Serge Noire by Lutens: fragrance review

Upon smelling frankincense tears slowly being burnt on charcoals in an old bronzy censer, aromatizing the air with their otherworldy smell, I never fail to be transported in a mirage, similar to the one that Serge Noire by Lutens is evoking: Smoke is rising in the air of an old, byzantine, Orthodox church, the bright light coming fragmented in colourful snippets of reds and yellows through the panelled windows; old beeswax dripping heavily on the trays with sand on which pious old women have pinched their candles, each burdened with a prayer for the soul of a loved one; antique gold chandleriers are hanging heavily from what seems like a thread over wooden pews bearing the double-faced eagle of Byzantium carved in their backs, like an eidolon; visions of brides and grooms who have stood before the altar, erect and proud, crowned according to Orthodox canon with wreaths of silver, like royalty; the hushed lone whisper of someone who has seeked solace from the unrelenting heat of a bright summer's noon into the cool marbled-floored abode.

These are not manifestations of faith or religiousness on my part, rather the spirituality which seeks the opportunity to come out upon inhaling the fragrant remnants of smoke, stucco-ed along with the old egg-paint frescoes of the saint and the martyrs on the walls. And the pyrotechnics of myriads of Easter midnight celebrations, when the sky bursts forth with all the colours of the rainbow and the intense noise of fire-crackers that exorcises the evil spirits in a pagan atavistic nod which is so intrisically ingrained into the customs of this particular little corner of the world. Darkness and Light...

Exilde for ever: Let me morne
Where nights black bird hir sad infamy sings,
There let me live forlorne.

Downe vaine lights shine you no more,
No nights are dark enough for those
That in dispaire their last fortunes deplore,
Light doth but shame disclose

~Lacrymae Pavanne/Flow my tears, John Dowland

Incense in general has this almost Pavlovian quality of invoking a feeling of serenity, sadness and almost perverse elation in me.
Frankincense came into the scene of niche cults with the "Incense series" by Comme des Garcons and Passage d'Enfer by L'artisan parfumeur years ago and although it seemed it languished for a while, it knew a resurgence last summer with Andy Warhol Silver Factory by Bond No.9, an arguably interesting take and with Andy Tauer's wonderful duo of the austere Incense Extrême and the sunny Incense Rosé this past autumn.
However Serge Noire has been one fragrance lately which has managed to include every aspect of my ignus fatus, replete with the power to obliterate every other thought during its slow and lasting denouement on my skin. I had posted some earlier thoughts based on confidances by friends who had whetted my appetite but my personal, intimate relationship with Serge Noire has been a revelation.

The name derives its lineage from history: In the 19th and early 20th century, the name (la serge, feminine hence the "e" in the adjective "noire") designated a type of textile, twill of diagonal lines or ridges on both sides, made with a two-up, two-down weave, that was quite popular: a delicate variety was used for finer garments, while a stronger yarn was chosen for military clothes. The etymology derives from Greek σηρικος (σηρος means silk worm, for clothes), which gave rise to the Latin serica and the old French serge.The interesting thing is that serge has been implicated through the British textile trade monopoly via Calais and the Netherlands in wars between European nations, especially religious ones: in 1567 Calvinist refugees from the Low Countries included many skilled serge weavers, while Huguenot refugees in the early eighteenth century included many silk and linen weavers.With that at the back of our minds we might start deciphering the enigma of Serge Noire.

