"Scents of dusty trails, of lightly sweetened ochre, of sun-weathered wood. Of silence swept by mild breezes, of skies open like an endless azure cut oozing signs of the coming storm". Thus is how Isabelle Doyen, perfumer for Les Nez (parfums d'auteurs), a niche brand from Klingnau, Switzerland founded by perfume lover René Schifferle, presents Let me Play the Lion (introduced in 2006).
The playful name is inspired by a phrase appearing in Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's Dream: "Let me play the lion too: I will roar, that I will do any man's heart good to hear me; I will roar, that I will make the duke say 'Let him roar again, let him roar again" (Act I, Scene 2). And playful indeed is the treatment that Isabelle Doyen, famous for her delicate, graceful watercolours for Annick Goutal, is saving for the composition in question.
Let me play the Lion starts on a spicy, peppery orange warmth, a subdued pomander note pettering out to scents of pure frankincense smoke curling lazily upwards towards a serene sky and of seared woods. If you are familiar with Poivre Piquant or Poivre Samarkande, the spiciness is on the same wavelength. Cedar is prominent among the woods, a touch which should appeal to lovers of Gucci Pour Homme, while the incense is its own recommendation for those belonging to the incense-loving sect. However by no means is this a gothic, dark incense; the note reminds me more of the French curiosity Papier d'Armenie ~little aroma-infused booklets redolent of benzoin which are burnt to make their scent waft~ than the mould-infested crypt. It's sunny and fuzzy. There is also a mossy, dry, almost dusty feeling upon finish, while the overall tone is warm and with an ever so delicate touch of sweetness that makes the composition fit for both sexes. Let me Play the Lion lasted exceedingly well on both my skin and on the blotter with the volume turned down: this lion's roar is vibrating on the lower frequencies!
Let me Play the Lion is available as a 50ml/1.7oz Eau de Toilette, directly from the Les Nez website, through Aus Liebe zum Duft or Luckyscent.
Encountering other cultures is often revealing of prejudices of one own’s culture. And nowhere is this more apparent than upon glimpsing the fragrant rituals of the Middle East and in particular the Arab world. Immersed in the tradition of aromas, which were brought to Europe through the Crusades, soon opens a vista of a sensuous world. Fragrance is used to augment not only a person’s attraction but also to enhance food, living quarters and personal objects, to give a sense of moral purity and to unite members of a social group. Furthermore, in Islam scent is coupled to beliefs of evil spirits being associated to foul smells, while “the scented person is surrounded by angels”. Fragrance therefore takes on a deeply spiritual meaning, a matter of sanctity or sin, allying one with the forces of good and dispelling evil influences.
Arab people use aromatics in abundance and they revel in expensive materials when they can afford it, but they try to use what they can lay their hands on when they cannot. Women adhere to the motto: “We must use lots of smells”. But contrary to the beastly trail one imagines being left behind, that does not happen in public. An intimate approach is favored: within family and friends or among other women’s company.
In the United Arab Emirates specifically, highly prized are aloe wood (with a price to reflect it of upwards 250$ a pound), saffron, musk, rose, ambergris, jasmine, Arabian jasmine, narcissus, sandalwood, civet, and henna. Oil form is prefered due to its sensual nature and because oil holds fragrance better. Seeds and leaves are grinded into powder to enrich those oils. Arabian women are increasingly appreciating the convenience of Western-style spray fragrances, emulating the Western ideal, yet there is also the belief those smell a little less beautiful due to the intense alcoholic blast out of the sprayer.
Different aromatics are employed for different parts of the body. After a thorough bath, based on the principle that the application of fragrance on unwashed skin invites disease, the ritual begins. The purpose of perfuming is to revel in the scent. Rose, musk and saffron are favored for use all over, while hair benefits from sesame seed or walnut oil, fragranced with essences of ambergris or jasmine. Mkhammariyah is a red-hued mixture of aloe wood, saffron, rose, musk and civet that is put on ears for scenting as well as coloring. The armpits are scented with ambergris or sandalwood, the nostrils with aloe wood, the neck with ambergris, aloe wood, saffron, musk, narcissus and rose.
The rituals become even more elaborate for a wedding: the bride is washed, massaged, oiled and censed with various unguents and lotions. The bridal dress is soaked in water aromatized with rose-water, pepper, saffron and civet and then fumigated with ambergris and musk. A husband says after describing his wife’s scents on her person and her garments: “We men like all scents used but have a preference for musk, ambergris, aloe wood and saffron”*. Arabian men are also catered for: often with the same scents ~ rose, ambergris and particularly aloe wood. They are rubbed on ears, under nostrils, on the palms and smeared on the beard.
