Wike

Wike is music, but only partly. She is also flesh and fat and bones and organs. But the part of Wike that is music thinks at a million miles a minute, mostly in circles and only rarely does anything sensible. Whatever is mildly comprehensible becomes song. Whatever becomes song gets sung. At least once. Usually to the studio wall. Sometimes to a housemate or a small crowd. Occasionally, and only ever through some fluke arranged by outside forces, to quite a large amount of people. Somehow you got an album, a single and an EP that has been sitting on a hard drive for four years, and is now very grumpy that it hasn’t come out yet. Most of this was written walking, cycling, or in the middle of the night bothering parents and housemates. You too, can be bothered by Wike’s music. Click one of the relevant links. Wherever they are. You can find them.