Danse Macabre: Doom and Gloom in Clown Makeup

Photography / Luka Maresca

It was Wellington’s wettest day of the year two weeks ago. Pedestrians battled against biting winds, ducking under café awnings and bus shelters for cover. Rain battered against cars pushing through rivers of water, and a heavy grey sky blanketed the gloomy city. But amid the stormy chaos, a golden light spilled from Wellington's Creeps Record Parlour.  

Sitting at the counter sat recent Massey grad Jane Dyson — one half of Wellington musical duo Danse Macabre. They chatted with a customer buying an obscure record, reeling off musical trivia I couldn’t hope to keep up with. A few steps away, browsing the electronic music section, was the duo’s other half, Oscar Alty. He was deep in conversation with a stranger, enthusiastically swapping favourite tracks.  

Wellington triphop duo, Danse Macabre, came together in the last year, but Jane and Oscar already knew each other from Wellington’s tight-knit music scene. Jane was the vocalist for ethereal rock band Maiden Name, while Oscar is the founder and frontman of electric band Sleeping Village. Last year, Jane lent some backing vocals for Sleeping Village’s single ‘Down By The Lake’.   

Their collaboration as Danse Macabre began after bonding at a New Year’s Eve party, where Jane — according to Oscar — was “queuing fucking bangers”. 

Jane says, “I was playing Björk, and Oscar was like ‘fuck yeah’. He told me he had some beats and asked if I wanted to try some vocals over them.” 

The pair emailed back and forth for a few months, fitting in creativity around other projects, and eventually started jamming.  

Their name Danse Macabre is French for ‘dance of death’. It references a recurring theme in Art and Literature: The universality and inevitability of death. The nihilistic vibe breathes threads its way through their music, especially in Jane’s songwriting.  

Jane says, “There’s a couple songs which are metaphorical and I’m talking about creatures and aliens. But I feel like they’re all sort of grounded in what I’m going through at the time, with some Gothic overtones.” 

Oscar’s instrumental process starts in op shops, digging through collections of weird and wacky vinyl for sounds. “I get some records and then come home and just sample some weird shit,” he says. “I found a great Hawaiian record that I’m playing around with. Lots of slide guitar and shit.” 

Once he chops up, warps and repurposes the samples, Oscar says, “It becomes something better than it was”.  

The pair worked together on Massive's ‘Fergalicious’ parody last year, but their first project is their current single, ‘Telephone’. The song is just as unhinged as our Fergus the Ram music video.  

“That was the first song I was happy with,” Oscars says. “The rest [songs] all start with instrumentals and Jane puts lyrics to them. But for ‘Telephone’, there was a decent amount of back and forth.” 

Jane agrees, “Some songs are easier than others. When it comes to vocals, some write themselves.” 

With Jane’s dark, poetic lyrics and Oscar’s upbeat, sample-rich instrumentals, the result is a vibrant juxtaposition — music that feels joyful, bleak, and a little unhinged all at once.  

Oscar says, “It’s doom and gloom in clown makeup. It’s a little bit of fun, but also, it’s not really.” 

Janes nods at me happily, “Yeah! You’re finding the fun in the fact that we’re going to die in a nuclear war in three years.” 

Despite this nihilistic take, the two musicians have created a unique sound that is completely their own. While they draw inspiration from trip-hop icons like Portishead and Massive Attack, Jane says they always add “a little something-something”. 

With a yet to be named album on the way, the duo are pulling from a diverse pool of influences, from Elizabeth Fraser and Hope Sandoval to Machine Girl, Gorillaz, and The Prodigy. 

Jane calls the album “self-indulgent”.  

Oscar shrugs: “It’s just music I want to be listening to.” 

“Yeah, straight up,” Jane replies.  

When it comes to what’s next, their hopes are refreshingly simple.  

“Just come see us play,” Jane says. “Then tell us you like us.” 

Oscar chimes in, “Then show us to your uncle with all those music industry connections.”  

As I leave Creeps Record Parlour and scurry back out into the rain, I look back and see the two of them laughing about something. Together, they’ve created a world of their own — an oasis of creative, nihilistic fun.