Monday, August 7, 2006

Arabian Attars: a journey to the mundane?

A while ago, I got a very kind invitation by Janet (Spadefoot) from Perfume of Life to review some Arabian attars which she had brought with her back from Yemen.
She told me that she would be pleased if I reviewed them. So, as promised, here it is.

The little package came with a postcard created by Janet herself: a great sketch of a tourist photographing two muslim women wearing the chador and humouring the photographer with playful gestures to one another. She had written on it: “Enjoy the journey” with a wide, sweeping handwriting that denotes artistic tendencies and expressive personality.
The little box that held the perfumes was a sight: bright vermillion and purple, painted by her on a box which seemed to be an Altoids tin in a previous incarnation. I found this so fitting; a humble box that would hold humble –maybe- perfumes, but full of brightness and confidence. Not an Ali-Baba cave, full of costly treasure, but a journey to the everyday. This touched me; simple, poor, honest people are just as entitled to the mythical, the chimerical, the fantasy.

The perfumes were all in oil form, thick and viscous, in varying colours that capture one’s fancy like the multicoloured crayons in a Caran d’Ache box catch the fascination in a child’s eye. The word Attar refers traditionally to distillations of vegetal materials into sandalwood or sesame oil, used mainly in India. It could also be applied to more modern perfumes in oil form, as I have experienced in Middle Eastern perfumes before. These are not exactly natural extracts, but that is beside the point in an international industry that increasingly uses mostly synthetics in its products. In fact many of the “attars” smell natural enough to me. The texture meant that although they seem very concentrated and potently harsh at first, they mellow nicely on the skin, not evolving in the classical pyramid of French perfumery that relies on gradual evaporation, but remaining close to the conceived theme of each one, only allowing their more volatile ingredients to exit noiselessly.
I do not know who makes those compositions, which made my olfactory adventure all the more exciting.

This introduction to my fragrant journey reminded me in turn of the Iranian film director Abbas Kiarostami and his films dealing with the mundane becoming philosophical. In particular A taste of cherry (Ta'm e guillas-1997) and Where is the friend's house? (Khane-ye doust kodjast? -1987). In the former a man is intent on committing suicide traveling all over the country, meeting people along the way and conversing, only to change his mind upon encountering an old man who was about to do the same but says the taste of cherry saved his life. In the latter a small boy is furtively searching the streets of the city, gaining experiences meanwhile, in pursuit of his schoolmate’s house in order to deliver his workbook that he had secretly borrowed, without which on the morrow his mate will be expelled from classes.
In this little non-heroic Odyssey I found the measure of my inspiration: imagine if a mature woman went through the streets of Yemen, this time, in pursuit of something else, savouring the tastes and smells along the way.

Arbitrarily I decided to baptise her Jasmin, an Arabian name of both the sweet little flower that is my favourite bloom and of women. Her true nature hidden by the conventional façade of an arranged marriage that had given her a family.

To quote Rabindranath Tagor (an indian poet)

“Yet my memory is still sweet with the first white jasmines
which I held in
my hands when I was a child.”

She would have an honest hard-working husband and kind children, friends and acquaintances. She would be tender, motherly, a little shy, a little wistful. She would smell of Abu Younis, honouring thus the losses of her youth. A light golden liquid like cloudy honey dribbling over lovers’ skin, like living things giving off their juice, smelling of citrus on the top like lime/lemon with a sharp greenness, segueing into a heart of rich and tender rose. She would evoke the nuance of a noble floral chypré with just a touch of the male in there, perhaps due to some incense or balsam (so ingrained in the Arabian tradition), to give a melancholic aspect of a long lost love that was not meant to be.

It would be a haphazard meeting with an old acquaintance that would remind her of that long lost love. Her gossipy, flamboyant, female friend would smell of Wejdan.
Golden ambery in colour it is fruity with peaches and plums, some bittersweet heliotropin in there and maybe even orange blossom, sweet vanillic ambery in the fond with just a touch of the animalic; this one would be the least Arabic in that cornucopia of smells that is an Arabian perfume shop recalling in fact a bastard L’heure bleue with its equally bittersweet background crossed with the very sweet nature of Jean Paul Gaultier Classique. That’s one acquaintance to either love or hate.
A passing mention of a man now ill, terminally ill, a man that had been the secret passion of Jasmin long ago, would set the latter upon a spontaneous one-day journey to the end of the town to bid him perhaps the last goodbye.

