Arthur Arsenne moves through sound like a composer charting unexplored territories. The French multi-instrumentalist has spent over a decade working at the edges of conventional music, where post-rock meets electroacoustic composition and noise becomes narrative. It all began with teenage obsessions over bands like Tool and Isis, but a single encounter with Pat Metheny's brutal Zero Tolerance for Silence at the age of twelve sent him down a different route entirely. That early exposure to harsh sonic textures planted seeds that would grow into a career spanning experimental rock trio, Toru, his industrial ambient solo project, Lusya, and the independent label, Arsenic Solaris.
What drives Arsenne isn't rebellion against musical conventions but genuine fascination with what happens when those conventions dissolve. He approaches each project—whether composing for dance, layering field recordings from French Guiana, or routing an eight-string guitar through modular synthesizers—with the same curiosity that first drew him to Pat Metheny's most challenging work. The results speak for themselves: music that invites listeners into personal spaces where imagination runs free.
Lawrence Peryer: How did your early experiences with rock and noise music shape your approach to composition and sound design?
Arthur: As a teenager, I dove into progressive rock and metal with bands like Isis, Tool, Porcupine Tree, and Oceansize. Then I started craving something more extreme, more intense. I listened to a lot of black and death metal, and while exploring forums online, I came across increasingly obscure, radical, and experimental projects.
I think my very first real encounter with a noise aesthetic came from my father, who had me listen to Zero Tolerance for Silence by Pat Metheny. It’s a unique album in his discography—saturated, brutal, almost harsh noise, but technically incredible. I was barely twelve or thirteen, and that record left a deep impression on me.
Later, I discovered Black One by Sunn O))). I didn't understand that music at first, but I was obsessed with it. I kept listening to it on repeat, which drove me to dig deeper: Boris, the Melvins, Earth, Merzbow, and Oren Ambarchi. These discoveries were a turning point. They made me want to start my noise and experimental projects.
What fascinated me was the idea that you could make music without following traditional structures—no riffs, no verse/chorus format—focusing instead on textures, atmospheres, and raw sonic impact. That shaped my compositional approach from the beginning. I started working with bass and effects, and then guitar and modular synths naturally followed as tools to create unique and rich textures.
Lawrence: You studied electroacoustic composition formally, ultimately earning a Master's in Musicology. How does your academic training interact with your experimental mindset? Do these sometimes feel like opposing forces?
Arthur: My studies gave me a lot from a technical standpoint: recording techniques, mixing, and composition itself. Learning how to articulate and arrange sounds, to think about their sequence, density, and spatial placement—these are things that don't happen entirely by chance. You can approach them intuitively, but consciously understanding them makes a big difference in the creative process.
I also learned how to analyze works, recognizing their structure, identifying leitmotifs, and understanding why one chord follows another. It gave me very concrete tools to listen better and compose more effectively.
On the artistic side, though, I never quite felt comfortable within the very codified and academic framework of electroacoustic music. There's a kind of orthodoxy that doesn't resonate with me. I've always struggled with strictly following the "rules," and that earned me some pretty harsh criticism from certain juries during my studies. (laughter) But it also pushed me to find my path, to step aside and do things differently.
Lawrence: What draws you to sonic territories that exist at the margins of conventional music, as found in post-rock, sludge, noise, drone, and electroacoustic music?
Arthur: Above all, I’m drawn to the freedom. I've always resisted rigid frameworks and fixed formats. For example, in some styles, you often find very codified structures, such as a blues grid that you're supposed to follow. I enjoy deconstructing those codes, experimenting, and trying things out without having to fit into a specific box or defined genre.
With Toru, we have a lot of fun playing with that, and it's incredibly artistically stimulating. I don't feel the need to claim any precise style in my projects. What fascinates me are unexpected combinations, contrasts, and unconventional approaches to sound.
Working with textures is central to me. They're evocative, almost narrative in their way. Often, without meaning to, I end up creating shapes close to soundscapes in my personal work, like inviting the listener into a space—a very personal universe they can inhabit and let their imagination run free.
