Max HeyraudWe caught up with Marie Davidson on the night of her Dublin show at Whelan’s to talk about Traveller’s Faith, the freedom to experiment, life on the road, Irish crowds, and learning not to worry about whether people “get” her work.
Marie Davidson thrives in challenging herself as an artist. Across six studio albums, the French-Canadian producer has continually reshaped her relationship with dance music, moving between techno, Italo disco, experimental pop and introspective songwriting without ever settling into one fixed sound. Her work has always been driven by a desire to explore, whether that meant turning the fractured realities of nightlife inward on Working Class Woman, breaking from the club entirely on Renegade Breakdown, or confronting the growing influence of Big Tech on City of Clowns.
Now, that instinct to move freely between forms has led Davidson somewhere new. Traveller’s Faith started out as a film and poetry project during the pandemic, but has since become another part of a much larger artistic world that includes her records, music videos, photography, writing and live performances. “Freedom is integral to my creative process,” she says, and it’s a philosophy that runs through everything she does.
I wanted to start by chatting about your book, Travellers Faith. When did the idea for the book first come about, and why did this feel like the right year to finally unveil it?
I started working on a project called Deep Fried back in 2020 during the pandemic. It was a film and a poetry book of the same name. In the end, I never published Deep Fried, but it turned into Traveller’s Faith while I was touring my album City Of Clowns.
How does your process for writing poetry and music differ, and how do the two interact with and inform each other?
When I write music, I focus on sounds, when I write poetry, I focus on words. In both disciplines, I pay attention to the rhythm, I choose words as much for what they mean as for how they sounds within the context of a sentence or a stanza.
You’ve spoken in the past about having “always had a need, even as a child, to be understood.” Does it affect you when people don’t understand your music? Given that some of your work can be quite left-field, is it difficult when people don’t always “get” it, or do you embrace that ambiguity?
It doesn’t bother me anymore! I think it used to, but not so much anymore. Most people don’t get half of my jokes, and that’s okay.
I listened to a lot of your discography while writing these questions, and it feels like you’re consistently challenging yourself when it comes to writing music, actively trying to do something that your audience might not particularly expect. Do you think that’s a fair description of your process?
It is totally fair to say my music has changed a lot over the course of time. That being said, I’m not actively trying to surprise my audience, it’s more that I like trying new things. I enjoy a lot of different kinds of music, and I like to explore. Freedom is vital to my creative process.
Are you concerned about having your records align with each other in terms of sound, or is that not really a consideration? To what extent do you think developing an identifiable sound is productive or unproductive for an artist?
I see what I’ve been putting out as a whole body of work: my records, my poetry, the music videos, my newsletter, the photos. It’s all part of a larger body of work that is the Marie Davidson experience. Some like it, some not so much, nevertheless, it is mine, and it’s authentic. I think my sound is recognisable, I’ve been told that in the past, but I’d be very happy to surprise people someday and come up with something completely different.
What’s your relationship with conceptual music? It feels like there’s a world of conception, or a certain thread running through each album that loosely defines its story. Is that accurate, and would you describe each of your projects as conceptual?
I love concepts! I like stories, and I appreciate when people put thoughts into their craft. My thing is to tell stories. Each of my records has a story to tell, sometimes many. Each of my poems is a short story or the elaboration of a thought. That’s how my brain works.
Your 2025 album, City of Clowns, is a rather scathing look at social media’s clutch on culture and its control over us. What drew you towards writing something so centred around that topic?
I had been worried and depressed about the importance that social media gained since the pandemic, then in 2022 I read a book called The Age Of Surveillance Capitalism by Shoshana Zuboff. This book inspired me to write about the impact of Big Tech in our lives and how it is changing the course of our history as a species.
You didn’t start DJing professionally until after the pandemic. Was there something in particular that was drawing you towards that world at that point?
The joy of playing other people’s music and making people dance. When I DJ, the highlight is not to play my own tracks, it’s rather that I get to share music I don’t own but feel excited about.
How has travelling through music changed you as a person?
I don’t think travelling through music has changed me that much, I’ve been doing it since I was very young and still get the same high from it. Travelling constantly has changed me a lot. It has made me a stronger, but harsher person.
You recently played at Beyond the Pale in Wicklow, your second time at the festival. How was that experience, and how do you find playing to Irish crowds?
I love Irish crowds! Really. I’m looking forward to the Dublin show tonight.
How do you feel about promoting your art through social media? Is it a necessary evil, or, as someone who writes, do you enjoy having that space to talk about your work directly with your audience?
I dislike social media, but I’m grateful I have an audience, and I don’t take it for granted. When I post on social media, I try to keep it playful and save the deep stuff for my newsletter, my poems, and my albums. People have a very short attention span when they scroll.
