Aclds
Fuadain Liesmas
CD (E214)


These works were created within the never-ending labyrinth
of disbelief and the devastating confusion when dealing in
total isolation with the corruption of a union.

Stop, start, finish and repeat again.

Nothing comes to surface to make any sense, and relief is
only temporary till the next cycle begins.

Aclds—Hrm Clng (2017)
Music: Chris Douglas
Animation: Satoshi Aizawa

Mastered by Jacques Beloeil

Limited edition of 200 copies
Out of print





Reviews

I want you to imagine a giant robot, lost in a world it does
not understand, holding a more aleatoric Morton Subotnick
in one hand and a noisier Autechre in the other hand and
trying to figure out how they work, while the mad scientist
who built this poor creature plays fragments of The Caretaker
and Stars Of The Lid to try to sooth it. That’s not what this
record sounds like, but it’s the best I’ve got, so let’s go with
it. There are walls of buzzing noises, torrents of blips and
pops, and echoes of sad, droning melodies. There are also
surprising moments of subtle beauty. Can a perfectly
positioned and executed click be beautiful? I don’t know
what weird mind tricks it’s playing, but this album makes
me think the answer is yes.

Dogrando writes about some records


Listening to Fuadain Liesmas in all of its glorious, meticulous
intricacy, dissolves the very fabric of time and space. It’s as
though I’m receiving forlorn communications from some other
interdimensional realm. The way in which he makes his
synthetic, sonic ecosystems sound so full of life and so utterly
heartbreaking is testament to his genius. The fourteen tracks
which comprise the album were “created within the never-
ending labyrinth of disbelief and the devastating confusion
when dealing in total isolation with the corruption of a union.”
These emotions are vividly palpable — there are moments
which are so profoundly moving, they froze me in a state of
temporary paralysis. It’s as though he’s subconsciously
composing the very sounds of his limbic system — the sad
songs of neurotransmitters. Words become futile.

Norman Records