Lawrence: The Toru/Brutalism split release features "Witches' Cliff"—a twenty-two-minute composition. What specific artistic elements were you exploring in this extended format that couldn't be expressed in shorter pieces?
Arthur: The length of the piece came naturally. We wanted to create a long-form track for a while, but it wasn't a set goal. The piece itself dictated its rhythm and structure.
I'm speaking for myself here, but to me, "Witches' Cliff" is a piece I would describe as narrative. It tells a story, but without forcing a single interpretation—everyone can project their meaning onto it. The title directly refers to a mental image that Héloïse, Nicolas, and I imagined while composing it: a cliff inhabited by a community of witches, living in sync with pagan rituals and deeply connected to nature.
We put a lot of work into the percussion and textures, transforming our guitar sounds to the point where they were no longer recognizable as guitars. This track was recorded two months after Velours Dévorant, an album that took us nearly four years to complete. We needed something fresh, to break away from routine and rediscover spontaneity.
Lawrence: Can you talk about how the electroacoustic, ambient, and shamanic influences came together in your compositional approach for "Witches' Cliff"?
Arthur: We composed it directly in the studio. Each of us would spontaneously bring in ideas—a drum pattern, a guitar texture, a vocal line—and we would immediately build on them. You could almost compare the process to assembling a sonic mille-feuille. We stacked layers of instruments one on top of the other, responding instinctively to what each person proposed.
It was very intuitive. We'd often say things like, "Oh, your guitar line makes me want to try this," and then we'd record right away. It felt like a form of collective electroacoustic composition, with particular care given to textures, their interaction, and how they occupied the space.
There were no constraints or predefined goals, which made the experience free and fun. Manu, our sound engineer, played an essential role, always being responsive and attentive, even when we had slightly wild requests.
The only part recorded live is the introduction of the piece, which served as our base. Everything else was built up in successive layers. And even though we wanted to move toward something more ambient, we didn't use any synthesizers. All the sounds came from guitars or vocals, processed in real time through effect pedals.
Lawrence: How do you balance spontaneity with compositional intent when working in groups like Toru?
Arthur: In Toru, we find a pretty natural balance. With Nico (Brisset, drums and percussions), we often start by developing rhythmic cells, motifs that we build on, twist, but without overdoing it either: we want to maintain a certain openness. Héloïse (Francesconi, guitar, synthesizer, and various objects) then comes in and locks into that, and it's she who brings in the improvisational impulse, which gives the material a breath and makes it evolve. After that, we build it together.
What interests us is the contrast and juxtaposition of very written moments with more free, fluid sequences. In these improvised sections, we always know where we start (point A) and where we need to end up (point B), but what happens between the two is fluid, always transforming. We still give ourselves some landmarks or anchors, so we don't get lost, but there is always an element of the unknown, and that's what makes things alive.
Lawrence: Is there anything in particular that you consider distinctive in getting your sound?
Arthur: The integration of the eight-string guitar in Toru was a major turning point in my way of playing and composing. It's truly an instrument in its own right, halfway between the guitar and the bass. For me, it's the perfect compromise. I can seamlessly move from a very deep and powerful line to higher chords, without switching instruments.
It's a bit like having a double-neck guitar, but much more intuitive and manageable. The eight-string guitar is often associated with djent (a subgenre of progressive metal) or highly technical metal; however, what I find interesting is its use in a completely different context - one that is more experimental and atmospheric. It's this instrument that has most transformed my approach to sound in recent years.
Lawrence: What attracts you to modular synthesis as a compositional tool? Has your relationship with electronic instruments changed how you approach traditional ones like the guitar?
Arthur: I primarily use a modular synthesizer in my solo project, Lusya, which is a blend of power electronics, black metal, and industrial ambient. It's a fairly recent project that I've already performed live a few times, and the first album will be released soon.
What I love about modular synths is that you can do anything with them. It's an incredibly free instrument. I originally had a large setup, which I gradually downsized to make it easier to transport for live shows.
