Oxford Arts Factory 1/10/26
By the time I arrived at this gig, I had already been to two functions across three other venues, and this was not to be my final destination for the evening either. I had missed the supports, which is something I actually loathe doing. “Support the support” is a motto of mine, but some things cannot be helped. I was already tired, so I also broke one of my other non-negotiables, which clearly means it may be negotiable, and had a Red Bull upon arrival. This seemed to do the trick.
A quick wander around the venue to pick out my short-chick posse had me in my OAF happy place, behind the sound desk on the verandah. I was settled and ready, and Spike ambled onto the stage.
Full disclosure: I am not all over Spike Fuck’s catalogue. I have songs I like and am familiar with. I am totally aware of his cult-like status and the following he rightfully has. I know his music is not really categorisable, but by the same token, very influential. I am vaguely aware of his musical and life journey. I had never seen him live and was still slightly unsure what to expect.
If Iggy Pop and Randy Travis had a love child, this is what I saw when I could catch a glimpse of the stage. At least, that’s what I got visually. The moves were more towards the Iggy side of the family tree, particularly when his shirt came off during the set, maybe with a side of Mick Jagger. He had a commanding stage presence; however, I did steal glances at the band here and there. The lighting was a red, smoky, backlit vibe, the likes of which I haven’t seen since Interpol at Hordern Pavilion several years ago. This made the entire band, and Spike himself, look shadowy and silhouetted. My photos don’t do it justice, because you can actually see. That, combined with the sultry music and Spike’s gravelly, deep voice, gave the entire evening a Twin Peaks vibe. Even the swingier numbers worked with the Twin Peaks aesthetic.
An album-release-day gig meant the new tracks were very fresh in my mind. Hearing some of them live means you instantly get that love for them that comes from the mix of endorphins at a live gig. This was very much the case with All By Myself, which will now be cemented as a fave forever.
Towards the end of the night, after the shirt came off, the band also headed off and we got some raw Spike with his guitar. It felt quite beautiful and intimate. At least, it would have if the folk towards the merch desk and bar hadn’t been having conversations that were audible over the music. It is a pet hate of mine when people talk at gigs loudly enough for those around them to have to listen to them, especially when the artist is trying to set a quiet tone. However, even this couldn’t ruffle my enjoyment of the night.
I get the fuss and the accolades. Spike Fuck live was an engrossing experience.
