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.