FIRST released in 1992, this ‘enhanced’ repackaging of ‘The Scribbler’ on Cold Spring demonstrates, as if proof were needed, that Australia’s Shinjuku Thief are still well on the way to prominence. Amid several other re-releases, the group’s albums include ‘Bloody Tourist’ (1992), The Witch Hammer’ (1993), The Witch Hunter’ (1995), ‘The Witch Haven’ (2002), Matte Black’ (2004), ‘Sacred Fury’ (2005) and last year’s ‘Devolution’ (2006). The music for ‘The Scribbler’ was first used as part of the country’s 1990 Lygon Arts Festival and was originally titled ‘K’, a reference to the main character in Czech-Jewish author Franz Kafka’s novel, ‘The Trial’ (1925). The music is composed by Darrin Verhagen, who is assisted here by Francois Tetaz (arrangement/remastering), Paula Francis (vocals) and Mark Stafford (guitar). The text, meanwhile, involves no less than nine individuals, so this album is a collective effort which involves a large number of participants. There are 14 songs on this album and the cover depicts two Gothic spires, arranged sideways-on in various hues of grey. The opening track, ‘The Assessor’, begins dramatically with a muffled drumbeat and air of trepidation. A church organ penetrates this repetitious atmosphere as distant effects are stifled and thus remain forever indeterminate. Stepping From Routine’ begins almost immediately, playful stabs on the keyboard and a fluttering piano moving aside for Dark Ambient soundscapes, a child reciting verse and an occasional knocking. ‘Blue Octavo Notebooks’, named after Kafka’s diaries from 1917-19, contains a similar keyboard style and accompanying undercurrent, until things become more animated and uplifting later on. ‘Threats and Violence’ is a whistled ditty which, ironically, conjures up happy memories and then evolves into a Spiritual Frontesque cabaret-waltz with old-time piano, cascading strings and snippets of conversation. ‘Proceedings’, an obvious reference to the events of ‘The Trial’ itself, uses bird-song, a barking dog, peeling bells and footsteps to rather good effect, before the keyboards – a little similar to Hungary’s Actus, perhaps – cast an air of gloom on the whole affair. I presume some of the German speech has been extracted from Orson Welles’ 1962 cinematic adaptation of the book, but I haven’t seen it so don’t quote me on that. ‘Lips of the Guilty’ is based on Chapter Eight of Kafka’s novel, which contains the curious assertion that the shape of a defendant’s lips can reveal his or her guilt. The music is calm, dreamy and contemplative, permeated by those recurring footsteps and beautifully composed in every respect. A real masterpiece, in fact. ‘A Promise and a Lecture’ has a shrill edge that is aligned with deep tones and busy melodies. The way it gradually rises to accommodate all these contributing factors, including further sampling, is very impressive. Halfway through everything falls away again until the darker aspects are more pronounced. Again, drama and suspense become the mainstays of the Shinjuku Thief repertoire, with a little rain thrown in for good measure. ‘An Awful Autumn’ is a strong Classical piece which is performed on the piano, gentle at first and then exploding with a power and a speed all of its own; an evocative etude that demonstrates the great severity of nature in its most demonic guise. ‘Degrees of Acquittal’ sounds like a continuation in many ways, the high-pitched synths and a proliferation of sampling riding roughshod over the piano and making this one of the more experimental tracks on the album. After the storm created by the previous track, ‘The Fabric of Guilt’ has a plodding, melancholic sound that resembles an East European folk melody. The ticking clock at the beginning of ‘The Invisible Architect’ is overcome by a majestic composition which contains everything a good soundtrack should have: Emotion, anxiety and great imagery. During the more tempered moments, one can even hear snatches of opera. The trotting horses on ‘Paynes Gray’, an artistic reference to a subtle blend of blue and grey oils, are soon drowned out by an approaching downpour and the whole thing is eventually replaced altogether with a deep organ that concludes this track and heralds the beginning of ‘The Parable’. The latter has been infused with the ethereal vocals of Paula Francis and may well have been inspired by Kafka’s ‘On Parables’, although many consider ‘The Trial’ to be a parable in itself and you do need to understand German in order to grasp the precise nature of the textual sample that is being used here. Lastly, ‘Vogelfrei I &II’, which perhaps explains the use of bird-song throughout this project, is more Industrial than the previous tracks. The longest track on the album, this is a complex attempt to bring all the Kafkaesque threads together in one penultimate odyssey. But suddenly, after two and a half minutes there is total silence for a further two minutes and you are left wondering whether your CD is defective until, thankfully, a slightly pop-filled dancebeat appears to lead you towards the climax. At least an aural climax, because the real climax to this great album comes with the inclusion of ‘The Scribbler’, an 11-minute video designed by Richard Grant. This includes scenes of ink-blotted notepaper; solitary figures in darkened streets; various sketches and symbols; distressed stick-men slumped across equally stick-like interrogation tables; cathedral domes; stately architecture; fluttering pages; ornate stairwells; Weimar alleyways; barbed wire and industrial plants. It’s grim viewing, but the aesthetics compliment Kafta’s stark vision perfectly and it’s a visually exciting way to bring this challenging release to a close.
