The darkwave scene that has enraptured France (and by proxy, Montreal) has been a sensual, but artistically lofty proposition. It’s blending that animal desire to romance with the equally feral response to new horizons. The genre’s best artists are finding themselves looking past what they can see. Sunny Dunes is no different, recalling the pop energies of Froe Char’s synthetic sine waves with the ebon chill of Marie Davidson’s recent noir. But Emmastaete takes a sharp right away from pop sensibilities with two long form pieces of shadowy isolation. Emmastaete has the Cold War seeping from its pits; pheromones of the cagey exploits and backdoor politics of a bygone era re-emerging at the turn of the century. It’s as lustful and provocative as darkwave kin. It does not, however, bow to any greater notions of man than its most animalistic totem. That the art of espionage, of passion, and of survival is not artistic at all, it’s mandatory. Does this make Sunny Dunes un-artistic or an artist with the sharpest canvas?
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