As I sit on my bed listening to the Marie Davidson’s self titled EP in headphones, the first thing I notice amongst all the dark synth ambience is a pervasive anxiety. This is not to say that listening to the record makes me feel anxious so much as it makes me understand what it is to be anxious. This is not even to say that Marie Davidson herself sounds anxious. On the contrary, each grinding or delicate synth line and expertly subtle line of vocals sounds indisputably confident. Her sounds are rather an expression of anxiety deftly articulated. One measure of artistic skill is the ability to convey an emotion while maintaining a controlled distance from it in the moment of expression, and this is perhaps Davidson’s greatest strength.
Perhaps my sense of anxiety comes partly from my associations—hearing these slinking Angelo Badalamenti synths, I am sucked back into the sensation of my binge viewings of Twin Peaks. It’s as if Davidson were leading me through the creepy moonlit woods to the Black Lodge.
The EP opens with “Ma vie sans toi,” which is just playful enough to lull you gently and comfortably into the darkness that encompasses the whole of the album. Still, a complexity is maintained in the vulnerable edge of her lyrics. “Ma vie sans toi n’est qu’un mensonge,” she sings, which translates to, “My life without you is only a lie.” I picture her saying this with one eyebrow raised. In this territory, nothing is simple.
“Esthetique Privée” showcases an even rawer tenderness, though it is still cloaked in detachment. Here she sings in a naked falsetto above synthetic drum beats that sound like someone ceaselessly knocking at the door. By the end of the song, she is singing repeatedly, “Contactez-moi” (“Contact me” or “Call me”). If you were listening casually, the vocals might sound aloof, but here it becomes clear that she’s making a plea for intimacy. This is the feeling of getting restless some night, of calling around to have no one pick up, of not knowing how long you will have to wait just to hear someone’s voice on the line.
“La Vallée d’Or” and “La lieu où vous voulez vous rendre,” on the other hand, are rumbling, spacious, assertive songs you could almost dance to. At these moments she sounds like Ruth on Xanax. To be honest, I would dance without hesitation if she asked me to, no matter how slowly. Such is the sorcery of minimalist repetition executed with poise. Half talking, half singing, she turns each song into an incantation, a hypnosis. I have the impression that, in her presence, I would do anything she asked of me.
The closer, “À l’intérieur,” as frigid and sprawling as the Antarctic. Here her wry detachment comes to a peak as she refrains, “Je sais que tu sais que je sais” (“I know that you know that I know”). This bold statement of self-awareness attuned to the awareness of others coyly punctuates the end her artistic statement. A perfect culmination of the whole, it encapsulates everything about this EP that pulls me in. The tension between confession and disengagement builds and boils over. By the end, despite the coldness, something in me is melting. The genuine assurance of her voice seeps through, all the more apparent next to such spare noises.
These are songs I will listen to on days when I need to separate myself from people so that I will be that much happier to see them when we meet again.
Marie Davidsons is based in Montreal, where there must be something in the water. Her self-titled EP is out today on cassette through Holodeck, a consistently glorious label based in Austin, TX. Buy the cassette, and, if you’re wise, buy everything else they have available. You won’t be disappointed.
