Released on May 23 via Pelagic Records, Les Maîtres Fous is not just a live album from French post-metal collective Year of No Light—it’s a decade-old document of intensity, confrontation, and artistic risk. We spoke with the band about the history, weight, and context of the piece—our full interview is available below.
The recording, captured during their 2015 performance in Bordeaux, marks the final outing of a work that had only been played once before: a commissioned piece for Paris’s Musée du Quai Branly in 2012, responding to Jean Rouch’s controversial 1950s ethnographic film of the same name.
Written as a reaction, not a representation, the band’s take on Les Maîtres Fous isn’t an attempt to score the film or explain the Hauka movement’s rituals—it’s a process of grappling with what it means to witness them. Pierre, guitarist and founding member, recalls how the experience induced a kind of “trance,” as if the band were being pulled into the visual language of Rouch’s camera. “It was as if I was lost in the film, as if I were gripped by a kind of vertigo,” he says. Even in the second performance years later, that same “physically and emotionally demanding” sensation returned.
The band describes the creative approach as instinctive. Rather than hold back due to the rawness of the material, they found a natural point of entry by focusing on the aesthetic and psychic violence of the original footage. “The documentary is incredibly powerful and its aesthetic flirts with a psychedelic experience with striking bursts of violence and hallucinations,” Pierre explains. Their goal was to create a “trance-inducing sonic movement,” evoking tension and atonement without reducing the subject matter to background noise. “It was never too much.”
Les Maîtres Fous is part of a long lineage of Year of No Light projects that intersect with visual arts. But even by their standards, this piece asked for more. “Perhaps more confrontation,” Pierre admits. “It was a physically demanding experience.” Still, the band sees each collaboration as its own world, never a fixed formula between image and sound.
Formed in Bordeaux in 2001, Year of No Light emerged from a scene that bassist Johan describes as “overactive”—dozens of DIY collectives setting up shows, squats and clubs like Zoobizarre opening their doors to all genres. Johan himself booked more than 200 bands over 13 years. “We never had to struggle,” he says. “You wanted to see a particular band? Then you just had to book it.” That sense of spontaneous community, however, has shifted. Both Johan and Pierre reflect on how gentrification and the loss of small venues have hollowed out that ecosystem. “It sometimes doesn’t even feel like the same city,” Pierre adds.
Despite being labeled post-metal today, the band maintains distance from any rigid scene. “We’re just playing heavy, progressive instrumental music,” Pierre says. Their sonic identity blends sludge, drone, ambient, and black metal—resisting trends while acknowledging that uniformity is creeping in. “We pay very little attention to trends and fashions. We go our own way.”
Asked whether Year of No Light would get the same recognition today if starting from scratch, both members are skeptical. “Today, the musical landscape is over-saturated,” Pierre notes. Johan points out that while production has increased, the support infrastructure has not. “Small venues tend to disappear… zines are gone… it may be harder now for a young band to emerge.”
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Still, they keep listening. Johan highlights death metal bands like Mandibula and Sepulcre, while noting that France’s most interesting current projects tend to lean experimental: Carte Noire, Clément Vercelletto, Héron Cendré, Bégayer, and others operating far from the mainstream. Pierre’s standout recent live experience was occult rock band Aluk Todolo. Johan mentions Blood Incantation, Black Curse, and the ever-shifting Wolf Eyes.
The two also remain open to surprise. Feedback often arrives in odd forms—one fan once told them their music inspired a drugged-out nighttime car ride through the woods. But what stays with them are moments when listeners say the band helped them through difficult periods. When asked what they want people to feel when hearing Les Maîtres Fous with no context, Pierre offers three words: “Tension. Malaise. Hypnotisé.”
After nearly 25 years together, what keeps Year of No Light moving isn’t nostalgia or expectation—it’s the desire to explore. “Continue the exploration of new sonic territories,” Johan says simply. It’s that instinct—deliberate, unflinching, curious—that defines Les Maîtres Fous, and the band’s broader legacy.
