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SPIKE FUCK
evidence (Sacred Bones Records)
Add date: 10.6.2026
Release date: 10.2.2026
Links:
Apple Music
Bandcamp
Facebook
Instagram
Official Website
Sacred Bones Records
Spotify
Tidal
YouTube
“Reason is only reason, and it only satisfies man’s rational requirements. Desire, on the other hand, is the manifestation of life itself–of all of life.” - Axel Freed in The Gambler (1974) on Dostoyevsky’s Notes from Underground
For ten years 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 mission is to distill the sacred and profane, balancing the melancholy and humour of life; “to be alive is to be traumatised.” Luckily, the devotion to his music persevered, somewhat bolstered by his inconsistency and inaccessibility. This inexplicable goodwill towards his artistry is perhaps partly due to Spike’s timeless, pained and confessional lyricism, though more pointedly, the fragility of a life mired in addiction. His being or works does not question the virtue of life, but simply addresses the numb, pragmatic and far more immediate matter of surviving another day, an almost ineffable sentiment only justified by his distinct, poetic audaciousness.
Free from his arresting thoughts, evidence, the long anticipated debut album, is a brazen proof of life statement. Convicted by the outlandish idea of evidencing a ‘you had to be there’ mentality, the record honours the presence in body, a record to be felt, never to be rationalized. After years of inconsistent activity, one might be surprised - or perhaps even disappointed - to find that evidence isn’t forthcoming in providing explanations of Spike’s absence. It isn’t a tell-all collection of songs about obsession, guilt, nor is it a document of the subsequent transformation, or enlightenment. Spike’s prior fixations on the questions of man or woman, drug addict or ascetic, trickster or rockstar, have driven an unmitigated pursuit of knowing a ‘true self’. This pursuit is no longer his chief concern, nor is he plagued by over conceptualization of who he is but simply, when he is. For this is Spike Fuck, and this is evidence.
Whilst plans had been in motion to release the ‘original’ debut record, Pure O, Spike was gripped by an insatiable urge to complete and present evidence. Written and recorded in 3 months alongside producer Adam Hyde (Keli Holiday), the record is informed by the realization he could not think his way into a state of emotion, only graduate into it; a process outside his control. There was a desire to evidence the mix of frustration, confusion and resentment; all too familiar feelings Spike had tried in vain to repress. As Spike says, “this record is carnal and confident. I wanted to approach songwriting in the same way a director shooting a slasher film does. Get to the point and make people feel it all. I want this record to cut like a sharp knife”. Inspired by the banned 1971 manual, The Anarchist Cookbook, Spike sought to create something unsettling and perplexing, yet simple. It’s a rush to listen to, as if tagging along on a particularly wild night out. At once it is fun and memorable, but also truly life-altering as if you hit a pedestrian in your car and fled the scene, left to grapple with the thrill, guilt and fear of being caught. If nothing else, it’s a ride.
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. Melodically it emits the energy of a down-and-out CBGBs band who cashes in by recording a lucrative Christmas album. Spike frequently uses sonic and lyrical juxtapositions to perform comic twists of sincerity, a reflection of society’s obsession with ‘getting a rise’. On “Bored to Death”, a scuzzy, laidback and soulful tune, paired with morbid ragebait lyrics that payoff as a stand up joke “when I look up at the sun it makes me so happy cause I know one day it’s gonna kill me, and it’ll kill you too!” Lead single “All By Myself” carries on in this fashion; with feelgood, family-friendly punk doo-wop production, Spike is misleading on if his joy comes from the pride in solitude, or from loneliness and a ’give me everything’ mentality in the act of shooting heroin. The vocal performances oscillate between being blasé, vulnerable and manic; “Sweet Release” meets power-ballad criteria solely due to Spike’s deteriorating cries into the void, the jittery delivery on “Getting Sober” embodies religious fanaticism while sounding like a pop song written by Suicide for a David Lynch film.
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. The Smackwave EP was the sole, now decade-old release by Spike Fuck. A certified cult classic, and aptly censored by media outlets, the EP addressed themes as literal as the title suggests; drug use, gender identity, Catholicism and existentialism. It's bizarre that his ‘cult’ identity was bestowed by some odd notion of “it does what it says on the box”, whilst what it says is indecipherable, submitting to a partial understanding of Spike and accepting the inevitable fall-out.
Soon after, Spike was swept up in the whirlwind of unexpected success, going from underground warehouse parties and impromptu performances on Melbourne trams to catching the eye of Rick Owens, 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. It had all happened in a flash, he was gone; and it seemed as if the artist witnessed by others was merely a relic of that time period, or possibly a figment of their imagination. 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 kept the myth alive. Their return to performance in 2024 showcased that the cult figure had been thoroughly consecrated in underground memory.
Having devoted almost 3 years to the now shelved album Pure O, Spike reflects that while it is confessional, it is a measured, intellectualized attempt to process his emotions, in some haphazard pursuit of self-actualization. While it was “true” in some sense, it remained a dissociative analysis, philosophising feelings rather than sitting with them. Spike repudiated the pursuit of understanding for the pursuit of being, and evidence is proof of that and of his commitment to reinvention. Of that last minute decision, he scoffs: “the joys and the lows of a bipolar temperament”. At some point he may release what was written, he may not. Spike is forthright about what he believes he should and shouldn’t do and is very certain in his vision. Not like a petulant toddler, but simply because he no longer has room for hesitancy.
evidence is an album that lives outside the limits of discourse; its purpose is eponymous and self-evident. It is what it is, and is subject to interpretation. There is no point in interrogating attachments, virtue or value. The only rightful way to live is to be.
