Fire + Ice
Fractured Man

Ian Read returns, in his own way, quietly and on tiptoe. It had been twelve years since the release of “Birdking,” the last studio work of his Fire + Ice. However, the surprise release of “Fractured Man” at the end of 2012 is an event that doesn't make much noise, even though Ian Read is a foundational pillar of apocalyptic folk, even though twelve years is frankly an excessive amount of time to endure such an absence, even though in recent years Ian Read's good news has been embraced and practiced much more than that professed by far more illustrious names in the genre.

Forseti, Sonne Hagal, Orplid, Darkwood, Unto Ashes, In Gowan Ring are just the first names that come to mind of those who have taken as their guideline the art not of Douglas Pearce, not of David Tibet, not of Tony Wakeford, but of Ian Read: the Read of runes, of pagan mythology, of untouched nature, of anti-modernity. The folk of these bands is just the modern day expression of the ancestral music of Fire + Ice, and it is admirable that the new generations, at the turn of the third millennium, have decided to banish the clichés of the genre, the industrial paraphernalia, the martial step, to head towards folklore in its most essential form, a medium that doesn't look at form but aims straight at emotions. And it's wonderful that the one who first knew how to marry the shadowy charm of an auteur dark-folk with rigorous research, both spiritual and philosophical, is speaking again. Ian Read, for fans of the genre, needs no introduction: first the right-hand man of Wakeford with Sol Invictus at their inception, then alone with his Fire + Ice, more than a real band, a frequently changeable collective centered around the charismatic figure of the English singer.

Accompanying him on this new journey is a substantial array of old and new friends: there are the Germans Sonne Hagel (who sign off on three pieces), the Americans Unto Ashes (Michael Laird dabbles everywhere), there's Annabel Lee and Michael Moynihan (it’s worth remembering how Blood Axis, in their folk turn, drew inspiration from Read himself). And then there’s Douglas Pearce, starring in a couple of pieces.

Attention please: among all the aforementioned contributions, Pearce’s appearance is the least quality-guaranteeing (among other things Read crafted his masterpiece, “Runa,” among perfect strangers): Pearce is over the hill, this is not news; already his participation in the previous “Birdking” was insignificant, and the fact that he doesn't make a difference today is already evident from the negligible episode “Caratacus,” a guitar arpeggio thrown in there as if nothing mattered. Hey! You’re Douglas Pearce! And this is the latest Fire + Ice album! The last one after twelve years of nothing! But evidently some people aren’t aware of their historical significance. The first in this is Read, who returns after twelve years of silence with a sparse work, barely forty minutes or so, where he doesn’t even write all the songs: he lets three be played by Sonne Hagal, three by Unto Ashes, here he adds Lee’s violin, there Mohynihan’s percussion, and over there the mediocre strumming of guitar by that washed-up Douglas Pearce.

Ian Read, who in the booklet photo is portrayed like a poor old man on a Sunday outing in the woods: how aged Ian Read looks, with his hat and his polo shirt tucked into his pants, and how many more wrinkles there are on Annabel Lee’s smiling face, in a family pose, wrapped in the embrace of her companion Michael Moynihan and grandfather Read.

And yet folks, “Fractured Man,” a few days after its release, is already a classic of the genre, or at least a fine work to place alongside other fine works by Fire + Ice: Ian Read, elusive artist and not inclined to the spotlight, if he returns it’s not for money, if he returns it’s because he has something to say. And how he says it: the title-track, positioned at the start, is goosebumps in its purest form. It’s unclear why (considering that the song is elementary, based on a heavy oscillation of harmonium and Read’s mystical invocation), but, despite its simplicity, this composition was the best way to break the delay, it’s a curtain that opens majestically, throwing a light onto the audience that warms and allows us to taste once again emotions we had forgotten we once felt. The opener is already a classic, as is the third track “Treasure House” (which resumes the magical flow momentarily interrupted by the aforementioned “Caratacus,” a negligible instrumental parenthesis): after years in which our stereo played the records of Forseti, Darkwood, Orplid, Sonne Hagel, finally the Master returns to tell us the same story, but with the touch of a champion, to show everyone how one can go beyond without needing orchestras or other artifices: just a slow passage of acoustic guitar chords, the caresses of drones, the steady beat of somber drums, and the magnetic and visionary singing of Ian Read, which hypnotizes, enchants, and takes you elsewhere. With the minimal effort, and with all those smudges we’ve learned to forgive over time: “Treasure House,” in its simplicity, is already a classic of Fire + Ice, or at least a beautiful song to place alongside other beautiful songs that Fire + Ice has given us throughout their career.

By the way, though the album’s sound is darker, it doesn’t stray much from what was offered in “Birdking”; there’s certainly not the rigor of “Runa” and the solidity of the concept behind it, but a step towards those atmospheres is indeed taken. Because while in “Birdking” the touch of an exceptional artist like Michael Cashmore had given brilliance, variety, pulsating life to Read’s compositions, with “Fractured Man” we plunge once again into the diaspora of a search for truth conducted in darkness, through deciphering arcane symbols.

The fellow travelers, without ever surprising, fashion a graceful musical commentary, a homogeneous flow interrupted only by the lively electric guitar used in the whimsical cover of “Mr Wednesday” by the little-known The Lykes of Yew (a track featuring Terry Davey from the same Lykes of Yew) or by sporadic flashes of individuality (consider the graceful twirls of Annabel Lee’s always excellent violin in “Aelfsiden”): a dimension of suffered hermeticism where light is always and only brought by Ian Read’s inspired singing, his imperfect yet extremely eloquent voice, which becomes a comforting whisper in “Nimm,” a weary and tired gasp in “Have You Seen?,” an imperious word in “Verloschen,” a chanting lullaby in “Jabal and Tubal Cain,” without ever falling into resignation.

A subdued tone, a twilight breath, also made of fractures and manifestations of an intimacy cracked by great existential questions, all elements that envelop the ten ballads that make up “Fractured Man”: the stringing together, between interlocutory moments and peaks of intense and fragile emotion, of the stages of a rough path, of a restless journey that sadly leads too soon to the end of the journey. Thus we arrive at the last track “Fractured Again,” once again performed by Pearce, who ferries us to parts of his latest works: an excellent ballad that seals the latest work by Fire + Ice, flaunting female choirs in the finale and the alienated voice of Pearce himself, father to us all, who may be over, but in the end, he always delivers.

It seems that certain people aren’t aware of their historical weight. Imagine: coming back after twelve years of silence and leaving the final word to Pearce!