The word “fake” can mean a lot of things. It’s omnipresent today, typically opposed to “human,” “authentic,” or “artificial,” with AI-generated sounds pervading our environment ad nauseam. But long before AI, bands like The Monkees or The Archies were deemed ersatz in contrast to “real groups.” Then again, considering how deeply bubblegum music is revered by rock vinyl heads today, maybe “Monkees fake” is more in the affirmative, like a boxer’s feint to the left before walloping you with a radiophonic right jab of irresistible hooks, groovy riffs, and chiming harmonies.
Mulling all this over on my way to see the band FAKE rehearse, I feel I’ve cracked the code. Knowing band founder Tim Prudhomme to be a devout fan of bubblegum music (I once played in his band devoted entirely to the stuff), I interpret FAKE as his clever take on rock’s fetish for authenticity and his own love of The Archies et al. The fact that his most well-known ’90s band had also adopted a four-letter word sporting the letters F and K made FAKE all the more alluring.
And so I walk into their grotto, the music stops, and I put the question straight to Prudhomme: What’s he on about, calling his band FAKE?
“Hmm. It does offer itself up to all interpretations,” Prudhomme muses laconically, cradling his guitar. “Like, ‘Yeah, we’re a prefab band,’ even though we’re not, really. Oh, are we?” Looking around the room at Dustin Crops on drums, Andrew Geraci on bass, and Keith Cooper on guitar reassures him that the quartet is real. When I suggest that nowadays some might mistake FAKE for one of those acts proudly incorporating AI into their productions, Dustin Crop is quick to jump in.
“Our music is not on the internet. We have no plans to put it there, as of today, but that could change tomorrow,” he says. Which in turn prompts Cooper to chime in, “And even if we did, we’ll still make it with human minds and hearts. I can guarantee that as far as FAKE’s ethos goes.”
That’s confirmed by the warm, choogling sound of FAKE, emanating from my turntable since I obtained a preview copy of the band’s very real debut LP, Undershirt. Recorded by Andrew McCalla, it’s proof positive that FAKE is indeed as real and earthy as a band gets. The songs feel lived-in, the ensemble chugging in sync with Prudhomme’s droll vocals, which sometimes dip into basso profundo depths. As their 2025 Gonerfest performance was revelatory and rocking, it’s heartening to hear that energy captured on wax.
For Prudhomme, it’s a departure, especially the album’s more soaring guitar passages that somehow evoke both Television and Duane Allman, gracing Prudhomme’s terse, pithy words and melodies with the most lyrical playing he’s been associated with through his career. That’s in no small part due to Cooper, who’s honed his skills with bands like The Sheiks, the Tennessee Screamers, and Optic Sink.
“This is the most accomplished group I’ve ever played with,” says Prudhomme. “No offense to everyone else I’ve ever played with. But it’s been a great thing for me. In the past, I’ve never been able to afford these kind of guys, but they don’t charge me anything!” And that, I discover, is the real reason behind the name FAKE.
“When we first started,” Prudhomme explains, “I knew that these guys all played with other bands, and I suggested that this group would be very extremely non-committal. It wouldn’t even be a real band, just a fake band with no pressure whatsoever.”
It’s true that you can hear all these players with other bands, but never with quite the same results. FAKE, it turns out, gives them license to let loose, taking Prudhomme’s carefully composed songs in unpredictable directions. “It’s all just, ‘Okay. Here’s what I’m doing, y’all!’ And they just all make up their own parts,” says Prudhomme. “Makes for a better product, a better song. Makes it more four-dimensional.” That’s quite a trick for a four-letter word.
FAKE will spin and speak about Undershirt at the Memphis Listening Lab on Thursday, September 10th, and perform a free record release show at Murphy’s on Wednesday, September 23rd.