Clothes are censed with “fumigation”: washed, dried and then placed on a rack over a big incense burner purposely used for this process. The scent captured by the fabric remains perceptible even after washing, that dense the cloud of smoke is. Darker clothes (usually worn by women) are being censed with aloe wood, musk, ambergris, rose, Arabic gum and sugar, while white clothes (usually worn by men) are only censed with aloe wood for fear of staining.
You can watch the ritual here:
Olfactory pleasures come in gustatory form as well. Food is cooked slowly, with lid on, so as to preserve the aromas of fragrant materials used, resulting in mouth-watering Epicureanism. Spices are highly prized, especially anise, pepper, cinnamon, clove, garlic and ginger. Rose-water, orange-blossom water, cardamom and saffron are recipe ingredients in desserts. Cardamom is used in Arabic coffee and saffron in tea, while both saffron and cardamom oil are often added to milk. Frankincense smoke is sometimes used for drinking water, also useful for disinfecting it, which is arguably the origin of the now archaic tradition. A pot is filled with thick frankincense vapors, then water is poured over it and the lid put back on.
An invitation to an Arab house is occasion for reveling in olfactory pleasures as a means of tightening social ties. Good manners dictate to arrive pleasantly perfumed and to compliment the scents of the house and the food. The end of a meal is a chance to partake in fragrance sharing rituals, which intensifies the group’s sense of unity. A 19th century narration of the process goes thus: “A small square box […] is filled with charcoal or live embers of Ithel and on these are laid three or four small bits of sweet-scented wood. […] Everyone now takes in turn the burning vase, passes it under his beard…next lifts up one after another the corners of his head-gear or kerchief, to catch therein an abiding perfume.”* Currently Arab hostesses bring out fragrances for the guests to savor and put on themselves. The higher quality the scents are, the higher the praise for the hostess when passersby and friends smell the guests leaving from the place of invitation.
The pious aspect of fragrances in the Arab world is reflected in places of holiness and funeral rites. Mosques are weekly incensed with frankincense for purification and it is an old tradition that musk had been used in the mortar to render a pleasant smell for years to come. I haven’t personally smelled it as such but the literature insists that it was so. Funerals are held to be scented affairs. The body is washed with water scented with fragrant leaves and then smeared with camphor, sandalwood and saffron oil. On each side a censer, with Arabic gum and frankincense respectively, is placed, while the burial ground is also aromatized with aloe wood sticks sending their fragrant trails to the heavens. However it is interesting to note that although perfuming is lavished on the dead, for this occasion it is reserved for them only: the living do not use perfume as a mark of separation from the realm of the dead and as an external manifestation of mourning.
Recapitulating, it is fascinating to contemplate that fragrance takes on so many aesthetic and moral uses in a rich culture such as the Arabic one. Perhaps the West has still things to get taught.
References: *1) A.Kanafani “Aesthetics and Ritual in the United Arab Emirates: the Anthropology of Food and Personal Adornment among Arabian Women”, American University of Beirut, 1983 pp.42-90 *2) W.G.Palgrave, “Narrative of a year’s journey through Central and Eastern Arabia”, Macmillan 1866, vol.2, p.26
Artwork "Two Lovers" from the 19th century, via the Hermitage museum. Clip originally uploaded by BBCWomeninBlack (from the homonymous documentary) and kindly sent to me by Kels.
Incense is inextricably linked to liturgy and religious ceremonies since pagan times and as I am not particularly religious myself, but more interested in aspects of history and tradition, I chose to simply grab the chance to talk about a very popular perfume note that never fails to put scent lovers in a mood. Therefore the reader should not see this series of articles as any attempt at catechizing or preaching of the wonders of any faith or sect, as my objective is to provide a fun and hopefully interesting method of attributing specific incense perfumes to certain moods as reflected by tales from religious texts and categorizing them into broad categories that encompass certain commonalities. I am sure this could be done for any religion and faith existing in regard to perfumes. Let’s just say it seemed a novel idea to me. This first article aims to also provide a little introduction to the relation of incense and Christian practice.