In her mental eye the woman Jasmin could have been beside him would be different, best represented by the whitish yellow of Shaikha: full of floral notes of a carnal and feminine nature such as lush jasmine that scents the alleys of middle eastern towns with its sweet fragrance during the balmy nights and exotic ylang ylang flowers touched with a little acrid wood and maybe a touch of leather; sensual, joyful , exalted. In this rendition the two flowers are intense and Arabian in nature; what Lutens might have come up with, not Guerlain. Perhaps not as complex, but uplifting and bright.

Her next stop would be at the mosque. Mosques are beautiful things, creatures of myth, tabulae for the arabesque word of spirituality. The majestic one in Cordoba is breathtaking. Yemen, I am sure, has many beautiful ones as well. The air is thick with incense, the walls sweat pure musk, ingrained as it is in the mortar by local craftsmen. And the mustiness of centuries would be a reminder of our own mortality. Although not musky to my nose, Shayma’a was my olfactory choice for that stop on Jasmin’s journey. It has a decidedly musty and herbal opening with a balsamic quality later on that recalls both frankincense and sweeter Peru Balsam. The rose is also making an appearance as it is so precious to muslims to appear almost everywhere, representing their tradition and unifying spirituality and sensuality in its thick petals.
The scent of wood is also prevalent, making this one a very complex and intriguing alloy that can be worn by both sexes who are willing to try something different.

Prayer though only being able to do so much, Jasmin would have to leave the mosque behind her as well. On to the streets through the souk she would bypass the rich reddish yellow of saffron and the dark brown of clove, dates and raisins wrinkling up in the heat, the proximity of numerous human bodies in all their olfactory glory, but also the smells of Maysoon and Zamani. Both of these are completely lovable, simple creations encompassing pleasing and agreeable notes that are more traditional and acceptable by a Western idiosyncrasy.
Maysoon is a light golden liquid with the playful, pretty, juicy smell of roses and violet leaves, with a fruity touch, insinuating perhaps the added use of damascones (which are naturally occurring in rose anyway); a sweet concoction for a young lady that is smiling behind her chador/yashmak, hinting with kholed eyes at a desire for private frivolity expressed by the background of some sandalwood oil. I see a street vendor trying to sell this to Jasmin herself, only to be rejected politely, and being asked for something for her young daughter instead.
Enter Zamani, a yellowish oil of lightness and zing that is owed to expressed peel of lemon coupled with the sharp note of petigrain perhaps, smelling like squashed lemon leaves, with pepper and another spicy note (which sadly eludes me), soaring into uplifting octaves of lightness and air, cutting through the heat of the Arabian landscape. I can very well see her buying that last one and her daughter smiling while playing dress-up in the small mirror on the stucco-ed wall. I see even her brother stealing drops of it when going out to flirt the veiled young ladies with his eyes.

As she would make her way through the market streets, tourists browsing and forgetting to haggle with the locals, she would change the itinerary to pass through less crowded places, allowing herself to glimpse through windows, catching women darning their husbands’ socks, children playing with frogs or chasing pitiful, dirty little dogs, men smoking the narguilé in silence lost in reverie, even a young bride getting dressed in the best cloth affordable by the family, anointed with Haneen al-Qulub in eager preparation. This oil of rich yellow was one of my favourites. I could see why the delicate young bride would wear it; soft, powdery, like a classic aldehydic perfume, rather sweet but not too much, it has the fizzy rush of someone embarking on an exciting adventure, oblivious to possible trouble; optimistic yet grounded with a little suede note hiding a budding sexuality. The more one wears it, the more it blends in to the natural smell of skin baked in the sun, imperceptible, yet still there, sensual and feminine, warm and inviting.

Diverting her eye and the melancholy such a sight would naturally produce in a woman who entered an arranged marriage, Jasmin would carry on to the little sweet shop in the edge of the town, in close proximity to her youth’s would-be-lover who had remained only the stuff of dreams and what-ifs all these years.
There she would purchase local variation loukhoums, smelling sweetly a bit like Mokhalat al Sed’ae. The white-gold of the liquid is watery like the airy flower-water of diluted neroli in the recipe of loukhoums, almondy like their flavour, rosy like the powderiness dusting sugar leaves on the palate, with the innocence of a white rose, like cherry pits in maraschino, yet not exactly gourmand in the sense we are accustomed to, neither exactly like loukhoum, but I wanted to fit this anyway I guess.
I liked the perfume oil a lot, I have to admit.

