This article is the edited, written version of my conversation with Daniel Martin.
The audio interview is where the spontaneity lives — but this piece captures the essence of a conversation that unfolded like a mixtape.
There are interviews you plan with a list of questions.
And then there are interviews that reveal themselves slowly — memory by memory, decade by decade — until you realize you’re not simply documenting a career, but tracing a life.
Daniel Martin is internationally recognized for his work as a makeup artist. Yet during our conversation on Les Vinyles Versatiles, professional titles took a back seat. Instead, we spoke about what truly shaped him: music.
The way Daniel speaks about music — its ties to childhood, family transitions, identity, resilience, and joy — makes one thing immediately clear: it has always been essential.
“So much of my journey in life has been compartmentalized by music.”
Music as a timeline
If your childhood unfolds in one city, you often grow up with a single soundtrack.
Daniel Martin’s story follows a different rhythm.
Moving between countries, languages, and cultures, music became his constant — a map through change.
He recalls discovering new wave after returning to the United States in the 1990s: The Cure, Depeche Mode, Joy Division, New Order. Entire musical worlds opening at once.
Earlier still, in the 1980s, he remembers being overseas and discovering music in unexpected places — sneaking into discotheques in South Korea as a teenager, surrounded by students from international schools spinning vinyl imported from the U.K.: ska, reggae, synth-pop.
For Daniel, reflecting on that era isn’t nostalgia for nostalgia’s sake. It’s a reminder that before algorithms, music discovery was deeply human — shared, tactile, and intentional.
Reach out and touch faith, Dave Gahan sang on Personal Jesus.
The lost art of the mixtape
Before streaming platforms, playlists, and instant sharing, there was the mixtape.
Creating one — first on cassette, later on CD — was a careful process. These weren’t disposable objects; they were curated, personal, and meaningful.
Daniel and I connected immediately over this shared ritual: waiting for a song to come on the radio, recording it at just the right moment, crafting a sequence that felt deliberate and expressive.
As Daniel put it:
“The appreciation, the value was different. You were more protective of that kind of information — whereas now, everyone has access to everything at the same time.”
It’s a simple observation that quietly captures a broader cultural shift. Music once required effort and patience — and in return, it offered a deeper sense of meaning.
Mixtape covers and creative instinct
One unexpected revelation emerged during our conversation: before makeup, Daniel originally dreamed of pursuing graphic design.
Suddenly, everything aligned.
He didn’t just make mixtapes — he created objects. Hand-designed covers, collages assembled from magazines, visual identities that transformed each tape into something archival.
“That’s exactly what I wanted to do before I got into makeup — graphic design.”
The connection becomes clear.
The makeup artist and the music enthusiast are not separate identities, but expressions of the same creative instinct: composition, mood, storytelling, and aesthetic coherence.
Whether through visual artistry or sound, Daniel has always been building worlds.
Music as refuge
As the interview deepened, Daniel spoke openly about his parents’ divorce and the role music played during that period.
Music was not only comfort — it was refuge.
He described returning repeatedly to Depeche Mode 101 and the Rose Bowl performance, explaining how it became a safe emotional space during a time of instability.
“That was my safe space. I would put that album on and feel completely connected to the music.”
Music connects. It anchors. It carries us through moments when everything else feels uncertain.
For many people, music was never just entertainment — it was the one constant when home felt fragile. That may explain why a song from decades ago can still trigger such powerful physical and emotional memories: the body remembers before the mind does.
New York, rave culture, and finding a tribe
Daniel also spoke about leaving Seattle at a time when grunge was defining the city’s musical identity. While that movement was exploding globally, it didn’t feel like his path.
He was drawn instead to rhythm, bass, and movement — and ultimately to New York.
There, he found a community that resonated with him creatively and personally. The parallels were striking: David Bowie made a similar journey decades earlier, leaving London to immerse himself in New York’s underground culture. Different eras, same instinct.
One story stood out vividly: Daniel’s first Christmas in New York.
Not a quiet holiday, but a night spent at Limelight, the legendary club that defined an era.
“My first Christmas in New York was at Limelight — and it was the best Christmas ever.”
It’s a cinematic moment — one that captures a sense of arrival and belonging.
Montreal and the feeling of home
Our conversation eventually circled back to Montreal.
Daniel mentioned Mado, the iconic drag bar in the Village — a cultural institution that represents inclusion, creativity, and resilience.
For me, the moment resonated personally. Montreal can be a city of contrasts — challenging in some spaces, liberating in others. But within the city, there are places where people feel seen and safe.
Daniel summed it up simply:
“I love Montreal so much.”
And indeed, Montreal has always been a city that fights for its identity — and for the people who shape it.
Darkwave and musical afterlives
As we concluded, we touched on darkwave — a genre Daniel discovered only recently.
What fascinates him is how contemporary darkwave artists echo sounds from the past. Music never disappears; it transforms.
We discussed mashups, SoundCloud discoveries, and the cyclical nature of music culture — the same phenomenon that brought renewed attention to artists like Kate Bush decades after their original releases.
Some sounds simply wait for the right moment to return.
“No one ever asks me about music.”
Near the end of our conversation, Daniel shared something quietly revealing:
“No one ever asks me about music.”
That statement captures why this interview mattered.
When you ask someone about what shaped them — what sustained them — you move beyond surface-level conversation. You create space for recognition and connection.
And that, in itself, is a form of home.
Coming soon
This conversation barely scratched the surface. We didn’t fully explore trip-hop, Bowie deep cuts, or the Montreal underground scene — conversations still waiting to happen.
This is Part 1.
Part 2 is coming.
And Daniel — Montreal is always ready to welcome you back.