Incense of course has a noble history since antiquity as a means of pesticide, air cleanser and for medical and poisonous purposes as well. It was also used in sacrificial liturgies and this practice was picked up by Christians who blamed pagans for their habits, nevertheless soon adopted several of their common habits in their own liturgical usage. The Hebrew tradition is of course rich in the aromatic on its own and Song of Songs is only a smidgeon of that aspect. Tracing back the beginning of such incense use as a pathway to the divine in Christian church we stumble upon Ephrem and the Transitus Mariae, after its 300 years of exile from Christian practices. Later on, stylite ascetics ignited such admiration for their superhuman feats and willpower that their position as literally and spiritually above and beyond was linked to the smoke rings rising from incense burning in censers, like the bodily matter immaterializes into the spiritual. Incense piety had begun in earnest for the Christian faith. Saints were said to exude the paradisial scent of myrrh, while devil and his disciples were inextricably linked to sulfur (as supposedly witnessed by Martin of Tours). Foul smells also recall decay and disease and thus invoke an image of human fall and corruption which is metaphorically linked to a moral low. Ambrose of Milan calls Christ the flower of Mary, denoting a pleasant sensory experience in the presence of the holy and the continuation of fragrance emitting even after death, just like flowers do after being cut. It is no accident that even today in churches and monasteries there is myrrh and frankincense anointed to the mortar and sold to the devout while ascetic places now open to visit for the public smell potently of that most holy of aromas. Myself I adore ecclesiastical incense which I buy in “tears” not from shops or internet e-tailers but directly from church and flea markets, made by monks usually at the Athos monastic community in Greece. I will elaborate on it on an upcoming post as it is interesting in itself, but suffice to say that the variety I prefer called “moscholeevano” ("leevan" etymologically derives from Levant, the east, or Lebanon) which is a deep, dark, resiny smell with a piercingly sweet top that makes the heart ache a bit and is on the whole likened on various fora to the exhaust fumes of a diesel engine vehicle. I think not, but we will have plenty of time elucidating that in a forthcoming installment.
It is worth noting in passing before we proceed any further that incense as a term is not a single note or ingredient but that it can in turn have various notes in itself. The classical ingredients for incense are frankincense or olibanum while myrrh and labdanum are also used, along with many others. Many recipes exist and each perfumer –professional or amateur- is composing one’s own mixture.
We thus begin our exploration of incense in relation to the celebrations of the Holy week with Palm Sunday, the first day of the holy week and the aftermath of Lazarus’s resurrection, perhaps the most famous miracle supposedly performed by Jesus. The last Sunday of Lent is commonly referred to as Palm Sunday. On that day religious texts tell us that Christ entered Jerusalem on a donkey, to be greeted by the crowds gathered for Passover carrying palm branches. By doing so he enacted the prophecy of Zechariah 9:9 and also showed the humility with which he envisioned the Kingdom he proclaimed. However this is also the beginning of the Holy week that culminated in Crucifixion and Resurrection and is thus also called Passion Week. Although Jesus was greeted with “Hosanna to the son of David”, recalling the famous King David of the Old Testament, it is perhaps an irony that that same crowd was against him just days afterwards. However this is only human nature and does not reflect on any religious antagonism in my opinion, taking in mind too that in the name of Christ lots of those holy places were pillaged and people were slain in later centuries. To revert to semiotics, the traditional Lent colour is purple in Protestant churches, while in Catholic tradition on Palm Sunday it changes to red with all its connotations to life and blood, hence its use to connote the martyrs of faith in Christian iconography. First mention of Palm Sunday procession is to be found in the travel journal of Etheria, a nun from northwest Spain who made a pilgrimage to Jerusalem toward the end of the fourth century. In her writing she refers to Palm Sunday as the beginning of the Paschal Week (pascha=easter, deriving from the Hebrew peschah).
Therefore as this plethora of symbols and inferences is not lost upon me, upon reflecting on specific perfumes that explore one aspect of incense I came up with the following suggestions.
