Marie Davidson’s Dystopian Dance

You were just in Texas, How was that?

I was opening for Justice, which was a dream because I love them and their shows are incredible. It was also great to be back in Texas—I used to go every year for SXSW but took a break because it started feeling repetitive. Austin has changed a lot. It’s growing, and tech companies are moving in.

Do you have anything you always bring with you on tour?

I always have three pieces of hardware, plus CDJs and a V10 mixer. My setup is a mix of live performance and DJing—I sing and interact with the crowd over my tracks, then switch to playing on machines for more hands-on parts.

Do you have any methods for "testing" your music before releasing it?

DJ sets have been a great way to test tracks for this album. Before, I only previewd new music in live shows, playing rough versions and evolving them over time. Work It was made like that—I wrote it quickly before touring, then refined it by performing it every night. Now, I mostly test new tracks in DJ sets before locking them in.

I first heard your music through Essaie Pas, your band with your partner. How does collaborating with him compare to working solo?

Essaie Pas is our first project, dating back to 2010. It started as a band—we’d jam live with machines, guitars, even my violin run through effects pedals. It was a different energy, very fluid and spontaneous. My solo work is more structured—I bring concepts and lyrics, and we produce from there. With City of Clowns, I wrote most of it myself before co-producing with my husband Pierre and later Soulwax in Belgium. It had more defined stages, whereas Essaie Pas was always more immediate.

Your music feels very unfiltered. Do you think you have an analog approach to making it?

Yes, completely. I don’t work with a computer when writing—I use hardware like synthesizers, samplers, and drum machines. I only touch the computer when remixing, which is why I like working with co-producers who can refine and push the music further.

You took a break from music to study herbalism. What drew you to that?

I got into medicinal plants and even applied to a naturopathic school. I really thought I’d commit, but once I started, I realized I’d have to give up music completely. That panicked me. At the same time, I was DJing again and loving it. It wasn’t planned—I just instinctively went back.

So DJing reignited your love for music?

Exactly. That came first.

You’ve mentioned having a complicated relationship with club culture, and Adieux au Dancefloor, the title of one of your previous records, translates to a goodbye to the dancefloor. How do you feel about it now?

It’s a lifelong relationship. I started clubbing at 16, sneaking into hip-hop clubs in Montreal, then moved into underground scenes. In 2012, I discovered raving, which completely changed my perspective on electronic music. But after years of living that life, it felt repetitive. I needed a break.

After the pandemic, I reconnected through DJing, but with a healthier mindset. Now, I see it as my job—I'm there to create the party, not just be part of it. I still love dancing anonymously in a crowd, but I don’t need to be out all the time anymore.

Has that shift influenced your new album?

It’s less about nightlife and more about the world we live in. But my body remembers—those years of clubbing are still in me.

Let’s talk about City of Clowns. What does the clown represent to you?

The clown questions power. But we also live in a world of clowns—politicians, corporations, tech moguls playing tricks on us. The real clown, though, has power through humor. In the king’s court, the jester was the only one who could mock authority. There’s vulnerability in that, but also strength.

"Sexy Clown" plays with the idea of being an entertainer—especially as a woman in nightlife. You’re both celebrated and ridiculed. I embrace that—it’s playful, but also subversive.

So there’s a sad clown element too?

Yeah, the outsider, the rejected figure. That’s why I am fascinated by Juggalo culture in the U.S.—people dress up as clowns and gather as a kind of anti-society. It’s raw, trashy, but powerful.

I find it intriguing how you balance humor with a dystopian feel. There’s this duality—one side is very humorous, and the other is quite dark. How do you ensure that neither element overtakes the other?

I tend to be introspective, always asking existential questions. I see a lot of darkness in the world, but it’s boring to focus solely on that. Over the years, humor has become a tool for me—it helps me navigate the world. I’ve been watching more comedy, like stand-up, and I think humor is a great way to be subversive and cultivate critical thinking.

That shift started around 2016, but humor has taken up more space in my work since then. It’s still dark humor, though, because the world is dark and absurd to me. We’ve managed to mess up a beautiful place. There’s enough wealth for everyone, but we haven’t figured out how to share it. Watching everything collapse is absurd.

That’s where humor comes in—it uplifts me first, and then I hope it does the same for others who might feel the same way. Humor is inclusive. I want to laugh with people, not just criticize from the sidelines. I want to critique, but I also want to enjoy life.

Music today is very tied to visuals. How do you balance making music with creating visuals that support your message? You’ve released two music videos so far for this albm, right?

Yeah, for Sexy Clown and YAM. My relationship with imagery has always been complicated. I believe sometimes it’s better to have no visuals than bad visuals. I’m selective because we live in a world that constantly demands images—social media makes it a necessity. You have to exist visually.

When I discover a new artist, I immediately get a visual impression—through a video or press photos. I feel like we’re wired to think that way.

Exactly. And I love visual art—film, painting, fashion, costumes. But it’s frustrating that sound has become a slave to image. I try to push against that by buying music on Bandcamp, making my own playlists, and listening to full albums. That way, I can connect with music without being bombarded by visuals.

That’s also why I’m careful about the images I put out. I don’t want to release things that don’t align with my music. That’s why we don’t have a ton of videos yet—there will be one for Demolition, but it’s taking time. I’d rather create fewer things that feel meaningful.

The same applies to press shots and fashion imagery. So many artists today just want to look hot. And I get it, but I’ve seen a million hot press shots. I want to see personality. I want to see a story.

That’s how I filter through artists too. Sometimes you don’t need visuals to create an image. Music can be so immersive that I can already picture the visuals just by listening.

That’s exactly what I want. I want people to create their own story, their own aesthetic in their minds. My music is cinematic in that way. I try to leave room for interpretation.

You’ve mentioned your love for Giallo horror and directors like Tarkovsky. Wasn’t he your first favorite?

Yes! Tarkovsky is still my first favorite. Though now, I’d say it’s a battle between him and John Cassavetes. Have you seen his films?

My partner really likes his work. She showed me A Woman Under the Influence.

That movie is a masterpiece! If you liked it, you should watch Opening Night.

I have to admit, shed did show it to me, and I struggled a bit. I can see why people love Cassavetes’ films, but i find the pacing challenging at times.

They are. But Tarkovsky is even slower.

For some reason, Tarkovsky resonates more with me. I don’t know why.

Maybe because he’s more European, while Cassavetes is very American. That could speak more to your sensibilities.

Outside of music, where do you find inspiration?

For this album, mostly books. The Age of Surveillance Capitalism by Shoshana Zuboff was a big one. Also, a specific translation of Tao Te Ching by Ursula K. Le Guin. She made it genderless, which gives the text a new depth.

Rick Rubin’s The Creative Act: A Way of Being also influenced me. It’s a simple book, but great for breaking artistic patterns. Rubin is interesting—he doesn’t produce in a traditional sense. He just listens, which is refreshing in an industry full of big egos.

Looking ahead, are there new themes or interests you’re excited to explore, wheter within music or beyond?

I’m interested in anything with a social aspect, like social work. I love music, but I’m really interested in people. I think we need to reconnect. A lot of people feel isolated, and we live in a culture that encourages that. I want to focus on real-life connections.

• Listen to City of Clowns below.