L'Artisan Parfumeur Fleur de Narcisse: fragrance review (Sleeper in the valley)

L’artisan’s new Fleur de Narcisse brought to my mind something I had read a long time ago. Joan Julliet Buck, editor of French Vogue, was for years addicted to wearing a narcissus poeticus absolute. She used to wear one drop on each wrist, it being so concentrated that it was all she ever needed. “Two in the bath were enough to send silver running down the walls; it set the world throbbing out of control when I wore it. It became a little weird. It was only years later that I read that inhaling too much of it can make you mad”, she has been quoted to say.
Madness, poetry, out of control: in short both mythology and the damned poets of the 19th centrury. Fleur de narcisse does nothing conventionally pretty and is so heart achingly multifaceted to warrant elaborating.
Narcissus poeticus, the asphodel of Greek mythology, the flower of the underwold; of oblivion and perdition. And yet, the daffodil (the common name for its brother, the pseudonarcissus) is botanically-speaking a purported cure for madness.

Daffodil or “Lent Lily,” was once white; but Persephone, daughter of Demeter (Ceres), delighted to wander about the flowery meadows of Sicily. One spring-tide she tripped over the meadows, wreathed her head with wild lilies, and, throwing herself on the grass, fell asleep. The god of the Infernal Regions (called Pluto by the Romans), fell in love with the beautiful maid, and carried her off for his bride. His touch turned the white flowers to a golden yellow, and some of them fell in Acheron, the underworld river, where they grew luxuriantly; and ever since the flower has been planted on graves. Theophilus and Pliny tell us that the ghosts delight in the flower, called by themthe Asphodel. It was once called the Affodil. (French, asphodéle; Latin, asphodilus; Greek, asphodilos.)

Narcissus, also enters the associations; the greek mortal who fell in love with his youthful image as reflected in the clear waters of a pond. It was his punishment for rejecting so cruelly the nymph Écho. The best known version of the myth is contained in Metamorphoses by Ovid.

And then more aptly than anything else, Rimbaud’s poem “Le dormeur de Val” (Sleeper in the Valley) enters my head. Of course the poem was written about war and the sleeper is a dead soldier...The arresting imagery of this exquisite poem written at the tender age of 16 was what Fleur de Narcisse evoked in my mind immediately.

C'est un trou de verdure, où chante une rivière
Accrochant
follement aux herbes des haillons
D'argent; où le soleil, de la montagne
fière,
Luit: c'est un petit val qui mousse de rayons.

Un soldat jeune, bouche ouverte, tête nue,
Et la nuque
baignant dans le frais cresson bleu,
Dort; il est étendu dans l'herbe, sous
la nue,
Pâle dans son lit vert ou la lumière pleut.

Les pieds dans les glaïeuls, il dort. Souriant
comme
sourirait un enfant malade, il fait un somme:
Nature, berce-le
chaudement: il a froid.

Les parfums ne font pas frissonner sa narine.
Il dort dans
le soleil, la main sur sa poitrine
Tranquille. Il a deux trous rouges au côté
droit.

by Arthur Rimbaud, novembre 1870

Here is an english translation by Lisa Yannucci (scroll down)

Spraying Fleur de Narcisse on the skin, the verdancy of rich vetiver married to pungent virile leather reminds me of the wet black earth and the oily old tar of a dirty forgotten road. Masculine soiled boots tread on a never ending journey through fields scattered with heady fatty asphodels into the great unknown. Poignant cries of the damned tear the heart strings. Sweet and salty grains of pollen fly into the air, reminding the joys of what cannot be had any more; the light, the sun, the warmth. Sad powder and wetness, warm cloth and cool dampened hopes; one last whiff of rich smoke before succumbing to the fate of us all...

Part of the new privée collection of millesime/harvests by L’artisan parfumeur, first of which was the crystalline floral Fleur d’Oranger made by Anne Flipo using the Tunisian orange blossom Vergers de Nabeul from the spring 2004 harvest and launching it in 2005.
This new one is also made by Anne Flipo using the exceptional harvest of narcissus blossoms from the volcanic area of Lozère, part of the Languedoc-Roussillon region in southern France during the days of June 6th and 7th of 2005.

The official notes are: narcissus, hay, hyacinth, blond tobacco, iris, blackcurrant bud, moss and leather.

