A decade after the release of his debut EP, Melbourne artist Spike Fuck is still dealing with the consequences. The record drew both media censorship and enthusiastic praise, fueling a rapid rise that ended just as abruptly when he disappeared from public view. His long absence even led some to wonder whether he had died. Now, as suddenly as he vanished, he’s back, signed to a new label with a new eight-track record.
Unlike his earlier EP, which looked to his past for inspiration, the new album, evidence, finds Spike Fuck clearly concerned with the present. The album opens with “Can’t Get It Up,” a song that musically manages to draw from both ’80s New Wave and gritty ’70s punk rock in the vein of The Heartbreakers. It looks not only at a failure to perform sexually but, based on recent interviews, also at a perceived failure to live up to expectations more broadly. Spike has detransitioned after living as a trans woman.
“Had Your Way” is slower with dirge-like drumming and clear, deliberate vocals that recall Leonard Cohen. “Sweet Release,” the album’s strongest track, is an emotionally raw ballad, both lyrically and in his delivery. The soulful “Bored to Death” is followed by the Bowie-worthy, glam-inspired “All By Myself,” the closest thing he has to a pop song, its catchy chorus making it another album highlight.
Meanwhile, the driving “Getting Sober” is punctuated by horns, angular guitars, and frantic energy. The album closes with two of its mellower tracks, “Blue Light” and the nearly-eight-minute-long “Hate Me,” a wide-ranging narrative that serves as a summary of sorts for the album.
For an artist who spent the better part of a decade out of sight, evidence feels less like a comeback than a document of where Spike Fuck finds himself now. There are traces of the past throughout—addiction, identity, failure and regret—but little interest in neatly resolving any of it. Instead, across eight songs that move between punk, soul, glam, and bruised balladry, he allows those contradictions to remain. If evidence offers proof of anything, it’s that Spike F*ck is still here, still unsettled, and still capable of turning that uncertainty into remarkably compelling music.