I use modular synths in a broad sense. I run my voice through it via a microphone, as well as contact mics, and everything is processed in real-time. The synth can trigger drums, oscillators, or various commands. It essentially becomes a miniature orchestra, capable of generating rich textures or acting as a sound-processing tool. It also allows me to trigger samples during performances. It's truly a magical instrument, capable of producing unexpected, fascinating sounds.
I wouldn't say it radically changed my relationship to the guitar or bass, but rather that it expanded the sonic possibilities I can achieve with those instruments. I enjoy routing their signals through the modular system to transform them in-depth. It's a new palette that interacts with the other instruments I use, without necessarily replacing them.
Lawrence: In founding Arsenic Solaris and Death Carnival Records, what were you pursuing that wasn't represented by existing labels?
Arthur: To answer your question, I think a brief history of the label is in order.
Initially, I founded Death Carnival Records in 2014 with a friend. We mainly released noise, HNW (harsh noise wall), lo-fi experimental, or improvised music, all on handmade cassettes or mini-discs in limited editions. Very quickly, I found myself managing the label alone, and I wanted to take it further, to do something more structured. That's how Arsenic Solaris was born in 2015, with DCR becoming its sub-label (which is more or less dormant today).
Then there was a huge setback: a serious motorcycle accident in 2019, followed by the pandemic. Everything froze for three years.
It was thanks to Toru that I regained the desire to relaunch the label. This wasn’t just about releasing our records, but also about collaborating with other artists whose music I admire. Today, I try to take AS to a more professional level while keeping the passion intact.
The label is generally dedicated to dark, esoteric, experimental, and radical music. I don't impose any style constraints; you can find everything from ambient to death metal, folk, industrial, and free jazz. What matters to me is building a global aesthetic with each artist I release. Labels like Utech, Sige, and WV Sorcerer have significantly influenced my approach in this regard.
I also have a real passion for splits and collaborative albums, which I think are often underestimated. I believe they are fertile formats that allow for unexpected musical encounters. I'm working on a project around improbable collaborations, somewhat in the spirit of what Manfred Eicher did with ECM—but I won't say more for now!
Lawrence: In an age of streaming and digital distribution, what value do you see in physical, tactile artifacts?
Arthur: Some releases from the label, especially the cassettes, are entirely handmade. I take care of everything: the engraving, the covers, the stamps, the numbering. It's a process that I love, even though it takes time. I only allow myself to do this for limited editions, with no more than one hundred copies.
I use digital platforms like everyone else, especially Bandcamp, which I'm a big fan of. But the physical format remains my preference. I have a large collection of vinyl, CDs, and cassettes, and I regularly listen to my favorite albums on these formats. To me, nothing beats the ritual of listening to a vinyl record: taking it out of its sleeve, placing it on the turntable, sitting on the couch, and listening to it with full attention.
Today, pressing a record has become complicated and expensive, much more than it was ten or fifteen years ago. But despite that, I believe it's fundamental, both for the bands and the audience. Many of us are collectors, and having a unique, limited, almost exclusive item is still something powerful. It's a way to support artists and create objects that have true aesthetic and emotional value. Plus, it's so satisfying to go to a concert and come back with merch from a band you loved. It extends the experience, leaving a tangible trace of that moment.
Lawrence: The visual aspect of your work appears to be important. How do you view the relationship between sound and image?
Arthur: It's a complex question. Let's say that I have a real preference for abstract or intriguing covers, those that leave room for interpretation. For the label, I often try to steer towards visuals linked to nature, photos, textures, organic shapes, or more abstract drawings. However, I give the artists a lot of freedom on this point. My role primarily involves layout, arranging the credits, selecting fonts, and other elements to create visual coherence between the releases.
With Toru, it's a bit different: Héloïse, Nico, and I have very different tastes, so it often leads to lengthy discussions to find a common direction. But we always end up agreeing on something that we all like.