Scroll down for our full conversation with Year of No Light, where we talk about gentrification in Bordeaux, the dangers of uniformity in heavy music, experimental scenes in France, and their dream setting for performing Les Maîtres Fous again.
Answered by Pierre and Johan
That live performance you did for Les Maîtres Fous… I mean, just imagining the weight of that setting—the film, the space, the subject matter—makes my spine stiffen. When you look back at that night in Bordeaux, what do you remember most vividly about the atmosphere onstage? Not just musically, but emotionally, physically—what was in the air?
P: Performing “Les Maîtres Fous” was always a physically and emotionally demanding experience. Performing it live was always a challenge. I remember that the first time we played it in Paris, at Musée du Quai Branly, the film was projected onto a gigantic screen. It was as if I was lost in the film, as if I were gripped by a kind of vertigo. It was really intense. The same thing happened in Bordeaux. A kind of trance indeed.
It’s rare to hear a band write in response to a visual piece rather than merely scoring it. Did the intensity of Jean Rouch’s original film change your creative dynamic? Were there moments when you had to pull back or rethink because the imagery felt too raw?
P: I’d say no. The first challenge was to find the right angle of attack and it came kind of naturally when we got together in our rehearsal space. The documentary is incredibly powerful and its aesthetic flirts with a psychedelic experience with striking bursts of violence and hallucinations. It’s something we’ve tried to piece together. The idea was to put our finger on this transformative and liberating trance experience.
Some of the tension in Les Maîtres Fous feels like it comes from not trying to “represent” the Hauka rituals, but instead trying to wrestle with your own reaction to them. Was there ever a moment during the composition where you thought, “This might be too much”?
P : Diving into the ritual practices of the Hauka movement gave us the substance to develop a reverberation and a sonic hermeneutic of this tension and the almost ontological need for trance, atonement and “madness” through the exploration of the sensitive world. The idea was to build a trance-inducing sonic movement, full of tension and intensity. It was never too much.
You’ve worked with a lot of visual artists before, but this project feels like it demanded more than usual—more empathy, more confrontation. Did it shift how you see the relationship between sound and image?
P: Visual arts in general are very important for us. Each time, it all started with a proposal that was unanimously and enthusiastically accepted. And each time, it’s a new exercise. I don’t think it shifted how we see the relationship between sound and image. As I said, each project was different, unique. But it’s true that this performance demanded perhaps more confrontation, it was a physically demanding experience.
When you first started in Bordeaux back in ‘01, the scene must’ve felt very different. What do you remember about the early days of experimental heavy music in your town? Were there places that welcomed it—or was it always a struggle to carve out space?
P: It was a really vibrant time. The scene in Bordeaux back then was incredibly active. There was something going on every night—metal, punk, all kinds of shows. The whole city was boiling with energy. It really felt alive. It felt like a true community—everyone went to each other’s shows. It was always the same faces, and that was part of the charm. Johan, our bass player, used to organize a lot of shows himself—over 13 years, he brought in more than 200 bands. Bordeaux used to be one of the biggest rock scenes in France. That’s changed a lot in recent years. Gentrification and other factors have really shifted things. These days, it sometimes doesn’t even feel like the same city.
Johan : As Pierre said the city of Bordeaux in the 90s / early 00s was overactive. Every band on tour played there. That’s what made me move to Bordeaux. There were at least 40 different DIY teams setting up shows in different kinds of musical aesthetics, every scene melting, a lot of small bars, squats and clubs like the Zoobizarre that welcomed us to set up shows. We never had to struggle & with this kind of venue it became natural to start organizing shows. You wanted to see a particular band ? Then you just had to book it in one of those venues!
It’s really not the case anymore :)
Over the years, the post-metal and experimental scenes have gone through waves of hype and disinterest. How have you seen the underground shift—especially in France? Do you feel like there’s more room now for nuance and risk, or is it more uniform and trend-driven?