Initially dry and spartan with the flinty, camphoreous aspect of gun powder comparable to Essence of John Galliano for Diptyque, ashes to ashes and snuffed out candles, Serge Noire by Lutens assaults the senses with the intense austerity of real frankincense and elemi. The impression is beautifully ascetic, hermetic, like an anchorite who has dwelled in a cave up in the rough mountains with only the stars as his companion in the darkest pitch of the night: the "noire" part is meditatively devoid of any ornamentation, eclipsing any pretence of frivolous prettification. The surprising transparency is evocative of the Japanese Kodo ritual rather than the denser cloud of Avignon. Those who are unitiated to the wonders of Lutens might coil away with trepidation and apprehension at this point, but much like the alarming mentholated overture of Tubéreuse Criminelle, this subsides eventually, although never quiting the scene completely.
And yet behind the caustic and mineral masculinity, a hopeful ascent of a feminine trail of lightly vanillic, ambery benzoin and sweet spice is slowly, imperceptibly rising after half an hour; like a subtly heaving bosom draped with Japanese garments or the curvaceous calligraphy of thick black ink on gaufre paper of ivory or creamy skin. It is then when cistus labdanum provides an erotic hint of sophisticated elegance in Serge Noire while the emergence of sweet spice, a touch of cinnamon, gives a burnished quality of black that is slowly bleeding into grey.
The ashen ballet in the flames, the swirls of oriental grey sing an ode to everlasting beauty, beauty under the cover of night's rich plumage.

Elements that have caught the imagination of Lutens and Sheldrake in the past (the camphor in Tubéreuse Criminelle, the ink in Sarrasins, the incense of Encens et Lavande) are merging here in what seems to be a personal declaration of faith. Rumoured to have been in the works for the past 10 years during the tenure of Chris Sheldrake at the Palais Royal, it has the seal of favouritism by Lutens himself, which makes it a personal token of identity.
I am hereby claiming it as mine as well: This is one of the best Lutens releases of recent years to be sure!


Serge Noire comes in 50ml/1.7oz Eau de Parfum Haute Concentration for 95 euros in the oblong bottles of the export line (with optional spray mechanism included) and has just launched exclusively for the Palais Royal premiere, to be then distributed by the licensed distributors from September 08.

You can read an interesting article on the Lutens genius in French in Le Point.

Pic of Monemvasia Castle steps in Greece by Kostas Katsiyannis, courtesy of ellopos.org.
Eva Green pic courtesy of au.feminin. Clip "Lacrymae Pavanne/Flow my Tears" by John Dowland, sung by
Andreas Scholl, originally uploaded by lasultanica on Youtube.

Is this the end of Ebay perfume sales?

"On Monday, June 30, eBay was ordered to pay a record fine. The on-line auction site will have to pay almost €40 million ($60 million) in damages to 6 brands in the LVMH luxury group – Louis Vuitton, Christian Dior Couture – and 4 fragrance brands: Christian Dior, Kenzo, Givenchy and Guerlain, for violating their excusive distribution network".

You can read the rest of the ominous Osmoz article as well as the concerned testimonies of perfumephiles using Ebay on Perfume of Life forum by clicking the links.
So not good!

New from Kenzo: Power for men

Kenzo is fond of flowers and thus in an unexpected twist he bases his latest fragrance for men on their image. Specifically he has envisioned the abstract tulipe sauvage: wild tulip, which Olivier Polge has materialised into Kenzo Power, a fragrance that encompasses the notes of bergamot, coriander, cardamom and cedarwood in a fresh woody composition which incarnates the new man according to Kenzo.
Power rhymes brilliantly with Flower, the bestseller for women by Kenzo, which also focuses on an imaginary vision of a flower: poppy, this time. Flowers for men have seen a resurgence lately, after the gignatic flop of Incense by Givenchy which attempted to break the mould and offer just that: a floral for men. The rise of metrosexuals however signals a new lease for life for this genre and already Farhenheit 32 and Fleur du Mâle with their abstract synthetic orange blossom, as well as Dior Homme with its rooty iris by the same nose as Power, have paved the path for a braver stance on the masculine-aimed shelves of the average department store.
Power doesn't sound too flowery, admitedly, but they promise a concept of assured power, masculinity and poetry as well, encased in a metal bottle that is inspired by the Japanese Saké bottles. First impressions talk about an overdose of spices for the fresh, biting effect, a powdery feel reminiscent of Dior Homme, aldehydic accents like Farhenheit32 and a salty aftertaste. It sounds like it should be an eminently fit to be shared between the sexes fragrance! Ladies take note!
We can but wait: the new fragrance comes out in 20 August in an Eau de Toilette spray 60 ml retailing for 53 €.
In the meantime I am leaving you with the artsy Japanese make-up and look of the Flower by Kenzo commercial from a few years ago.