Ouarzazate by Comme des Garcons Incense series: The first images that came to my mind upon resniffing this were the locales of exotic Morocco of which it is inspired and named after (there is indeed an ancient city by that name in the Atlas mountain area). Scenery for a lot of movies recently, some of the sandal-and-sword type, Ourazazte the fragrance has a dry and hot character immediately. The initial harsh top note of clary sage gives a very pungent, herbal aspect of disinfectant, which I am sure would be useful in those hot places, festering with bacteria, and it is this which had initially deterred me from further appreciating the composition in this rendition of incense in the infamous and revered Incense series by the Japanese brand. The hotness and coolness of peppercorns is tickling-but not singeing- the nostrils supported by a lemony phase that is actually the best part for me personally, while the incense is only hinted at and never as rich and full as the type used in liturgy. However it is not the far eastern variety but reminiscent of western tradition. The ethereal and resinous quality of wenge and labdanum is anchored by dry woods, soft clean musk (the synthetic cashmere woods) and a mineral veil of hard rock that is very a propos the exoticism of the proposed association. It smells white and is illuminated by a hopeful and clearing tone of people walking great distances in rugged territory in anticipation of something worthy. The whole does not last long, just as the triumphant procession through the streets of the holy land did not either. This is a thinking person’s incense for outdoor activities in a hot climate and suitable for both sexes, not a sensual, cuddly, warm type at all, despite the mentioned inclusion of vanilla which is absent to my nose.
Timbuktu by L’artisan parfumeur: Another atypical incense and woods fragrance, chosen because of its outdoorsy air and exotic character that smells of the Middle East and Africa. Not terribly popular, because of the weird ambience of it, however it is one of the most interesting compositions I have ever smelled and it retains a place in my heart for its limpid and soft medley of notes. Contrary to internet tails that it actually contains real animal matter (surely, this is just sensationalism to you and me and I doubt L’artisan intentionally hinted at such notions) it has a woody, black soil character that overcomes the feline urinous smell it is so often accused of possessing. Frankincense takes a slightly bitter turn in this one and it is an airy and light incense note like that in Passage d’enfer; its marriage with spicy cardamom, a middle-eastern favourite aroma used for scenting Arabian coffee is very successful. It has a tart but not really sharp acidic note throughout that is balanced by the earthy dirty plant scent that reminds one of unidentifiable leaves and roots. Abstract dryness is the overall tone of the composition and a verge towards the unisex or even to the masculine end of the spectrum is not uncalled for. This is not to imply that it doesn’t smell good on woman’s skin, because it does, but it is not what most people in the West associate with a feminine smell, although it is said to have been inspired by a traditional recipe of African women as an attraction elixir. Bertrand Duchaufour,the nose behind this oddball, visited his brother in Mali where he learned that the women there concocted a fragrant alloy of flower petals spices, fruits and woods which they used to scent themselves. The fruits in Timbuktu are nothing like the department store variety of saccharine persuasion we have come to expect and do not make a pronounced appearance. In fact it is not very unlike the niche green mango note that is present in Jardin sur le Nil (although there it manages to also evoke the peel of fresh grapefruit to me). The inclusion of patchouli of the Voleur de Roses variety, vetiver and myrrh provide a backdrop for good lasting power allied to the powderiness of benzoin which makes a short vanishing act at the end. I do not find it similar to anything else on the market, although a slight relation to Kyoto from CDG Incense series might be detected if hard pressed. I find it is best suited to in-between weather: neither too cold, nor too cold, so autumn and spring are its shining seasons. It comes in eau de toilette.
Costes by Hotel Costes: I hesitated before including this one in today’s procession, because it is rather warmer and somehow richer in its ambience, with its spicy cinnamon and white pepper character, but the notion that it is inspired by a hotel in Paris (thus having a hospitalier connotation) and made for them and the red colour designated to this day -which is reflected in the packaging of this perfume- convinced me to mention it just as well. The nose behind it is Olivia Giacobetti, a young and quirky perfumer who has worked on many inriguing scents such as En passant, Passage d'enfer, and Dzing! Initially conceived as a candle and then as a fragrance by people who have also ventured into musical CD compilations aiming at providing lifestyle options, it manages to smell different on different people. It still has the green and herbal character that is tied to the vision I have of this day in my mind, with a touch of evergreens, crushed coriander and laurel leaves that remind me of a good stew or lentil soup being made. Luckily, although it is said to be included among the mix, rose does not make a pronounced appearance on me, meaning it is not the old-fashioned powdery rose which might take a turn for the sour on certain skins (or brains...). There is also a soap element like that of alkaline suds of slightly sweet sandalwood old-fashioned men’s soap allied with pure lavender that is surfacing on my skin and thus it takes a clean turn that is rather welcome in warmer weather. That aspect is not antithetical to the notion of incense fragrances as lots of them do explore the pureness and spirituality of cleanness. It is not only the deep, pungent efforts that might reek of pretence that capture the mysterious. The incense in Costes is smoky and not too rich, slightly recalling a much lighter (and thus perhaps more wearable for lots of people) of Essence of John Galliano by Diptyque which also started as an ambience smell rather than a personal fragrance (more on which later on). I think Costes can be enjoyed in any season by both sexes, as long as the wearer has a little individuality and a modern air about them and is not up against a heatwave. Its lasting power is average for an eau de toilette concentration.