Released as a limited edition in only 3000 numbered bottles of Eau de parfum 100ml encased in wooden boxes like a fine vintage of wine, foiled with silk paper, the bottle engraved with narcissus flowers, it will retail for 240 euros which is around 300$. Exorbitant price for sure, but narcissus poeticus is an extremely costly ingredient anyway.
Available fromFirst in fragrance/Aus liebe zum duft in Europe as we speak and soon in the US in November at L’Artisan Parfumeur Soho, Henri Bendel, and Madison Avenue boutiques, select retailers and the L'artisan boutique on-line.

Pic is "La Metamorphose of Narcisse" by Salvador Dali courtesy of perso.orange.fr

Burberry London for Men: fragrance review

Men’s scents, much like men themselves, face the hard task of convincing us that they are sensitive enough while still being virile. Too much brutishness and they seem like villains in a B-movie, too much sensitivity and they appear wimpy and lame. It’s unfair granted, but there you have it. Recent worthwhile olfactory offerings in this domain have either blundered by being too innovative and butch for their own good (the mediocre sales of Yves Saint Laurent’s M7) or taken the path of least resistance becoming scents to be adored by women to put on rather than something men actually choose for themselves (the difficult iris of Dior Homme). I won’t go into the neighbourhood of the bland, because it is so thickly populated, one is sure to stumble upon a bestseller or two.

Burberry London for Men, the new men’s scent by the classic British brand, proved to be a very pleasant surprise that unites those elusive aforementioned qualities. Following the quite likeable London for women, a floral dominated by sensuous jasmine with a musky depth and fronted by the engrossing and completely radiant Rachel Weisz, London for Men seems to smell much more expensive than it really is. It exudes the aura of an individual with moral values that can still be a little rough if need be. It burns with the reliable buzz of a home fireplace, red flame and dark ember, but the couple in the house of whom this takes place are still carnally attracted to each other, they still possess that spark, that disloging of elements which accounts for daydreaming and stomach butterflies.

Welsh actor Ioan Gruffudd (pronounced Griffith; I know, I know…and you thought Ralph pronounced Rafe/Rayf was the pits) as its face certainly doesn’t hurt. If you have watched the travesty that "King Arthur" was, despite its worthy male protagonist, Ioan played the part of Lancelot. The seafaring "Hornblower" series is another thing you might have watched him in. The respective male and female black & white ads show the good-looking couple of Weisz and Gruffudd during a a day stroll through London streets, dressed in a casual-oh-so-chic unaffected way, embracing and smiling to one another under the shadow of the trees. I have to admit it's cute, despite myself.

Burberry began its fashion history back in 1856 as a quality line for the perfect weatherproof, sturdy clothes of gabardine mainly for farmers and agricultural workers, later on for field sports. Functionality in a good looking package, what all clothes should aim for. Sir Ernest Shackleton and Roald Amundsen praised the brand's pants and sweaters when conquering the Pole. "Breakfast at Tiffany’s" final scene would have been less of a classic without it.
At times it was an elitist toffs domain, which is ironic if one considers the origins of the brand (but then, so are designer jeans!). The vulgarization that ensued in the last couple of decades with cheap replicas flooding the street market became a baleful thorn on the side of Burberry. Rose Marie Bravo in 2001 hired Christopher Bailey, a Yorkshire man, to inject some young attitude and hopefully distance the brand from chavs (surely a loaded term) He added the original optimistically nuanced "Prorsum" tag (Latin to the rescue…) and made some practical things that seem fresh and interesting in their functionality. Plans to close the Welsh factory, reported in September 2006 with the prospect of 300 jobs lost leave us a little concerned, however.

In the area of perfumes Burberry has been quite successful. Although the counters that carry their perfumes are not gilded, most of their line is proving very commercial and this is no accident. From Touch to Brit via Brit Red and Weekend, they have likeable products. Brit and Brit Red have cottoned on to the gourmand trend and became huge crowd pleasers without committing the sin of smelling tired.
Burberry London was the name of their original scent, issued at 1992, London being the base of their headquarters. Enough to baffle the casual customer, a phenomenon prevalent with recent releases. Suffice to say that the new 2006 Burberry London for men and women both come in a box embossed with the famous plaid (make that “check” if you’re a Londoner; it is a little darker in the men’s version than in the women’s) and they smell completely different from their predecessors.