Info and pic (photo Patrick Guedj for Kenzo) via aufeminin.com. Clip originally uploaded by SmokeyEye87 on Youtube

When a Perfectly Good Scent is Ruined by Association

I remember Amarige like I remember physical catastrophes I have lived through or heard through the retelling of elders, almost since the dawn of time. I remember Amarige with the abject horror we reserve in the farthest pockets of terror we keep in our innermost chthonian thoughts, ripe for sowning on a hot summer's day when the pending coming of the Antichrist doesn't seem too far away. I remember Amarige like the miasma of a horde of Attila the Hun sweeping through Asia and Europe till he is abruptly stopped by his own debauchery bedding a 16-year-old.
What prompted this tirade of evil reminiscences? Simply put, a timely comment by one of our readers, Sarah G, who asked if I had any recollection of having a scent completely "ruined" by associating with someone. Do I have one!

Amarige by Givenchy is a typhoon, no doubt about it, and it has earned its fair share of detractors through the years, as much as admirers. What however irrevocably sealed its fate for me was having to smell it spritzed five times under each armpit on the otherwise pristine shirts of someone close to me. The strange ritual was founded in the received knowledge that antiperspirants based on aluminum block sweat glands and therefore discouraged by doctors, who prompted to offer an alternative suggested a mist of cologne on clothes for a refreshing feeling. Little did they know they had opened the sacks of Aeolus! Amarige must have some redeeeming quality, yet refreshing cologne it isn't, by any stretch of the most perverse imagination. But to someone who is enjoying the suffocating chemical tuberose emanations, it must have smelled like the first day of summer. Alas it was my destiny to be around and it was its destiny to lose what advantage it might have had over my epithelium. Thus Amarige has been for ever associated with doom for me...Not that I consider it a good scent. But you get my point (it could happen to anything, even my beloved Lutens or vintage Guerlains!)

The matter of association is of the utmost importance when it comes to scents: we associate our mother's smell with comfort, our dad's with security, our loved ones' with feeling appealing and alive, our enemies' with displeasure; of warm bread out of the oven with satiety and of cold steel with fear entering a doctor's office for a much dreaded medical exam; of cut hay with the promise of summer vacations and of putrid water with disgust and anihillation. Scent poses its own universe of subconscious reality from each we often cannot escape. With every breath, with every quivering of the nostrils, we catch subtle or not so subtle wafts of essences which volatilize into holograms of all too real fantasy.
And it is most disappointing when those negative associations have to do with fine fragrance, fragrance which we might have chosen for ourselves or simply enjoyed smelling in the air, if only it weren't for that tangible web of memory which ruins it for us.

So, do you have similar cases of having a fragrance ruined for you through association? Let me hear those horror stories for twisted Little Red Riding Hoods now...

Photography by Jean Baptiste Mondino, courtesy of mondino-update

Globalisation-Indie Businesses: what's the score?

This tidbit of info and the very interesting video was brought to my attention by Anya from Anya's Garden.


I am not much of a Perfumaria (Passionaria of perfume, a term coined by yours truly) and in my life I have often being scolded of being a jaded aristocrat discussing the plight of the world from her couch ~which is not good karma if you think about it!~, but I thought this needed all the support it could get.
Perfume Shrine after all has always been for supporting small artisanal businesses and it would pain me if you were deprived of the choice to give them your business should you choose to.

I urge you to watch the video and read the post and, if you agree, to sign the petition. Just hurry, before the deadline for passing the signatures to the law-making body expires!