One week under the Tuscan sun left my brain fried. Literally. Emotionally. Possibly structurally. So, naturally, I listened to the new Maladie album on the flight home. I was already fucked in the head. Might as well make productive use of it.

The one that took its time—and then knocked me sideways. Final day of Maladie Week. Five tracks, infinite dissonance, and more jazz than anyone asked for.

We kick off Maladie Week with Symptoms: the unplanned, sprawling 41-minute EP that started the series. Saxophones, blast beats, and no middle ground.