London for Men begins its fragrant journey on a subdued citrusy note that immediately becomes quite spicy, redolent of the hotness of pepper and cinnamon, mixing elements of a muled wine goblet consumed before a raging logwood fire during a cool idle evening. The illusion of deep dark red fruits (like those in Jo Malone’s Pomegranate Noir) that have been candied creeps up at some point, but the effect is nowhere near the sweetness of Brit, nor the intensity of its cinnamon ambience. The fluffy sweetness is subdued by the delicious trail of smooth pipe tobacco and if this is a note you associate with dear old granpas or cancer sticks (aka cigars), better rethink, because whatever went into the production of this number is bet to make women purr. It’s that good! Booze and tobacco, how politically incorrect can one go these days? (tongue in cheek) Apparently not enough, because although these elements are clearly discernible, they never become as prominent as in –say- Tabac Blond or Botytris. This is a perfume that retains some mass appeal, and that’s not knocking it, not at all.
A delicious plum accord like a festive pie further smoothes out the rougher notes of the booze and spice, while the emergence of a truly refined rich, dry wood and amber accord with some bitterness of napa leather is left to linger on the skin seductively. The overall effect is smooth, elegant, high class and comforting at the same time, with the merest wisp of a vanillic powderiness in the base. Makes you want to don an old reliable jacket and a stylish fedora and go for a walk, if only for the joy of returning to the warmth of the hearth afterwards which makes it eminently fit for the cooler season.

It comes in an eau de toilette and the lasting power is average. Women might be able to pull it off because of its inviting spice note and warmth, while men would smell swoon worthy fetching in it.

Aucun hussard sur le toit

The title of today’s post ironically alludes to the very good homonymous French filmbased on Jean Giono’s novel “Horseman on the roof”, in which Olivier Martinez as an Italian revolutionary soldier flees into cholera-infested 1832 France to escape the Austrian police and meets Juliette Binoche who is in search of her husband.
The association is not completely random as it might seem at first, since Olivier Martinez is the face of the new masculine perfume of Yves Saint Laurent, L’Homme.
Of French and Spanish-Moroccan descent, previously tagged as the French Brad Pitt and currently beau of Kylie Minogue (the game of associations never ends), Martinez never had a hold on me, looks-wise, I have to admit. He has some sort of hazy aspect in his features and a feminine sensuality in his expression that never enticed me. He must have ]a big fan base nevertheless, being chosen as the face of a prestigious house’s new perfume launch.

Yves Saint Laurent needs no introduction and you who know Perfume Shrine’s views on his couture need even less of a lesson. Suffice to say that Tom Ford was not the best thing to befall this historic house and the worthy Stefano Pilati has a hard job in damage control.

Perfume-wise YSL has always been about maximum luxury, glamour, maturity and powerful images: “we are not messing around here”. From the regality and opulence of Opium to the classy icy demeanor of Rive Gauche vintage and from YSL Pour Homme, a classic scent that screams 70’s featuring a nude Yves (click [[popup:yslpourhommenude.jpg::nude Yves::center:1]] to see) when it launched, to the hairy-chested rugged masculinity of Kouros.
In between there were some less vocal scents, such as Y, a chypre of the noblest qualities, Jazz, a nice men’s scent that deserved a better career at the box office, Paris, the heavy-handed craft of Sophia Grojsman for once providing a pleasant effect among her bestsellers and the controversial fruity chypre Champagne that had the vine culturists up in flames to eventually change the name into Yvresse. In Love again and Opium homme were the last memorable ones to come before Tom Ford stepped in. (Baby Doll is rather adolescent, rendering it impossible to categorise along with the rest).

And then all hell broke loose and the iconic women's Rive Gauche got reformulated! Sacrilege! Simultaneously accompanied by Rive Gauche pour Homme (which people say is good, but the shock of the former was so great I have refrained from properly testing on purpose). At that point the future seemed dimly lit, if not dark already.
But then spicy, incense-laden Nu in Eau de parfum (my preferred concentration) launched and managed to make me forget the sins of the past. And M7 for men, which although it is a challenging composition centered on the precious oudh essence manages to smell completely unique and aristocratic and even scandalized the public with a campaign that brought back masculinity into the mainstream of perfume. Cinéma was nice, if a little unimaginative; the expectations were so high!
Yet, most of the more interesting perfumes suffered a poor career at the counters of department stores. The discrepancy is not lost on us.

L’homme, the first one to come in the meta-Ford era, is trying to cover the lost ground by fusing some floral aspect into the composition and using Olivier Martinez with his flou features as the person who stands in what looks like an empty loft with the camera dancing around him.

