Spike Fuck

For ten years Melbourne’s Spike Fuck has existed more as a messy myth than an artist –

sporadic works forever poised on the precipice of triumph, rumours of death or insanity and

so on. Spike’s foray into music in 2015 served a cultural fantasy, not by any overarching

sense of ambition, but rather a would-be, cosplay pop star arrested by his own devices and

whose melancholy wove through unlikely cultural circles. His sole body of work, The

Smackwave EP (Partisan Records), addressed themes as literal as the title suggests: drug

use, gender identity, religion and existentialism. Soon after its release, Spike was swept up

in the whirlwind of unexpected success, moving from underground warehouse parties to

being draped in high fashion and editorial photoshoots accompanied by interviews, in which

he gave unrelenting and uncensored details of his life.

On the precipice of breakthrough, Spike disappeared. Bootleg uploads and comments on old

YouTube videos discussed possibilities that seemed wild but believable, given Spike’s

nature, fueling rumours of monastic solitude, relapse, or reinvention as a LinkedIn-worthy

daytime professional. Only the most sincere have kept his myth alive.

The arrival of his long-awaited debut full-length record evidence, out October 2nd 2026, is a

brazed proof of life statement. A carnal, confident record, it offers no explanation for Spike's

absence, and abandons the unmitigated pursuit of knowing his 'true self' that drove his

earlier fixations. Rather it honors presence in the body: feeling over rationalization. The

material on evidence touches on elements of new wave, glam, soul and doo-wop, citing Pere

Ubu, New York Dolls, The Temptations and Bettye Swan as key influences. His concern is

no longer who he is, but when he is. This is evidence. The album's purpose is eponymous

and self-evident. There is no point in interrogating attachments, virtue or value. The only

rightful way to live is to be.