P: It’s difficult to answer this question. It’s true that nowadays we’re labeled as a “post metal” band, but we’re just playing heavy, progressive instrumental music. We’re not related to any particular scene but we have numerous connections with different scenes, be it experimental scene, metal scene or post rock/post metal scene. To tell the truth, we haven’t paid much attention to the evolution you mentioned Getting back to France, I don’t know if we can say that a post metal scene exists. Honestly, we pay very little attention to trends and fashions. We go our own way. But seen from afar, there seems to be a certain uniformity these days.
If you compare the early 2000s to now—especially through the lens of your evolution—do you think your kind of sonic language would even get noticed today if it were just emerging?
P: The early 2000s were a different world. Streaming wasn’t ruling the whole industry. Today, the musical landscape is over-saturated. In these conditions, it’s harder to get noticed.
J: As Pierre said, things are totally different from the early 2000s. It’s hard to say. I think it may be harder now for a young band to emerge with the musical overproduction happening and the lack of structured scene we had with zines and co. At the same time small spaces/venues (where most of the bands start) tend to disappear in cities due to gentrification.
Are there any younger or totally off-the-radar bands from France right now that you feel deserve a closer look? Something you stumbled on in 2025 that made you feel that same raw, early excitement?
J: Not a lot in heavy music apart from death metal with bands like Mandibula or Sepulcre. There’s a huge new metal scene (also in hardcore music) but most of the projects sound generic. If you are more into indie music the last album from Bryan magic tears is great as their madchester vibe during their live sets.
But right now in France I feel the most interesting projects are coming from the experimental music scene. Just to name a few : Carte Noire (solo project of Romain who was the drummer of Headwar and current drummer of one of the best french band : France), Clément vercelletto (his setup reproducing an organ is crazy), Héron cendré (once again totally crazy modular setup), Bégayer (their live sets are always a real experience), 300mA, Undae tropic, Rg rough, Jihem rita, Ravi sharda…
Let’s flip it—what was the last live set you saw that really stayed with you? Something you couldn’t shake off, whether it was brutal, transcendent, or just plain weird?
P : It was the masters of occult rock Aluk Todolo. Their show was mind blowing. A real transcendental experience.
J: In music using guitars, I recently really enjoyed Blood Incantation, their current live set is really hypnotic. Also really enjoyed the sound of Black Curse live, which is massive.In experimental music, the current incarnation of Wolf Eyes is crazy, always re-inventing themselves. And also the comeback of Monopoly Star Chil Searcher was unexpected but still sounding amazing.
It’s your night off, no pressure, just a cold drink and loud amps—what’s the one band you’d most like to share a stage with in 2025?
J: Right now, I would say Blood Incantation
P: Oranssi Pazuzu
You’ve done Hellfest, Roadburn, Psycho Vegas… but if you could design your own dream setting to play Les Maîtres Fous* live again—location, visual concept, even audience vibe—what would that look like?
J: It already happened when we played it for the first time at the Quai Branly museum in Paris.It was the best place we could have to play it.
P: We played there in a magnificent amphitheatre, in a magnificent museum. I like the idea of an amphitheatre. It could be cool to perform “Les Maîtres Fous” in an antic amphitheater, like Pink Floyd in Pompei ^^
I’m always curious how instrumental bands experience feedback. With no lyrics to dissect, people often project their own feelings onto the sound. Have you heard any surprising interpretations of your music that stuck with you?
P: We really like the idea that people project their own feelings onto our music. I remember one crazy comment where people said that listening to our music made them want to drive through the forest at night in a car full of drugs. But what touches me the most are the testimonials from people who say that our music has helped and inspired them during difficult periods in their lives.
Let’s say someone listens to Les Maîtres Fous without knowing the backstory. What would you hope they feel—or maybe even fear?
Tension malaise hypnotisé
You’ve been at this for nearly 25 years. What still surprises you about being in a band like YEAR OF NO LIGHT? What keeps the fire going when you’ve already explored so many sonic dimensions?
J: Continue the exploration of new sonic territories.