Apple Music
Bandcamp
Official Website
Sacred Bones Records
Spotify
Tidal
YouTube
“Reason is only reason, and it only satisfies man’s rational requirements. Desire, on the other hand, is the manifestation of life itself–of all of life.” - Axel Freed in The Gambler (1974) on Dostoyevsky’s Notes from Underground
For ten years 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 mission is to distill the sacred and profane, balancing the melancholy and humour of life; “to be alive is to be traumatised.” Luckily, the devotion to his music persevered, somewhat bolstered by his inconsistency and inaccessibility. This inexplicable goodwill towards his artistry is perhaps partly due to Spike’s timeless, pained and confessional lyricism, though more pointedly, the fragility of a life mired in addiction. His being or works does not question the virtue of life, but simply addresses the numb, pragmatic and far more immediate matter of surviving another day, an almost ineffable sentiment only justified by his distinct, poetic audaciousness.
Free from his arresting thoughts, evidence, the long anticipated debut album, is a brazen proof of life statement. Convicted by the outlandish idea of evidencing a ‘you had to be there’ mentality, the record honours the presence in body, a record to be felt, never to be rationalized. After years of inconsistent activity, one might be surprised - or perhaps even disappointed - to find that evidence isn’t forthcoming in providing explanations of Spike’s absence. It isn’t a tell-all collection of songs about obsession, guilt, nor is it a document of the subsequent transformation, or enlightenment. Spike’s prior fixations on the questions of man or woman, drug addict or ascetic, trickster or rockstar, have driven an unmitigated pursuit of knowing a ‘true self’. This pursuit is no longer his chief concern, nor is he plagued by over conceptualization of who he is but simply, when he is. For this is Spike Fuck, and this is evidence.
Whilst plans had been in motion to release the ‘original’ debut record, Pure O, Spike was gripped by an insatiable urge to complete and present evidence. Written and recorded in 3 months alongside producer Adam Hyde (Keli Holiday), the record is informed by the realization he could not think his way into a state of emotion, only graduate into it; a process outside his control. There was a desire to evidence the mix of frustration, confusion and resentment; all too familiar feelings Spike had tried in vain to repress. As Spike says, “this record is carnal and confident. I wanted to approach songwriting in the same way a director shooting a slasher film does. Get to the point and make people feel it all. I want this record to cut like a sharp knife”. Inspired by the banned 1971 manual, The Anarchist Cookbook, Spike sought to create something unsettling and perplexing, yet simple. It’s a rush to listen to, as if tagging along on a particularly wild night out. At once it is fun and memorable, but also truly life-altering as if you hit a pedestrian in your car and fled the scene, left to grapple with the thrill, guilt and fear of being caught. If nothing else, it’s a ride.
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. Melodically it emits the energy of a down-and-out CBGBs band who cashes in by recording a lucrative Christmas album. Spike frequently uses sonic and lyrical juxtapositions to perform comic twists of sincerity, a reflection of society’s obsession with ‘getting a rise’. On “Bored to Death”, a scuzzy, laidback and soulful tune, paired with morbid ragebait lyrics that payoff as a stand up joke “when I look up at the sun it makes me so happy cause I know one day it’s gonna kill me, and it’ll kill you too!” Lead single “All By Myself” carries on in this fashion; with feelgood, family-friendly punk doo-wop production, Spike is misleading on if his joy comes from the pride in solitude, or from loneliness and a ’give me everything’ mentality in the act of shooting heroin. The vocal performances oscillate between being blasé, vulnerable and manic; “Sweet Release” meets power-ballad criteria solely due to Spike’s deteriorating cries into the void, the jittery delivery on “Getting Sober” embodies religious fanaticism while sounding like a pop song written by Suicide for a David Lynch film.
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. The Smackwave EP was the sole, now decade-old release by Spike Fuck. A certified cult classic, and aptly censored by media outlets, the EP addressed themes as literal as the title suggests; drug use, gender identity, Catholicism and existentialism. It's bizarre that his ‘cult’ identity was bestowed by some odd notion of “it does what it says on the box”, whilst what it says is indecipherable, submitting to a partial understanding of Spike and accepting the inevitable fall-out.
Soon after, Spike was swept up in the whirlwind of unexpected success, going from underground warehouse parties and impromptu performances on Melbourne trams to catching the eye of Rick Owens, 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. It had all happened in a flash, he was gone; and it seemed as if the artist witnessed by others was merely a relic of that time period, or possibly a figment of their imagination. 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 kept the myth alive. Their return to performance in 2024 showcased that the cult figure had been thoroughly consecrated in underground memory.
Having devoted almost 3 years to the now shelved album Pure O, Spike reflects that while it is confessional, it is a measured, intellectualized attempt to process his emotions, in some haphazard pursuit of self-actualization. While it was “true” in some sense, it remained a dissociative analysis, philosophising feelings rather than sitting with them. Spike repudiated the pursuit of understanding for the pursuit of being, and evidence is proof of that and of his commitment to reinvention. Of that last minute decision, he scoffs: “the joys and the lows of a bipolar temperament”. At some point he may release what was written, he may not. Spike is forthright about what he believes he should and shouldn’t do and is very certain in his vision. Not like a petulant toddler, but simply because he no longer has room for hesitancy.
evidence is an album that lives outside the limits of discourse; its purpose is eponymous and self-evident. It is what it is, and is subject to interpretation. There is no point in interrogating attachments, virtue or value. The only rightful way to live is to be.