The bottle in classic YSL tradition is sturdy, heavy and luxurious without becoming ostentatious (Baby Doll is the kitsch exception in their packaging). However it somehow manages to look a tad unattractive and the reason why is hard to put into words. They say it was inspired by Bauhaus; I think not.

In olfactory speaking terms, this fusion of feminine-masculine is done with the inclusion of violet leaves, which give a similar effect to that rendered by iris in Dior Homme. Dior’s Higher with its floral/fruity overtones is also an example that comes to mind, although the advertising of that one was completely effeminate to begin with.
The head of YSL L’homme, with citrusy overtures of ginger and possibly citrus skin, which are surprisingly not tart enough here, plunges into a heart of spicy basil flower sprinkled with pepper and soon after soft violet leaves follow noiselessly giving an ethereal quality usually not associated with masculine fragrances. The moment you smell this stage you are secretly thinking that this could be a nice summer cologne for a woman, but nothing more breathtaking than that. The base mingles soft non-descript woods, from which austere cedar is listed as the core note, although I do detect some haziness and vanillic warmth that further consolidates the meek character of the wholeLinalool and coumarin look like they take part in this neck of woods, so to speak, with their soft ambience, but I can’t be certain. This is not a musky perfume to be sure, contrary to what one would expect. Sandalwood, tonka bean and vetiver are officially listed.
The whole? Pleasant, young and uplifting no doubt, completely unoriginal however. There were enough of classic-feel men’s colognes as it is; Givenchy pour homme, Eternity for men or Bvlgari Aqua to name but a few.

According to one scientific study women choose a rugged virile man between all available choices at time of ovulation in the subconscious presumption that he provides the strongest genetic material for them to procreate, while they change their preference as soon as they are embarking on a pregnancy opting for the one who looks most secure and dependable to stick around. There is nothing wrong with the second image (although combining the two is ideal, don’t you think?). But if you’re looking at spreading your genes, L’homme is not the appropriate choice. It just smells bland.

The fact that no less than 3 noses (Pierre Wargnye, Anne Flipo and Dominique Ropion) have worked on this one points to some confusion as to what vision existed on this scent. Popular sayings may seem corny, but they do hold some truth I’m afraid, and yes, too many people intermingling on one project make for a poor result more often than not.
Perhaps the challenge was too much, perhaps YSL parfums could not afford another mediocre-seller, especially in the huge American market.
Whatever it is, L’homme did not live up to a perfume lover’s anticipation.
Sadly there is no horseman on the roof...

Next review will be of a new release that proved a pleasant surprise!

Rainy weather: Mitsouko time

What can one possibly say about this iconic perfume? What can one add to the tome upon tome of literature on the subject?

Everything has been analyzed over and over : how it was inspired by a literary Japanese heroine in 1919; how the bottle was the same as the one for L’heure bleue; how the aldehyde C14 in there replicates peach skin; how it is a scent implicated in sex under a different perspective than the one in the West; how it is mixed in tragedy, greatness and cinematic art; how the name doesn’t mean what Guerlain has been telling us after all…(you can see all that on my Mitsouko entry on my personal site Perfume Shrine, section "Perfume in literature and film", linked in index)

Sometimes great works of art ultimately lose if one describes them too extensively. They lose their mystique, their spirituality, their rapport with the hidden forces that make them so compelling in the first place.
So we won’t dissect Mitsouko here. We simply won’t. Just because.
We’ll just let ourselves feel the yearning and sense of loss it evokes and slowly whisper my favourite poem. (I'd like it to be on my tombstone)

The god forsakes Antony

When suddenly, at midnight, you hear
an invisible procession going by
with exquisite music, voices,
don’t mourn your luck that’s failing now,
work gone wrong, your plans
all proving deceptive—don’t mourn them
uselessly.
As one long prepared, and graced with courage,
say goodbye to
her, the Alexandria that is leaving.

Above all, don’t fool yourself, don’t say
it was a dream, your ears
deceived you:
don’t degrade yourself with empty hopes like these.
As one
long prepared, and graced with courage,
as is right for you who were given
this kind of city,
go firmly to the window
and listen with deep emotion,
but not
with the whining, the pleas of a coward;
listen—your final
delectation—to the voices,
to the exquisite music of that strange
procession,
and say goodbye to her, to the Alexandria you are losing.