Lawrence: You've also produced over forty albums with artists from around the world. What qualities do you look for when deciding to release someone's work?
Arthur: What matters to me above all are the emotions that come through the music. The recording can be more or less professional in quality—that's not what puts me off. If something resonates with me, touches me deeply, then that's what matters.
But it's not just about the music. When I receive demos, I appreciate it when the band takes the time to present a well-thought-out project, not just a message like: "Hey, we've recorded an album, do you want to release it on AS?" (I get way too many messages like that). I need to feel a real investment. A press kit, a clear presentation of the band's background, and visible activity in their local scene—these all show that there is motivation and a real dynamic behind the project.
And then, there's an aspect that's rarely talked about but is essential to me: the human relationship. A label and an artist exchange a lot before releasing a record. Bonds are formed, and many of the artists I've worked with on Arsenic Solaris are now friends. I couldn't work with someone I don't get along with on a human level.
Lawrence: Your bio mentions learning Eliane Radigue's "Elemental II" directly from Kasper T. Toeplitz through oral transmission. How did this experience shape your understanding of performing electroacoustic works?
Arthur: It was an enriching encounter and experience, which I had during my studies. I was already a big admirer of Éliane Radigue's work, and being able to speak directly with Kasper T. Toeplitz about his way of working and his collaboration with her was truly fascinating.
What stood out to me was that, in this particular piece, "Elemental II," Kasper uses a patch developed in Max/MSP (a visual programming environment often used in experimental electronic music to create interactive systems for real-time sound processing). But since I wasn't very comfortable with that software, he didn't impose it on me. I was able to design my own setup using effect pedals, which allowed me to approach the piece with my tools.
What mattered was the playing techniques on the bass and the intention behind the sound. The piece is divided into five sections, and each one requires a specific kind of presence, a gesture, a breath. Also, it's a piece with no written score; everything is transmitted orally. That approach opened my eyes to the importance of interpretation in music, showing me how one can embody sound, even when it's very slow and minimal.
It's not just about executing notes; it's a true physical and mental commitment.
Lawrence: How does composing for dance, with choreographers like Constance Delorme and Eric Oberdorff, differ from your approach to recording projects? Does physical movement change how you think about sound?
Arthur: It requires a very different approach to composition and usually involves commissions from a choreographer who has a precise vision that I then have to translate into sound. These are projects with constraints, which can push me out of my comfort zone, and that's a very good thing. It leads me to explore musical directions I probably wouldn't have considered without the visual aspect imposed by the choreography.
In this context, music plays a supporting role, accompanying the dancers and providing rhythm, pulse, and cues. But it can also influence the choreography, depending on how the work is developed. Some choreographers work in a highly collaborative way and enjoy building the piece in interaction with the music; others have a fully defined choreographic idea from the outset and request music that fits their vision. In any case, it requires thinking about sound differently, in close relation to the body and movement.
Lawrence: What current musical or artistic ideas are you most excited to explore in your upcoming work?
Arthur: Right now, with Toru, we're focusing a lot on collaborations with other artists, and it's something that excites us. We have a few projects in the works, some exciting ideas up our sleeves. Collaborations really push us to explore new directions.
On my side, I'm very invested in my solo project, Lusya. I'm composing my first album, and at the moment, I'm particularly focusing on vocals, exploring techniques like scream and growl. It's a project with lyrics, and they play a key role in the composition of my songs. It's a challenge I had never dared to tackle before, but I finally feel ready to fully commit to it.
I also recently joined another project, Ladeûlas. It's a band/collective with two drummers, two guitars, a keyboard, and a bass. I've always wanted to play with two drummers and in a larger formation. This project allows me to experience that. I play guitar (six strings) and vocals. The first album was released on Arsenic Solaris earlier this year before I joined the band. I’ve learned the already composed tracks for the live shows, and I’m looking forward to composing new material with the band.
Have a listen to Arthur Arsenne's discography on Bandcamp as well as the Arsenic Solaris catalog, also on Bandcamp.
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