Clementine Creevy is talking about a guitar she basically tore down to the studs, rebuilt in her own image, and then used to level half the West Coast. She’s calling from somewhere between rehearsals and world domination, and Stuffed & Ready—Cherry Glazerr’s hulking, sharpened new record—is still warm from the press. “I wanted to make an album of big studio rock bangers,” she says. She talks about her tone the way some people talk about religion: reverent, a little giddy, and fully aware she might end up making her own cult someday.
Her current live weapon is a modded American Strat she’s Frankensteined into a single-humbucker, single-volume-knob beast. Everything else—tone knobs, extra pickups—went straight into the trash. “It’s punchy and loud and makes these big clean sounds I love,” she says. “We took out everything but the humbucker. It’s louder, more aggressive, and lighter.” In other words, a perfect reflection of the album: polished, oversized, and very aware of its own muscle.
What’s funny is how much of Stuffed & Ready is built on decisions that could’ve easily broken a lesser band. Creevy made an entire earlier version of the album—softer, rangier, more live—and then scrapped it. “I wasn’t unhappy with it,” she says. “It just wasn’t what I wanted to put out at this time.” With labels involved and deadlines that don’t care about your artistic epiphany, choosing to start over is essentially climbing onto the cliff willingly. But she sounds serene about it now. “It was a decision that had to be made. I wanted something massive and hard-hitting, with monster jams.”
Enter Carlos de la Garza, who pushed her to craft the strongest songs she could. “He really pushed me,” she says. And just as she was sculpting the second coming of the record, she ducked into the desert with Psychic Temple and recorded an entire album in 24 hours. “Chris brings out such good energy in everyone,” she says. “That experience taught me to forget everything, drop everything, and just do it.” A left turn in timing, maybe, but one that cracked open her ideas of what success even meant. “It made me stop and think about what success is for me—which is making music with my friends.”
When the conversation shifts to politics, Creevy has the same grounded clarity. The new record isn’t as overtly political as Apocalipstick was framed, but she doesn’t buy the distinction. “People and art makers are products of their society,” she says. “Music will inherently reflect the society around it.” Which is why a satirical hammer like “Daddy” hits as hard as it does—its humor is braided with exhaustion. “It’s about the humor in how crushing the patriarchy can be,” she says. “Sometimes the only way to comprehend something oppressive is to lay on the pool and start cracking up because it’s so crazy.”
She cops to the line “Smoking makes me taste like metal to keep you away” coming straight from her own life. “I used to smoke a lot,” she says. “Something about it was like reclaiming my own space… You can do these self-destructive things when you’re under pressure.”
“Wasted Nun” shifts the focus to self-destruction versus self-actualization. “It’s in character,” she says, “but it’s me working through stuff. A woman who wants power but is stagnated by her own self-destruction.” It’s heavy, but Creevy’s voice never drifts into dread—more like someone watching their own brain develop in real time and taking notes.
“Self Explained” pulls solitude into the spotlight. Creevy talks about the tug-of-war between wanting community and craving time alone, the part people rarely celebrate because it’s not cute on Instagram. “It’s a need we all have,” she says. “Something we have to find within ourselves and celebrate for ourselves. It feels good to admit you like to be inside, away from things.”
For someone who wrote her early material as a teenager, she’s remarkably unembarrassed by it. “I try to have love and respect for my early work,” she says. “It’s a practice. I’ve learned to trust the process.”
The future, though, is already sprinting ahead. “My goal is to headline the Hollywood Bowl,” she says, not joking even a little. She’s buzzing about touring, stage ideas, and—naturally—the next record. “This record came out and I’m already like, oh yeah, that old thing.”
She’s also now a sworn enemy of scalpers after discovering one had scooped up a chunk of L.A. tickets. The venue and her team caught it, reclaimed them, and put fresh tickets on sale. “I go to a lot of shows,” she says. “I’d be upset. So yeah—fuck that shit.”
Monster jams, desert albums, patriarchal smackdowns, and a guitar with holes in it—Creevy’s orbit remains beautifully chaotic. And she’s already halfway through the next chapter.
Listen to the interview above and then check out the videos below.