(By the way, to make loukhoums according to my recipe, one
would need 2 cups sugar, 1/8 teaspoon salt, ½ cup hot water,all of which one
would boil to thick syrup. One would then need to mix 2 tablespoons powdered
gelatin in ½ cup water separately and after a while add it to the hot syrup. To
that one would add ½ cup orange juice or flower water, 2 tablespoons lemon
juice, optionally 2/3 cup almond whites -roasted and cut coarsely- and ½
teaspoon bitter almond or rose essence. One would then pour into a wide pan,
refrigerate for 6 hours and when firm cut in little squares and roll onto
dusting sugar.)

Armed with loukhoums, to sweeten bitter memories of involuntary parting for the second time, Jasmin would call upon Karim (the imaginary name I devised for the ill man). He would be alone, deserted, with only a nurse to look after him. His tired face would alight upon finding out who the matronly lady was. Years had passed so quickly, only to stall in illness now.
After a few exchanges, he would direct her silently to an old chest of drawers squeaking when used. It smelled of aged Oudh. Old, musty, mouldy, the way a cold crypt would smell hiding bones of the holy or the unholy, it didn’t even matter by then… The dark thick oil that was named after that precious wood (which also comes by the name of oud, aoudh, aloewood or agarwood ) is dark brown, a singular colour for a perfume oil. Unusual and unfriendly, it would be very hard to wear alone, as if demons were festering a tortured body. And yet, it is an ingredient of so many fine perfumes it makes one wonder how the demonic can be rendered sublime.
In the words of Françoise Sagan:
"Doesn't perfume derive its beauty from that sensation of a time that doesn't
flow, but soars? Everything in this world is but smoke.”

To the bottom drawer, unused for years it seemed, under numerous yellowed papers she unearthed a little box; bright vermillion and purple. Inside it a man’s once-upon-a-time perfumed handkerchief holding a dried up remnant of a rose, smelling the way Taif smells. Rather musty and chypré, it has the vicious colour of absinthe, the green fairy of the damned poets’ soul. Its bitterness and mysterious smoky leather envelops the floral, its musty like vetiver background is reminiscent of the eponymous liquor too in its controversial reputation.

She instantly knew. That was her parting gift, her memento. No words were necessary. The long journey home awaited her.

I don’t know if “the taste of cherry” could save a desperate man’s life. It seems unlikely. It could certainly enrich a woman’s experience however and I am honoured I tasted it through that imaginary woman thanks to Spadefoot’s generosity.

Monday, July 31, 2006

Art in perfumery part deux: post-modernism?

In my previous post I elaborated on what constitutes art in perfumery and what criteria must apply for it to be defined as such. Some perfume lines were scrutinised in order to decide whether they deserve the term or not. Considering that some perfumes are in some degree artistically conceived and not merely as a means of generating income for the conglomerates that so often produce the majority of perfume today, the next question would be what style and period of art do they belong to and if post-modernism features in there.
Takashi Murakami Super Dob

According to certain theorists all art can roughly be divided into two extremes: classicism and baroque, styles antithetical to one another and with the consistent habit of succeeding one another through the passing of time.
Nota bene that it is of paramount importance for our purposes further on, though, to differentiate those terms clearly. I do not refer only to their standard definitions regularly used. I use them in a broader artistic sense. Thus by classicism we can not only define the ancient greek and roman art, nor the 18th century genre that mimicked some of those attributes, nor still the things that are generally viewed as “classics” by the layman.
Even within ancient greek art (which one would label classic, without thinking twice about it) the two extremes are inherent; the golden century of Pericles that provided such masterpieces as Diadoumenos was swiftly followed just another century after that by the equally exquisite Hellenistic baroque with Laokoon and the Snakes. Surely these two examples cannot be lumped into the same stylistic technique or aim of the artist. One is calm and sure of itself, relying on perfect harmony and rules. The other is full of expressive agony, imbalance and agitation.


