Contrary to popular belief, Damian Abraham doesn’t take his clothes off at every Fucked Up show. Sometimes, depending on his mood, he’ll smear his body with peanut butter, or wrap himself in packing tape. Performing this September at the award show for the prestigious $20,000 Polaris Music Prize—given annually for the year’s best album—the singer did doff everything but his sweat-drenched boxers. Bald, bearded and about 300 pounds, he looks, when nearly naked, like an alopecic black bear. But the real shocker came a few minutes after the striptease: Fucked Up won the award for its album The Chemistry of Common Life, beating out less contentious favourites like the hip-hop artist K’Naan and the indie veteran Joel Plaskett.

Our most recent breakout indie bands—Broken Social Scene, Feist, the Hidden Cameras—have all trafficked largely in pop with a cozy, group-hug sensibility. But the city’s ferocious punk undergound, in its various incarnations, has been a vital alternative since the late ’70s. Fucked Up, as its name might indicate, is a punk band.

The 30-year-old Abraham was an early adopter. He grew up in Riverdale, the son of a flight attendant and an advertising exec, and went to prep school in the Annex (Royal St. George’s). A brief drinking-and-drugging phase ended at the age of 13, when he was busted trying to buy booze at the Summerhill LCBO. At 14, he saw a documentary called 1991: The Year Punk Broke about Sonic Youth’s European tour with Nirvana, and that same year formed his first band, Urine Trouble. Hardcore punk, the subgenre Fucked Up occupies, is generally more idealistic than the nihilistic, misanthropic punk of, say, the Sex Pistols. It emphasizes ethics as much as aesthetics, promoting vegetarianism and political engagement. For an overweight, insecure kid like Abraham, the inclusiveness was irresistible.

When he got to university (he went to Queen’s and U of T), he majored in women’s studies, but he dropped out in 2002 to form Fucked Up along with four childhood friends. Like other successful Canadian groups, Fucked Up quickly realized it was more efficient to tour in the U.S.—more cities, with bigger audiences, within a three-hour driving distance. Maximum Rock ’n’ Roll, the more-punk-than-thou American zine, eventually lauded the band in its pages, and other publications followed suit.

Over the next few years, Fucked Up put out 42 singles and two albums. Their sound can be surprisingly melodic and sophisticated, at times flirting with indie rock. When Chemistry was released in 2008 by Matador Records, the home of Cat Power and the New Pornographers, Fucked Up was exposed to a new hipster audience. The record has now sold more than 30,000 copies—huge numbers for an independent release. They’ve since appeared on the cover of the music trend bible NME and been reviewed in The New York Times (the name of the band coyly danced around with asterisks). After gigs in Japan, they snuck into China for a five-show tour.

Abraham is Fucked Up’s exposed nerve centre: a snarling, screaming, spasmodic behemoth. In keeping with his lineage, he occasionally cuts himself onstage—Iggy Pop did it, Nazi Dog did it. “I do it because I feel more confident afterward,” says Abraham. “Like I’ve given people a sacrifice.” He took his pseudonym, Pink Eyes, from a series of porn films (in the age-old punk tradition of appropriating all things vile), pissed off MTV Canada by trashing their bathroom during a live performance, and for the past year has been appearing as an occasional, improbable guest on the ultra-conservative late-night Fox News program Red Eye, where he plays the lefty foil. He likes his circus-animal role; plus, he gets to plug his music (the host is an unabashed fan).

Offstage, Abraham’s menace drops away entirely. He’s married (his wife, Lauren, is a social worker) and a new father (he has a seven-month-old son named Holden). He’s also gregarious, self-deprecating and polite; pronouncing his band name, he almost swallows the words. “I cover up my insecurity by being really verbose and loud,” he says. “But I assure you, I’m a very small man inside.”

Abraham was working in the mailroom at Unilever until Fucked Up’s recent success turned music into a full-time career. He has other ambitions, though. He’d like to write for TV or pursue illustration, another passion. In the meantime, he’s recording a charity cover of “Do They Know It’s Christmas.” And he still has a few feathers to ruffle. After the Polaris win, CBC Radio 2 cancelled an interview with Fucked Up because they deemed the music too outré. Abraham was pleased: the band might be selling records, but it hasn’t sold its soul. “We won the most prestigious rock prize in the country,” he says, laughing, “and we still couldn’t get on the radio. I can rest assured I’m still dangerous.”