Field Reports from the Western Lands – The Album


After almost a decade in the making, Reindeer’s first official full-length solo debut, Field Reports from the Western Lands, arrives appropriately in the spring of 2018 as a testament to our current blazing backdrop of social and political catastrophe; Reindeer’s anguished vocals backed by Nimrod’s sonic landscape of breathtaking post-rock tones and loops beckon you home to neon-lit ruins—Reindeer himself leading you by the hand through sprouting black monoliths out from a cracked, dying world.

A conceptual sequel to the fbcfabric & reindeer It’s Not Who You Know, It’s Whom You Know, this 16-track limited edition double vinyl in 4 parts utilizes various ‘field recordings,’ from environmental sounds throughout his travels in Europe and North America to dialogue samples of President Truman and Robert Oppenheimer, taking you on an experiential journey through the fallen Western World of murky dreams and alluring weightlessness—no, this is not an album that’s going to offer you any definiteness; rather, it endeavours to move you through the cavernous entrails of your own confused feelings via hallucinogenic impressions, spectral mirages and tones, carrying you from track to track through the chemical skies and radioactive rubble.

Not to mention that this album also includes a hauntingly gorgeous lyric booklet with original drawings by Reymundo Perez III (AKA Mildew of Papervehicle), and a digital download code as well, the entire package reminiscent of Reindeer’s notoriously complex and involved hand-crafted ‘Fragments from the Field’ packages containing forged documents from a seemingly eternal, glitchy atomic field.

Like a dreamer awakening to find the horror of his prison cell, except the horror is that the bars are nowhere to be seen—just the harrowing knowing of their existence—so it is to be submerged into the shifting, pulsating aural landscapes of this corroding lyrical maze, but with Reindeer guiding us through, his voice a blooming light amongst the wreckage.

Available 30th March 2018, Anette Records No.13

EU Customers Pre-Order Here

NoAm/MX/RoW Customers Pre-Order Here

All the love


chanting of the ever-circling skeletal family

Fractured visions of an open prison coming into focus, unsustainable materials to the expendable horizon.

…Worn fingers rattle the worn keys as a grey nothing sky has light drizzle fall over slate rooftops in an ‘unusually warm’ late October…

…/// The Minister for Information hangs disembowelled from a subsiding flagpole as gaunt workers are herded into pits, jet-washed with petrochemicals and set fire to.

The President is on the screen, dribbling and mangling his sordid words, his foetid maw undulating sickly between the pop-up advertising bubbles for additional content, fundamentalist Christian worship centres, arms expos and (your very own children being molested by ingrates).

Sacks of body parts are being unloaded from container ships as jaded shoppers are encouraged by halfwits in NBC suits with cattle prods to browse for white goods between the carcasses of refugee starvation victims.

Advertising space on the new border wall is going fast; hundreds of miles of pop princesses, beautiful alabaster white skin, baby blue eyes; just enough curves for the fat white rich rapists, just enough teen for the family values witch trial grand wizards’ ongoing abuse pageants. White bread privileged teens calmly loading assault rifles in their COD approach to small town high school blood bath under a beautiful spring morning sky.

Islamist fanatics greedily saw off the head of an embedded journalist under flickering generator lights in a Machiavellian tunnel complex, just hidden from the grasp of western intelligence agencies.

National Security computer mainframes loaded with sex tape revenge porn snuff jail cell execution double features and enough petty drug deals to sink the whole schooling system. Financiers writhing in bad debt print-outs folded into paper boats to float out into oil fields running tidal over native reservations.

‘…Our lord and saviour, Jesus Christ, dunked in a vat of urine by a homosexual…’

Greasy Hollywood mogul fingers stuffed into the mouths of disassociating rape victims. Hideous death dream of the one thousand year casting couch in flames. Left-wing protestors hosed in acids, beaten with clubs and violently arrested, as Klansmen march unhindered into the White House, shaking hands with the most sadistic reaches of Government.

Glass mirror towers to the heavens harbouring greedy, ruthless, white pieces of shit, sulking behind rosewood tables, idly fondling their secretaries, their tumours and their colostomy bags.

A series of photographs of the future Prime Minister gleefully fucking herself with the trotters of a dead pig, surrounded by her drunken school peers, egging her on, showering her in cocaine, while a cavalcade of poor and homeless types are boarded up into a derelict tower block, forced to starve and subsequently burnt to death…

…towers of asbestos insulation walling in flames///

Snapshots from the terminal field, broadcast via propaganda outlets, parading as fake news, acting under the auspices of shadow government agencies, operating behind fields of advertising agencies, marketeers and board room executives…

…all signs are pointing to a global scheme to make sure the rich outlive the poor. Bottom line beyond the bottom line. The workers will work and die at the factory. They can be directly reprocessed at the factory. This eliminates many costly steps in their exploitation.

Buy all of this garbage and believe all of this nonsense; whatever you want to think the agenda is, it is not.

Welcome to Annexia.

