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A Musical Benediction in Pajamas

I met him on the phone and within five minutes, he had delved the depths of his personal life. Moments earlier, he had finished a conversation with his girlfriend, actually, now ex-girlfriend. Then we discussed losing his brother to a drug overdose in September.

Tough year.

After hanging up with him, I wasn’t sure if he even knew my name and I worried about him, but something told me he’d be OK.

I guess that’s just Stefan Pruett, frontman for local pop-electronica act Peachcake, whose first label release will be delivered by SideCho Records sometime this summer.
Pruett’s telephonic revelations probably aren’t such a big surprise for those familiar with the band’s music and stage act, which pretty much lays it all on the table as well.

They’re philosophical and raw like Pruett, who admits that Peachcake shows need to be more focused, but says the energy is there. And so is the hunger.

It’s fitting that I meet the band in person at Modified Arts. The Downtown Phoenix venue has seen its share of hungry artists. Peachcake is in the process of loading in for one of their shows and I make my way inside only to interrupt Pruett as he hangs a rainbow honeycomb decoration from the ceiling. It’s the kind of flair that might be found at the homecoming dance or a nephew’s 5th birthday party.

“Ambiance,” he says.

Decorations from Party City aren’t a priority to most bands, but this seems to be par for the course for Peachcake. They’re all about the vibe: “This one’s for the audience, can’t you see,” as their track “Did I Just Do That Jim Carrey” proclaims.

He’s dressed in pajamas, a pink alien rabbit beanie and a shirt that says “FBI: Female Pussy Inspector.” (Don’t mind that the ‘B’ and the ‘P’ don’t match. Pruett says it’s social commentary). After the load-in and the decorating committee has finished, in full regalia we find ourselves at Fate, around the corner from Modified. We’re joined by John O’Keefe, Pruett’s partner in sonorous benediction, as well as Peachcake additions Mike McHale and David Halicky. Apparently Wednesdays are kids’ night at Fate: all kids eat free. There were plenty of young ones around, but it would have been difficult to find any of them in pajamas, which have become a Peachcake show staple.

“I like [pajamas]. It’s a comfort thing. I like the colors, I’m a colorful person and like to express who I am,” Pruett says. “When I was younger I wore a Ghostbusters costume every day.”

As we find our way to the table, Pruett tells me he’s had four heart surgeries — and he’s just 23 years old.

“Is this true?”

McHale gives an affirmative. Pruett explains that he was born with a malfunctioning right ventricle — or, as he likes to put it, “There was rust on my heart.” The first three surgeries were done early in his life, but when he was 14 years old, Pruett was given a pacemaker, which he lives with to this day.

“That’s when he got his rapping skills,” O’Keefe says softly, leaning in my direction.

The two driving forces behind Peachcake met in Cave Creek in grade school. Over a bottle of Woodchuck Cider, O’Keefe reminisces childhood dreams: Mrs. Horton’s first and third grade classes; Jack, the honky tonk piano player; and the first song he and Pruett wrote. Composed in fifth grade, they called it “Lost World.”

“I played guitar,” O’Keefe says.

“I played bitches and hoes,” Pruett says.

“He played bass,” O’Keefe says softly, leaning in my direction.
Not long after their first collaboration, the two went in their own musical directions, playing in “way too many different bands.” As Pruett and O’Keefe worked on their own groups, Peachcake would take the form of a side project that centered around a drum set. Those efforts eventually evolved into the full-time gig making music with a mission statement.
“In order to make an impact today, music has to be personalized,” Pruett says. “What we put an effort into is ensuring that we introduce people to our world.”
“Be true to oneself,” O’Keefe says softly, leaning in my direction.
“At our shows people can be the people they want to be,” Pruett says. “We want people to be themselves.”
The food at Fate must have treated the band well because the floor at Modified looked like a wooden trampoline, fans jumping and speakers swaying later that night. Then Pruett’s legs gave way to a pony express — a train throughout the venue, then out into the street, back through the side door and onto the stage.
The show was a cross between a Southern Baptist ceremony and the Mummers Parade. “Welcome to the church of Peachcake,” Pruett says at center stage, wearing a white, monastic pajama suit, masked from the cheeks up.
The scene reminds me of something Pruett mentioned earlier in the night: “Anything seems to be possible when we take the stage. I look at it as the universe giving us an immense amount of power and influence. We just need to learn to tame and control it. I mean, we normally don’t trip a circuit needing someone to resurrect the breaker so we can continue and then finish the song a capella. Although, it’s not the first time it’s happened.”
Later, the show ended with a group hug. Something tells me that’s not a first, either.

Slip into something more comfortable at
www.myspace.com/peachcake

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