Fire + Ice
Midwinter Fires

Usually (and I don't think I'm the only one) I tend to associate an album with the colors of its cover. Just to mention albums and covers known to almost everyone: "The Dark Side of the Moon" evokes blue for me, "Velvet Underground & Nico" white and yellow, and "Sgt Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band" a bombardment of colors on a red background.

This "Midwinter Fires" is, for me, the exception that proves the rule. The cover, although not cheerful, is nonetheless colorful: yet to my mind's eye, this music appears black. Blacker than black can be: a darkness only slightly (I say slightly) illuminated by the faint fire of a fragile candle.

This is because the compositions seem to grope through the dense darkness of a labyrinth, among the branches of a path in a forest at night: the percussion stumbles, the acoustic guitars are uncertain, proceeding cautiously hand in hand with the keyboards, while Ian Read's voice trembles, falters, quivers like the weak flame of a torch.

It is the everlasting quest of Ian Read, a little Zarathustra preaching wisdom and virtue, a restless wanderer always on the discovery of the secrets hidden behind the runes, the mysterious symbols passed down to us by the ancients.

And it's no coincidence that "Midwinter Fires", from 1995, foreshadows the atmospheres of what will be Ian Read's conceptual masterpiece: "Rûna". Here we find the same lineup (Ian Pirrie, acoustic guitar, and Matthew Butler, keyboards and percussion, with the addition of the sweet Joolie Woods, from Current 93, on violin and vocals). And here blossoms, albeit uncertainly, that intimate and personal path that will find full expression in the prodigious subsequent work.

 At first listen, everything may seem dull and tedious, and, to be honest, not that well packaged (let us not forget the inevitable mistakes with which the singer has always delighted us!). Yet, listen by listen, this work will end up conquering us, through its enigmas, its unresolved questions, the aura of mystery that surrounds the tracks, the arcane charm that emanates as a whole.

"Fael-Inis", for example, is a quirky and hypnotic folk, light-years away from the harsh romanticism of Sol Invictus or the daring apocalyptic visions of Current 93. Yet it knows how to enchant, changeable, caressing, sinuous, among the calm repetition of the verses, the ethereal counter-chants of Woods, and Ian Read's voice full of emotion.

The pieces unfold very uniformly: more "lively" episodes ("The Cause", "High Gallows Tree") alternate with others that plunge us back into complete darkness ("Reaper Man", "Olafaet"), all seasoned with suggestive instrumental interludes ("Aceldama", the title track). A complex journey that of Read, made of distant whispers, elusive symbologies, themes that mutually recall each other: a tale before the intimacy of a campfire, a story recited in a whisper so as not to disturb the spirits of the Night.

 Dark, estranging, gloomy at times, but never excessive or self-indulgent, the music of Fire + Ice is simple and spontaneous but highly moving. And Ian Read is among the exponents of apocalyptic folk the one who least needs to amaze: an artist of integrity and rigor truly out of the ordinary, Ian Read plays and sings for himself, to exorcize his own ghosts and bring out what is inside him.

Certainly not to sell records.

And precisely this incommunicability also makes Ian Read the most hermetic artist on the scene, so much so that at times it's difficult to keep up with him. And understandably, many will not find the passion, patience, and determination necessary to follow him on his learned and difficult path.

It's not that this "Midwinter Fires" is a failed album, only that it's clearly not accessible to everyone, and the more approachable episodes end up being those that invariably border on the territories of the most canonical folk, like "The Wind that Shakes the Barley", so sugary it makes you cringe.

 Decidedly more intriguing is the evocative "Wisdom, Strengo, Ellen, Bliss", the painful, poignant, sobbing ballad to which our artist has long accustomed us, and "Senlac", a serpentine folk marked by mournful drum beats and somber bell tolls: suggestions that anticipate the hallucinatory settings of "Rûna".

But it's in the finale, in my opinion, that the best shots are fired: I'm talking about the misty "Fokstua Hall", a journey in the dark suspended between the blindness of our eyes and the strength of the spirit that leads us laboriously to the goal, and the beautiful "Nine Doors", obscured by keyboards and violins, a track where one of the musical themes that will animate the concept of "Rûna" materializes.

 A heartfelt, sincere album that will certainly delight the most dedicated fans, but that remains, within the discography of Fire + Ice, a minor, uncertain episode, teetering between the dark and pagan folk of the early works and the minimalism of the monumental successor.

Those who want to know more about Fire + Ice are therefore advised to first make a stop at "Gilded by the Sun" and "Hollow Ways", or go directly to the already mentioned "Rûna" or the beautiful "Birdking".