��Thomas Boettner and his Fire Island, AK project continues to crank out these small slabs of abrasive, unsettling noise, recordings that sit somewhere in the filthy black gutter between the realms of primitive industrial music, surrealistic field recordings, and blasting harsh noise depravity. This extremely limited 3" CDR on Boettner's own BTNR imprint features roughly fourteen minutes of material that pays homage to Lautr�amont's transgressive classic Les Chants de Maldoror; this disc actually came out back in 2010, but we just unearthed some copies of this disc, finally making it available here at C-Blast for the first time. Adorned in provocative images (photos of someone snorting lines of coke that have been laid out in the form of a swastika, shirtless young men, etc.) that could pass for the cover of a Dennis Cooper chapbook, Maldoror offers yet another glimpse into the anguished skull-space of Boettner's black sonic world.

��The first part of Maldoror is abrasive as hell, a clusterfuck of crumbling junk-noise and collapsing scrap metal heaps that sprawl out for nearly nine minutes, a brutal mind-melting din of blown-out K2-esque junknoise destruction that becomes increasingly infested with tuneless free-jazz horns like something off of an early Bormetomagus live tape, blasts of squealing high end feedback, random garbage-can percussion, and monstrous guttural vocals. As you can imagine, this is some seriously punishing shit, a combination of that aforementioned Borbetomagus-esque skronk and disgusting, drooling, brain-damaged vocals, torrents of brutal scrapyard noise, collapsing rhythms and wheezing drones, all mangled together in a filthy clump of psychedelic ear-abuse.

��The second part certainly doesn't ease up on the ugliness, but this shorter track has those weird bleating horns sounding more like some kind of broken harmonica, the furious tuneless blowing producing some weirdly bluesy strains over the screeching feedback and harsh distorted vocals, which by this point have turned into something more resembling the blackened shriek of past Fire Island Ak releases; the cumulative effect is somewhat similar to that of hearing some lobotomized Mississippi blues man blowing out his harmonica over a particularly ear-piercing Whitehouse performance.

�� Vicious, nauseating, and for harsh improv noise mutants only. The disc comes attached via a small plastic hub to a huge two foot by four foot black and white foldout poster, each one hand numbered in an edition of 82 copies, and enclosed in a manila envelope covered in black and white text labels and full color collage art.