In this interview, J-L discusses his shift from metal frontman to solo artist, blending new wave and growl vocals, embracing introspection, artistic freedom, and defending independent music through Bandcamp exclusivity.
1. After
years fronting metal bands like Hanibal Death Machine, Aloïs, and Votre
Seigneurie, what personal or artistic need pushed you toward launching J-L as a
solo project?
Actually,
long before all the bands you mentioned, I had already started making music in
my younger years with new wave. I was really into The Cure and quite a few
other bands from that era.
Then, in
May, I wanted to start writing songs for Hanibal Death Machine, but everything
I was coming up with sounded new wave. And honestly, I really liked it. So I
told myself I couldn’t release that under HDM, and decided to make it a solo
project instead. Now I’ve got about ten tracks in this very particular style.
2. J-L
sits at the crossroads of New Wave, Gothic Cold Wave, and Metal. How did you
approach blending these worlds without diluting the intensity each genre
carries?
Honestly,
it’s a bit of a mystery. Everything I was writing sounded really good to me. I
did have this idea of fusing growl vocals with new wave music, and in the end,
to my own surprise, it works really well together.
Nothing was
really planned, it all came to me quite naturally. And I’m really happy with
the feedback I’ve been getting—it’s been great. In the end, people really get
the concept, and I’m often told it sounds like The Cure sung by Rammstein…
which honestly makes me really happy.
3. Your
vocals remain rooted in a deep, controlled growl, even as the music becomes
colder and more melancholic. What does this contrast represent for you
emotionally?
Yes, you’re
right, there’s always been something simmering inside me. That’s where the use
of growl vocals comes from. There’s probably still some anger in me, but it’s
much more under control now. That’s probably why it blends so well with colder,
more detached music.
4. Idée
fixe feels less like a debut single and more like a manifesto. What
core ideas or convictions were you determined to express with this first
release?
Actually,
on this first single and on everything that’s going to follow, I wanted to
write in a more poetic way than with Hanibal Death Machine. It’s an exercise I
really enjoy: I’m less confrontational, more subtle, and I love writing like
this.
5. The
atmosphere of the project is described as dark, cold, and introspective. How
much of that mood reflects your current inner landscape versus a constructed
artistic universe?
I think I’ve reached a point in my life where questions about the path I’ve taken naturally come up, like flipping through a photo album of my mistakes and my victories. It pushes me into a kind of personal introspection. It’s not painful at all—if anything, it feels nostalgic and cathartic, which is where that ethereal atmosphere comes from.
6. You’ve
taken a strong stance against streaming platforms, choosing Bandcamp
exclusivity instead. What experiences led you to this decision, and what kind
of relationship with listeners are you seeking instead?
This is a
cause that really matters to me, and I’m genuinely glad you asked that
question.
For quite some time now, I’ve been noticing how quickly the day-to-day reality of emerging bands trying to professionalize is deteriorating. The way streaming platforms operate — offering music for free to listeners and at a very low cost to themselves — simply does not compensate artists fairly.
In the end,
this removes a crucial source of income that would allow projects to grow and
develop. Today, a new band has to pay for everything: studio time, promotion,
and even the distribution of their own music on these platforms, often through
paid subscription packages. Yet there is no real return on investment at any
stage.
And that’s
something I strongly oppose. It often feels like bands are the ones getting the
short end of the stick, even though without them, there would be no creation at
all. Culture can exist without platforms, but it cannot exist without artists.
7. Coming
from band dynamics into a solo project, how has your creative process
changed—do you feel more exposed, more free, or both?
I actually
feel completely free, with full control over what I create. The music I write
is the kind of music I would want to hear as a listener — it’s very personal.
And most
importantly, I don’t owe anything to anyone. I take full responsibility for the
outcomes, whether they’re good or bad, and in the end, it’s a much more
comfortable position to be in.
8. The
reception to Idée fixe has been very positive. Did that
response validate your artistic risk, or did it raise new expectations for what
comes next?
To be
honest, I didn’t really see it as a risk at first. I was simply in love with
the sounds and with what they awakened in me.
But when
the single was released, everything suddenly came back to me, and I realized
that the feedback might be different from what I personally feel when listening
to my own music.
And to my
great surprise, everyone ended up being on the same wavelength as me. The
understanding of this singular piece of music is now fully there. The
production is refined and truly lives up to the ambition of the project.
9. With
a second single already announced for April 2026, can you hint at how the sound
or themes might evolve from what we hear on Idée fixe?
Yes, the
second single will be released in April. There won’t be a major shift compared
to Idée Fixe, but I think all the elements are pushed even further.
It’s
darker, with a faster tempo, yet the J-L signature is still very much there.
10. Looking
long-term, what do you hope J-L represents within the alternative and
underground scene: a continuation, a rupture, or something entirely new?
I’d like
J-L to be recognized within the alternative underground scene as a truly
singular project. Nothing else really sounds like it.
You can
hear the influences, of course, but the end result is completely original and
deeply personal. That’s what I want to establish.
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