- by Constantine P. Cavafy (1911)

Translated from greek to english by Edmund Keeley and Philip Sherrard

Note for understanding the context: The poem refers to Plutarch's story that when Marc Antony was besieged in Alexandria by Octavian the night before the city fell into enemy hands, he heard an invisible troupe leaving the city. He heard the sounds of instruments and voices making their way through the city. Then, he passed out; the god Bacchus (Dionysus), Antony's protector, was deserting him.

If you want to read Constantinos Cavafy's poetry, click here. Plutarch's Parallel lives link here

Mitsouko entry on Perfume in literature and film: here

Bvlgari Black: Eating Asphalt ~fragrance review

The car analogy on my previous post and today’s pic had been lurking in my mind allied to a particular scent and what with mr.Duirez doing a commercial for Lexus (Duriez is nose in Patou house), brought to my attention by Karol, one of my readers, and everything, this is as good a time as any to bring it up. I had referred to this perfume as a Mercedes S-class its rubber tires eating asphalt in a metropolis setting in my Scent of a Man list a few days ago and the comparison now seems anachronistic somehow, but scripta manent, therefore I am to remain blameless.
Bvlgari (or Bulgari, whichever way you want to spell it) Black is the weird oriental for men (and women; it’s one of those euphemistically called “shared” frags) who want something modern, sleek, original, definitely not the spawn of any other department store fragrance. Yet it is easily accessible, which adds an intrinsic value to people who live in places far away from hip Barneys, Les Senteurs or Body&Soul stores, so the poor chaps might actually test the stuff before commiting the monthly allotment reserved for perfume.


In Black’s case sniffing might be in order if you are unfamiliar with the modern perfume niche market. However under no circumstances is it strange or unappealing to wear. Polarising as it might be, due to the perceived hot rubber tires accord, I find it soft and vanillic, which is perhaps sounding like an oxymoron next to the "supreme exponent of the metropolitan concept", as Bvlgari wants to call it.
Created by Annick Menardo, the talented Cannes-born nose behind Lolita Lempicka, Lolita au masculine, Kouros Body, Hypnotic Poison, Boss and a co-perpetrator for Hypnôse (well, I am no fan, sorry), it was a 1998 sensation even if it never reached the upper echelons sales-wise. Although Dzing! by L’artisan created by nez extraordinaire Olivia Giacobetti launched in 1999 and is quite close to Black, it segues into other avenues of weirdness and wondrousness, enough to make it stand apart.

The bottle is a very fetish-y matte rubbery surface like the rubber watchband from their supreme collection, encasing a glass bottle within that is crowned by a steel top with the Bvlgari Bvlgari logo of their eponymous collection that twists and sprays. There are ON and OFF positions on it, in an attempt to make it look like a gadget or a driving equipment. The idea is brilliant, however people have been reporting that the mechanism has been found a bit wanting, since it can have a tendency to jam or leak if you try too hard. They’d better ameliorate this aspect. The current version exists in 40 and 75ml bottles.

Upon spraying this on skin a warm citrus/bergamot note greets you, soon to be rounded and smoked by the black veil of lapsang souchong tea leaves notes. Tea scents have been something of a trademark for Bvlgari, because it was them that introduced the accord with their Bvlgari Femme perfume and the tradition persisted along in Eau parfumée au thé vert (green tea), then thé blanc (white tea) and finally thé rouge (red tea). Seems tea is coming out in all colours of the rainbow, after all, and pity me who had underestimated it through my teenager years as the drink to consume while sick. Little did I know then.
Along with tea a strange and wonderful resiny aroma rises up from heated skin like smoke signs by stressed executives in their offices to the object of their affection along the hall. Has life become so hectic that we communicate in new ways and with new signals after all? Does perfume hold a special place in this new language? I think it does.
Proof positive that pretty soon the warm hug of rich vanilla envelops the cool smokiness and the whole nests in a woody embrace created by the combination of sandalwood, cedar and amber. No single wood is discernible for what it is, because the mingling is seamless and vanilla and some musk seem to overpower the rest.

Although Bvlgari insist to list oakmoss as one of the ingredients I have never smelled it in this and I doubt that now with the new IFRA regulations it will be included anymore.

Anyway, the fact remains; do you have an object of affection across the hall? Are her or his antennae tuned in to perfume? Black might help you deliver that message you have been wanting to across.


Pic by HelmutNewton.edu