe.” They will host an album release party at Reverb Lounge on Friday, May 2. Chris and Corey discussed the band and the album in advance of that performance.
“I think our band’s lives were at a low, and then Chris had a great new batch of songs that were more story-oriented, country-tinged, and crying out for pedal steel—we kind of worked them up just low-key,” Corey said when asked about the brothers’ move into country music. “Then Matt Rutledge was like, ‘Hey, why don’t you come over and do some home recordings of these new songs?’ We went over, did that, and just got schnockered while we did it—had a rip-roaring time—and I thought, ‘Oh, f—, I think this is a band.’”
The band formed with Rutledge, and they then “cherry-picked” Jaren and Craig. Matt got busy after they released their first album, and they brought in Paul, who was also sitting on a bunch of songs.
“Perspective, man,” Chris said when asked about this push at this stage in their lives. “You can write songs there—I wasn’t thinking like that when I was 25. It took this long for me to write a good song, in my opinion—a song I want to keep going and that I think will persist. Our early bands were just guitar parts; we’d write a guitar part, Corey would write a guitar part, and bam, it was done—print it. Now, it’s like, well, the seed can be a guitar part, but then you keep working, keep layering. We’ve learned, and I mean, we’ve started to enjoy the process more than ever before. Writing a song is f—ing fun and rewarding. Maybe it’ll see the light of day. Maybe it won’t, but the work is fun. And getting five guys together who show up and have a good time, whether it’s a gig or not, we can’t wait to get together. So, the chemistry, the age, the perspective, and well—the medium—writing country songs feels good, and it vibrates.”
Clarence Tilton performs a brand of country that could just as easily be placed alongside classic No Depression-era Americana bands like Whiskeytown and Uncle Tupelo, as well as Bakersfield classic country artists and current red dirt darlings. Corey spoke about their evolution toward this sound.
“You’ve got to try on a lot of hats,” he said. “We tried jam for a while, and that was fun. I don’t know what we’ve all tried on—nothing crazy for our field—but this definitely just feels the most natural. We’ve grown into who we are, or we’re happy with who we are musically. We’re not trying to be anybody else; we’ve embraced our limitations, yet keep striving to write a better part, a better song, a better chorus, or a lick.”
Clarence Tilton first connected with Marty Stuart through opening for him in Omaha, facilitated by Jim Johnson and 1% Productions. Then their management, Ride Home, used their connections to make it happen.
“We opened for him three times, and by the end of it, he kind of knew us,” Chris said of the process. “Ride Home pitched the idea of sending Marty a tune, and we thought, ‘We’ll see if he remembers us.’ And he did. That was nice. Both tunes were already in the can—done—and we’d actually gone to print. We quickly stopped the presses, sent the tracks to Marty and Presley, and wrote them some emails about what we’d like, but told them they could do whatever they wanted. I wrote in the email, ‘Marty, if you want to play trombone on this song, do it—anything is a plus.’ What they sent back was great. We knew Marty would take a solo spot; we were hoping he’d sing. We didn’t realize he’d play through the entire track and add all this cool stuff we didn’t even know we were missing. That was the best part. You know, he’s just a pro. He did all that, and it just sounds effortless.
“We sent her a finished track and said, ‘Why don’t you take Paul’s part or sing this?’” Chris added about Presley Tucker’s contribution. “Flyaway was just me talking about things, and she made up her own thing. She was like, ‘I’m not going to sing this, but how about we make it a conversation? How about I take these verses and put them in the first person? It’ll be like me and you responding.’ That was the way it should have been from the beginning. It was a good idea.”
One of the standout songs on Queen of the Brawl is the single “Friant.” The song is based on a story Chris tells involving his job.
“Friant Dam is outside Fresno, California. One job ago, I was quickly tasked to meet a guy in Denver and take a boat out to Fresno, but it was a wicked March storm, and we couldn’t get across the Rockies,” Chris said. “We had to go down to Albuquerque and then go around the Rockies to Fresno. It was the best road trip I’ve been on, but I couldn’t enjoy a second of it because the boat on the trailer was poorly weighted and started to shake. Imagine driving across the country with a ticking time bomb behind you—because it could go off at any moment—due to the strong wind. It’s a road trip so beautiful, and I was driving down Highway 66, never having been in Navajo Country before, but we were in such a rush to get to our destination that we couldn’t see any of the sights.”
When asked about the song “Float,” Chris says, “I’m a river guy, so I spend my time thinking about rivers, working rivers. I wondered if I could string together all my favorite rivers in a song, and the story would tell itself from there.”
“It’s a nice little midlife crisis kicking in,” Chris said of the band. “The timing works well for us. We all feel like, because we didn’t—we all stayed home, raised our kids, kept jobs, kept making music—now we’re just kind of like, ‘We can do this.’”