26th October 2017
London, England

news reports from the BRGHTN bunker: fragments from the field – out now

‘ . . . ‘Fragments from the Field’ was a project that began with me finding myself in exile from my adopted hometown of Connewitz, Leipzig, Germany under extreme conditions… I was suddenly on a night flight back to the UK, and made my way swiftly to the safe haven of Brighton on the south coast, where I was gladly able to install myself in the bunker of my close associate Paul Drury. My first duty was to procure myself a typewriter to work with, and thus the ‘Fragments from the Field’ were born… in an effort to generate new material, to document this turmoil, and also to keep my thoughts occupied with something creative during this time of great distress . . . ‘

Fragments from the Field is a collection of ‘found’ manuscripts on assorted papers from the atomic field… each one entirely hand-crafted and entirely unique, all forming a series of fifteen C4 envelopes… Each piece includes:

3x Fragments from the Field prose poems in an envelope
3x Auxiliary Elements in an envelope
2x ‘Paper Scrap’ Notes
1x Architectural Blackout
1x Nineteen Eighty-four Blackout
2x ‘Prepared’ Nineteen Eighty-Four Pages
1x Civil Defense Handbook Blackout
1x Photograph from the Zone
1x Atomic Detonation Sketch
1x Emergency Seed Packet
1x Download Code for Compiled Digital Materials

*Digiital Download Code include PDF files collecting the entire ‘Fragments from the Field’ Series in a collection of books:

Fragments from the Field (45 pages)
Architectural Blackouts (30 pages)
Civil Defense Blackouts (28 pages)
Nineteen Eighty-Four Blackouts (33 pages)
Paper Scrap Notes I (14 pages)
Paper Scrap Notes II (16 pages)
Photographs from the Zone (8 pages)
Auxiliary Fragments (4 pages)

Strictly limited to 15 copies worldwide… and now available from my own bandcamp page… please do be sure to investigate… all the love…


insidious utterances of the grim witch no.1

a dead, lifeless face, ripe with basic dishonesty, stares into the camera, as if a dismal puppet, or marionette for the depraved… we will support brutal dictators the world over…… we will sell arms to them, help bolster their oppressive regimes…..

we will turn our backs on our peaceful neighbours and help create new borders where they had previously be broken down……. her nasty countenance twists and contorts as she spills her evil and lies like foul bile being purged from her twisted and contorted guts…

we will help spread racism, bigotry and xenophobia…….. we will crush public healthcare, transport and education……. we will make sure that not one britain ever learns a second language or sees themselves as equal to the rest of the world……….

we will sodomise the heads of dead pigs and writhe in the blood of sacrificial children, we will completely dismantle any last traces of what could once be described as civilisation, culture, or even hope……..

……….she fixes her gaze one last time on the lens and stares, her elongated death stare, her lifeless, poisoned insect smile, insidious, sinister, evil…….


modernity hymns no.3

replacing the idle hour with the corporate regime, taking the human out of humanity… marketing and advertising, invisible indoctrination, a band of ogilvy’s parade alongside feminist torches of freedom, pressed white shirts, eye patches; edward bernay’s chuckling from his celebrity booth…

we are here to replace raw existence with political games… make every resource a number or a debt… choke on our fingers, writhe in the blood of the lamb… taste of the corporate body and drink the economic eucharist wine, make the world your adversary… let your policies do the talking…

we will sanitise and synthesise… plans laid-out over the finest rosewood and mahogany boardroom tables… bloated pieces-of-white-shit, tailored in hugo boss sign white papers and fantasise of young girls and younger boys; preach moralistic agendas and try to coerce reality according to the revelations…

cop cars patrolling; thugs with shiny badges and guns, ready to murder, execute and torture on the drop of a dime… patrolling city blocks like vultures or carrion crows… pools of blood along worn sidewalks… we aim to take the civil out of civilisation… turn every person into a code without a name…

burning oil rigs pour plumes of black smoke columns into the endless night, endless radioactive materials spilling into the oceans… we side-line the mind for the digital program… rape and pillage, pollute and desecrate… eat it, shoot it, kill it… sell, sell, sell… fuck ’em all then go to hell….


trump after inauguration no.4

sweden! …a thousand white piece-of-shit beer guts in baseball caps grunt and cheer… a duped mark is wheeled up onstage, all out of breath and out of time, freshly printed propaganda shirt… make amurikkka the ultimate police state again… a fallen star is born, mayhem and gang-rape in the aisles… 2% beer, corn dogs and foot long sandwiches of raw human waste…

this administration is running like a smoothly-operated death machine… IBM computers calculating KZ throughput as guards draped in finest hugo boss sip from their fanta bottles, reading fuchs news telling of great progress on the mighty wall… a hundred thousand mexicans flogged half to death and then brutally drowned in holy waters of the rio grande… boots in backs, tears in eyes…

watch him grab her aggressively by the pussy and leer close into her face… tangerine grimace, oily saliva, licking his lips, breathing through his nose… tiny shrivelled white piece-of-shit cock in his satin draws… aching cocaine uselessness and empty, soul-less sorrow… protracted octopus handshakes ensnaring their disgusted prey… being pulled into the vile slab of amber flesh and idiot stupidity… bleached grin of the bloated ignorance demon…

the world is a mess… the world is an angry place… mothers and children trapped in poverty in our inner cities… rusted-out factories scattered like tombstones across the landscape… the world is as angry as it gets… and from this day forward it is going to be amurikka first… we must protect our borders from the ravages of other countries… and we will be protected by god… a hundred thousand severed hands and feet form of mountain of flesh, soon to rot under a chemical sun…