Maladie – Symptoms V

Truth be told—when I first heard Symptoms V, it didn’t land.

It didn’t soulgaze me into submission like Symptoms III did, nor did it have me rejoicing like IV.

It was dissonant. Dense. Very jazz-y.

Technically, I could appreciate it. Emotionally? Not so much.

 

But then I started writing Maladie Week.

Pushed this one off till last.

And good thing I did. Because then I did what I do best. Went full hyperfocus in a Danish holiday cottage, ignoring everyone I was supposedly on vacation with, surviving on caffeine, canned Carlsberg and plague riffs alone.

 

Thirty-two hours later—give or take—I was sleep-deprived, emotionally frayed, and deep into a blog series no one asked for.

 

And somewhere in that state of beautiful exhaustion? Symptoms V finally hit.

Apparently I just needed to be beat into submission.

Alright. Symptoms V.

Five tracks. Twenty-nine minutes.

Pretty straightforward. One might think.

 

Fun fact—this one didn’t just take its sweet time with me, it also did with Björn. Chronologically, V is actually older than IV. He wrote and recorded it first. When he was not exactly thriving. But somehow—it never felt finished. Which, in the world of Björn Köppler, is rare. Usually, he writes, records, releases. Done.

Not this one. This one got pushed back. Shelved.

 

Instead, he made Symptoms IV next.

Which was created during a time he was doing well. Because he and Wiebke had happened.

And boy—does that make sense.

I was a bit chuffed when he told me that.

Symptoms IV is the happy one. The most approachable. The fan favourite. The one to laugh and dance to.

Of course that one was written on a high.

 

But I digress. We’re here for Symptoms V. The one that didn’t come easy.

At the core of Symptoms V, the theme's time. Or rather, the suffocating, relentless loss of it. That growing realisation that time has started slipping by unnoticed. That weird grief that comes with noticing it too late. With watching the people around you age. With thinking about the future and realising you’re not actually thinking of your own. That frustration, that quiet panic—that's what pulses underneath these songs. It's not sadness. It’s rage at transience. 

 

After IV was finished and released, Björn went back to Symptoms V. Gave it one more round. Re-listened. Sat with it.

And in the end? He didn’t change much. He left most of it the way it was. But—he added two more rhythm guitars.

Because two would’ve been shamefully few, clearly.

We now have four. Naturally.

 

And then he called it done. Finally.

Symptoms V got cued up for release.

Just under a year after IV.

You press play on Symptoms V, and what follows is 29 minutes of delightful punishment.

 

We begin with saxophone—warped and uneasy—floating over ambient weirdness. But it doesn’t last. Within seconds, dissonance barrels in, guitars scraping across your brain, cymbals tapping like an impatient metronome, and vocals that don’t so much sing as preach. But not the comforting kind. More like the kind of street preacher who locks eyes with you at the wrong moment and mutters prophecies you weren’t ready to hear.

 

Vocals are absolutely unhinged here. I am talking glorious, guttural, vulnerable madness. The riffs spiral downward, the saxophone just vibes over relentless grooves. Somewhere in the chaos, the madness becomes method. Dissonance becomes rhythm. And then—of course—Maladie being Maladie, we shift gears completely.

 

The final third of  The Implacability Of Time veers sideways.

Suddenly, we’re in blastbeat territory. The vocals border on rap. A scream that had me whooping.

It’s an opening track that doesn’t welcome—it shoves you in, disorients you, and dares you to keep up.

 

We end with a Schiller quote. Why?

No idea. I forgot to ask. Can’t think of everything.

Let’s just file it under ambitious choices and move on, shall we?

Black Hole Weight in Our Hearts is the first single—and it's my favourite on this EP. No competition. No debate.

Why? 1:04. That's why.

After dissonance and snarls and rasps and a growl so good it gave me actual goosebumps—"HAUKEEEEE!"

 

I swear, I nearly fell off the couch laughing the first time I heard it. By now, the track is so familiar to me, I know exactly when that bit is coming. I can feel the song building toward it. And yet—every single time—it makes me grin. Maladie—making music dense enough to make jazz purists sweat—and then suddenly, out of nowhere, they break the fourth wall from across the border and wink straight at you. Effortlessly. Again and again.

 

And Hauke does what Hauke does: he brings the saxophone back, and with it—finally—a melody. A good one. Wistful. Hum-along-on-first-listen good. You don’t know how it works. It just does.

 

Right. I’ll be honest—Procreation of a Dead God starts rough. Super dissonant, borderline incoherent. Piano and saxophone spiral off into what I can only describe as free jazz chaos, and unless your brain is fully caffeinated and your soul has signed the appropriate waiver, it’s—a lot.

 

It’s dense. It’s avant-garde. It’s not trying to meet you halfway.

This is not a track that gives—it demands.

 

And if you’re tired, distracted, or simply not in the mood to be spiritually tackled by improvised jazz black metal, it’s not going to land.

 

But—vocals? Still excellent. This whole EP is stacked with strong vocal work, and this track is no exception. Even when the rest of it feels like an anxiety attack in 7/8, the voice cuts through.

 

We close again on that same ambient wash—warbly, strange, consistent across the whole EP. Like it’s tethering the chaos together. Just barely.

 

Because yeah—some albums set your mood. Others require one.

Symptoms V?

Absolutely the latter.

Black Chamber Within Golden Walls opens with yet another jazz excursion—Hauke just vibing, the rest of the instruments politely following along. It feels loose. Improvised. And if you’re not in the mood for jazz that day? You might find yourself taking a deep breath and pinching the bridge of your nose.

 

Björn wasn’t kidding when he said he wanted Maladie to lean more into jazz. They lean. Fully. Sideways.

 

But then the vocals hit—and they make it all worth it. Both singers deliver, but the snarls in particular are immaculate. I’d listen to those snarl through my taxes.

 

We even get piano-and-sax jazz vibes over blast beats (because sure, why not) before the whole track meanders its way out like it wandered in: loose, free-form, untamed. Definitely the most challenging piece—more texture than melody. 

 

All Shall See feels like an outro, but an unhinged one. Gothic keys, spooky organs, sweeping strings—it’s giving haunted cathedral. Déhà leans all the way into the drama, delivering operatic vocals over virtuosic, slightly manic piano runs and escalating drum rolls. It’s cinematic. Massive. Surprisingly coherent. And for the first time on this EP, you’re not getting whiplash.

 

Instead, you’re being escorted to the exit, blinking into the daylight, unsure what just happened—but knowing, somehow, that it was worth it.

And that’s Symptoms V. The shelved one. The furious one. The one that didn’t land—until it did.

 

Maladie Week wraps here. Five EPs in five days. One long, glorious descent into musical chaos, and accidental jazz appreciation. And just in time, too—because Maladie isn’t slowing down.

 

The next two records are already finished. One of them a full-blown sequel to For We Are the Plague—band internally crowned the band’s best yet. The one after that? More black metal. More jazz. More noise. There’s also a secret EP. 

 

So yeah. There’s more coming. Plenty more for my hyperfixation-prone brain to latch onto.

And honestly? I can’t wait.