Spike Fuck

<p dir="ltr" style="text-align: center;">For ten years Melbourne&rsquo;s <strong>Spike Fuck</strong> has existed more as a messy myth than an artist &ndash;</p><p dir="ltr" style="text-align: center;">sporadic works forever poised on the precipice of triumph, rumours of death or insanity and</p><p dir="ltr" style="text-align: center;">so on. Spike&rsquo;s foray into music in 2015 served a cultural fantasy, not by any overarching</p><p dir="ltr" style="text-align: center;">sense of ambition, but rather a would-be, cosplay pop star arrested by his own devices and</p><p dir="ltr" style="text-align: center;">whose melancholy wove through unlikely cultural circles. His sole body of work, The</p><p dir="ltr" style="text-align: center;">Smackwave EP (Partisan Records), addressed themes as literal as the title suggests: drug</p><p dir="ltr" style="text-align: center;">use, gender identity, religion and existentialism. Soon after its release, Spike was swept up</p><p dir="ltr" style="text-align: center;">in the whirlwind of unexpected success, moving from underground warehouse parties to</p><p dir="ltr" style="text-align: center;">being draped in high fashion and editorial photoshoots accompanied by interviews, in which</p><p dir="ltr" style="text-align: center;">he gave unrelenting and uncensored details of his life.<br><br></p><p dir="ltr" style="text-align: center;">On the precipice of breakthrough, Spike disappeared. Bootleg uploads and comments on old</p><p dir="ltr" style="text-