For ten years Melbourne’sSpike 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.

Returning in 2024 after a four-year hiatus, Spike has returned sober, clear-eyed, and

transformed. Spike is no longer alone with a backing track, but fronting a rotating full band.

Together they channel ’70s glam, spiritual soul, and damaged rock’n’roll; always refracted

through Spike’s unmistakable, bruised, and poetic voice.

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