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Single track albums can be a bit of a tough sell. Attention spans being something of an endangered species, the shuffle button rules over many with an iron fist and the idea of committing more than 3 minutes of one's life to a single song is tantamount to lunacy these days. So it goes, yet - surprise, surprise - sometimes artists don't particularly care about what you want when they're making things, and sometimes artists do make things which defy today's patience deprived listening climate; Déhà's A Fleur de Peau - I - There is No Home is one of those things. It may not necessarily be your thing, but if it turns out that it is then trust me: it's really gonna be your thing.
Just what kind of thing is that? For starters, A Fleur de Peau is, obviously, a single track album. Sure, it's presented as 'Parts I - VI', with said chapters being given titles and everything, yet this 41 minute ride is solely offered as one cohesive listening experience: if you want to listen to any of it, you're listening to all of it. In the name of full disclosure, I'll also confess that if you've heard some of A Fleur de Peau, you've heard most of it: the track/suite/album largely operates around one core melody, sustained for the entirety of its duration. A Fleur de Peau is a single moment in time stretched out into something sprawling and unforgiving, it does not care about your feelings or your attention span, aside from its mission to strangle the former and bleed the latter dry. As I've stated, this album is not for everyone, but if it's for you it's likely really for you.
Just who is this thing for, anyway? In a word: me. In a few more words: fans of NONE, Vvilderness and Unreqvited. There is no happiness to be heard amidst these shrieks and tremolo-picked guitars, and though the atmosphere that Déhà has created here is as cold and jagged as it gets, it is also tender, wounded in its own right. At its core, A Fleur de Peau is atmospheric black metal of the DSBM variety, with slight traces of sludge mixed in to keep things properly oppressive. Clean, brooding guitars get things started and occasionally resurface along the way, but by and large this soundscape is awash with distortion and screams, a world of sheer despair. Unbridled agony and a plea for its cessation is what Déhà has for us today, and if you haven't been scared off yet it's likely that you've arrived at the doorstep of your musical home.
Normally I'd have more things to say at this point in a review, but ordinarily I'd also have more songs to discuss and these are not normal times, so I don't… Or do I? I really don't, but Déhà does: while you're at his Bandcamp page, check out the recently released Just Stay at Home single posted there. Apparently Déhà hates COVID-19 just as much as the rest of us, his gripes just sound better. Written as a means to vent his own frustrations regarding the coronapocalypse, eventually the track will find a home on a future Déhà album, provided The Great Toilet Paper Famine doesn't kill us all, but for now it's as good a way as any to channel your disgust as we ride out this pandemic in isolated solidarity. Honestly, if blackened post hardcore decrying a plagued humanity doesn't isn't what the doctor ordered, then frankly your doctor sucks.
A Fleur de Peau is, for the millionth time, not for everyone. It is not for the deficient of attention, nor is it for the casual black metal fan. Those without patience or a penchant for pure, pummeling pessimism will find little to love here - and that's just fine. However, those listeners whose tastes dwell in darkness and dream of the end are likely to find something to be cherished in these 40-some minutes, a haunted and hateful home of their own.