HISTOIRE COURTE
The Diabolique siblings were born in France but taken from each other at an early age. They grew up and lived separately around the world, but in 2004 Didier, Dominique, Jean-Luc, and Solange reunited in North Carolina, to make music that they send out into the world with the hope that it will reach their missing sister and the band's namesake: Veronique Diabolique.

HAIKU
for a spare moment
veronique diabolique's
history hiaku:

french goths from durham
veronique diabolique
they make my heart bleed

they are looking for
their beloved vronique
a missing sister

their oldest brother
kidnapped by russian peasants
jean-luc on the drums

lurking in shadows
didier remains silent
only the bass rings

the guitar shrieking
conflicting identities
solange is unsure

dominique the fair
a contrast to the dark one
sings for her soulmate

FAMILY HISTORY
The end of the 1960's was a turbulent time in France. Away from the turmoil but amidst the backdrop of student strikes and riots, the country's emergence as a nuclear power, and the good news paradox of Louffrani's yellow smiley face, lived our happy family. Our father, a mime who subsidized his income from the avenues as a choreographer for Peggy Fleming, and our mother, an Algerian born engineer directing the aerospace Project de la Concorde. Passionately in love with each other and the blessings of life, they had five children: Did, S, JL, Dom & V. Up to this point our memories are dim, but from this point our story grows dark.

Veronique has forever been little more than an angel and ghost to us, her brothers and sister. She left us at an early age, we may never know whether she was sent or taken, and went to a convent in the country side. A brilliant and capricious child, she was known and cherished by all for both her striking beauty and the inscrutably forlorn songs she sang. We were heartbroken when she left, sunk in to a melancholy from which we may never emerge. Our parents could barely speak of her departure, struggling through sobs only to tell us "It is too painful and sorrowful for our innocent children to bear this truth, but perhaps one day it shall be revealed."

Only a few somber days after Veronique was gone from our home, we, three brothers and sister, awoke before dawn to a grey sky more ominous than any we could have ever imagined. A magistrate rang at the door, arriving before the sun, and demanded to see our parents. But when we went to wake them, they were nowhere to be found. "They have left you alone?" he cried. "Abandoned? Or perhaps they have already been alerted..."

"You children remain here, while I continue my investigations" he said. "This mystery is too deep and the tale unfolding too horrific for your tender youth."

Only later did we become aware that the events of that night, heralded by the magistrates arrival, would preclude the sun ever rising again to bring light into our bleak future. Sometime during the night, the convent that housed, but we knew could never be home to Veronique, had erupted into flames. The entire compound was in ruins, with the exception of one bed, the bed that had been Veronique's . It was determined that no one died in the fire, and everyone had escaped to safety and was accounted for. Everyone, that is, except our Veronique. She was nowhere to be found...

PRESS
Mick Mercer selected "Carte Postale" as one of the Best EP's of 2005: "Véronique Diabolique are wonderfully wayward, edgy and evocative."
The Mick, No. 22

"...an excellent debut from an act that has been able to tap into a movement in a fresh and exciting way... Theyre entertaining and literate, sounding vaguely like the Velvet Underground would if they lived in Paris instead of New York. When it all comes together, I cant help but love it despite myself..."
ReGen Magazine, August 2005, by rikm

"They call Carrboro 'the Paris of the Piedmont,' right? But it's Durham that lays claim to the melancholic Frenchies in Veronique Diabolique. Painted up and feeling down, VD temper high-concept, gothy indulgence with chicly low-rent, dirty song craft. Sure, they cite dead philosophers, filmmakers, and long-lost sisters as influences, but the band's songs are never excessively brainy or overcooked, their guitars are reeled in, and their vocals are sexily in check. Sure, Dominique, the band's somber chanteuse, is embroiled in an interesting love affair with Papa Deconstructionist, but when the opening bars of the band's aural ode "Derrida" clang and clatter and the song runs its simple course, there's no head scratching, just an exotic and exciting feeling."
Independent Weekly, February 8, 2006