Next installment in the series will tackle a different aspect of incense.
Greek orthodox icon pic comes from saintbarbara.org
In the whole line of Les Exclusifs, one scent stands as trully lasting and sillage worthy. It's Coromandel, a dry ambery oriental advertised as "an oriental fragrance using a tree resin called benzoin, which has vanilla-like properties" inspired by the chinese lacquered panels that were abundant in Chanel's apartment, Coromandel denoting the company producing them and not the style of the panels. The baroque appartment of Gabrielle/Coco Chanel on Rue Cambon, although not her place of actual abode (she used to stay at the homonymous suite at the Ritz in Paris), served as a background drop of her innermost luxury hedonist. And it was the basis of inspiration for another one of Jacques Polge's perfumes, Coco original, a spicy oriental, back in 1984. In it indeed a very opulent composition is evoking odalisques spread on leather sofas, weighted down by copious amounts of bronze and antique gold jewels.
Coromandel is described as "not innocent", as it is "weighted by frankincense" and "contains a hint of the heavier spices of the East". Although I am a spicy oriental type, this sounded a bit like a rehash of Coco, of which for better or worse I a not a great fan and so before sampling I was almost certain that it would be too much for me, reserving instead my expectations for no.18. It soon proved that I was mistaken. The initial impression is that of a citrusy, orange-like pipe tobacco mix rolled in powder, much like the one encountered upon meeting that vixen little scent called Fifi by lingerie designer Fifi Chachnil or a slightly less milky Fumerie Turque. In fact it could very well be a similar idea to that explored by the newer Burberry London for men. Perhaps the orange impression derives from the inclusion of frankincense, a resin that sometimes gives off a sweet citric tang while burning. A sweet lush note throughout is echoing subtly like vanilla pods immersed in fruity liquor and it opens up and expands on the wings of aged patchouli, mellow, soft, sweet and inviting. It would seem like the most glorious thing, if it were not for it being a little derivative of their Allure Sensuelle with a touch of Borneo by Serge Lutens and Prada thrown in for good measure. The influence Angel has had on the market in general is astounding to behold! Never mind that my favourite patchouli ever is Film Noir by Ayala Moriel. Yet where Borneo is an inconoclastic dark patchouli laced with dark roasted coffee and Prada is an insolent single-minded young rebel that wants to shock her conservative environment in a relatively safe way, much like Muicia herself liked to do, Allure Sensuelle and consequently Coromandel do not dare push the envelope even in playful jest. They are not terribly innovative, although between the two Coromandel is much more complex and alluring.
Luckily, the pervading dryness along with just a touch of frankincense for a sense of mystery, not showcasing amber in any great degree all the while, provides a great balance to the sweeter vanilla elements and makes the whole not puff up in blue clouds of smoke, but stay the night on warm skin and well used sheets. Sexy, yet not terribly imaginative. A cinnabar-hued brocade jacket, upper button undone with black camelia Chanel earrings. C'est ça!
Art photography by Chris Borgman courtesy of his site.
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Thus is how Isabelle Doyen, perfumer for Les Nez (parfums d'auteurs), a niche brand from Klingnau, Switzerland founded by perfume lover René Schifferle, presents Let me Play the Lion (introduced in 2006).
Let me play the Lion starts on a spicy, peppery orange warmth, a subdued pomander note pettering out to scents of pure frankincense smoke curling lazily upwards towards a serene sky and of seared woods. If you are familiar with Poivre Piquant or Poivre Samarkande, the spiciness is on the same wavelength. Cedar is prominent among the woods, a touch which should appeal to lovers of Gucci Pour Homme, while the incense is its own recommendation for those belonging to the incense-loving sect. However by no means is this a gothic, dark incense; the note reminds me more of the French curiosity Papier d'Armenie ~little aroma-infused booklets redolent of benzoin which are burnt to make their scent waft~ than the mould-infested crypt. It's sunny and fuzzy. There is also a mossy, dry, almost dusty feeling upon finish, while the overall tone is warm and with an ever so delicate touch of sweetness that makes the composition fit for both sexes. Let me Play the Lion lasted exceedingly well on both my skin and on the blotter with the volume turned down: this lion's roar is vibrating on the lower frequencies!
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