In J.K.Huysman’s English translation of his famous book A rebours/Against the grain (Albert & Charles Boni), Havelock Ellis notes in the introduction that classicism is the subjection of detail to the form, the parts subordinated to the whole; while baroque/decadence is the antithesis of that; the glory of the detail above the whole, the homogenous in Spencerian phraseology becoming heterogeneous. Therefore classicism precedes baroque and can also be considered more “correct” as it has its roots into functionality. (the aim is served by the technique and not the other way around). He goes on to give examples from architecture and literature ( early Gothic is classic, late Gothic is decadent, Hume and Gibbon are classic, Emerson and Carlyle decadent)

I couldn’t agree more, even though I am personally drawn to baroque.
Baroque exalts segmentation over the whole, striving for the virtues of individuality. It tries to make beauty out of imbalance and feeling out of clash. Romanticism is baroque. German expressionism is baroque.

In that respect perfumery can also be seen through this lens; series of classical perfumes in contrast to baroque ones.
Classical perfumes are those that have a smooth balance of notes to serve an idea behind them that unifies the whole into one precise image, one specific aim. In my mind such perfumes are Allure by Chanel or Femme by Rochas. They give out a very balanced precise message. Every chord is serving that message: “like me” for Allure; “ravage me” for Femme. The nuances are there to serve the general purpose, no matter what that latter is.

In contrast there are other perfumes that follow a baroque sensibility, focusing on detail: Bal a Versailles, Angelique Encens, Tubereuse Criminelle are orchestrated in segmented glory in order to make us appreciate every evolving stage and hint at various different messages along the way. Although two of those are considered “classics”, this does not by any means refer to the term already discussed, but rather to their endurance to the passing of trends.

To make this issue contemporary and relevant and not an art history lesson, I have pondered on the art movements of the 20th century from post-impressionism to fauves to cubism to Dada, from modern and post-modern to pop art to Damien Hirst. Again the succession of classical style to baroque continues. Perfumery did not have so many phases as the visual arts, but it did have its fluctuations in style which does not mean they are clearly divided always into “pockets” of style. From the revolutionary modern phase of the late 19th century that produced Jicky and on to the roaring 20’s with their Guerlain Shalimar and Caron Tabac Blond to the 50’s with their lighter aldehydics and feminine chypres, to the 70’s with their emancipated scents or hippy-ish oils, to the opulence of the 80’s and on to the sparseness of the 90’s and full circle to the baroque gourmands of recent years.

However it was a comment by a poster on MUA, named Rhian, who got me into thinking that if the great perfume classics are those created before the 1930’s (the period of modernism in art and also the basis of most revolutionary setting of rules for modern perfumery) what exactly personifies the olfactory post-modernism?
Rhian reminded me of Louis Sass, who in his book Madness and Modernism elaborated on the shared disjunctive narratives, surreal images, and incoherence of both post-modern art and schizophrenia, which is intriguing to say the least.
I personally disagree with John Cage's maxim:
"Emotions do not interest me. Emotions have long been known to be dangerous.
You must free yourself of your likes and dislikes."

In my opinion perfumery is deeply rooted to the physical, being a transportation of the senses, so any cerebral interpretation has to go through this aspect still; we react very viscerally to smell, even though we may *think* about the specific stimulus in a certain way. So yes, in that regard perfumery as a whole could be viewed as an antidote to the mind frame of post-modernism.

"Postmodernist fiction is defined by its temporal disorder, its disregard of
linear narrative, its mingling of fictional forms and its experiments with
language."
according to Barry Lewis referring to Kazuo Ishiguro.

The notion that in order to create a post modern perfume one would have to break down the traditional techniques and shatter every well-received knowledge of the masters of the field in order to create something truly baroque to its core is so difficult to come by, though; since modernism is a classical stylistic means, like we agreed, it would follow that post-modernism should embrace the extreme baroque. Thus I cannot for the life of me get beyond two -or three, at gun point- lines that truly produce such a post-modern product. One of them is Serge Lutens for Les Salons du Palais Royal, who is deeply baroque in the most contemporary way in my mind. The mentholated opening that segues into creamy floral is a very post-modern idea. Ditto the warm ashes in conjunction with cool lavender.
The other line is pushing the envelope even more. It’s Comme des Garcons. If there is truly a post-modernist perfume they (and I refer to Rei Kawakubo by “they”) have certainly been the ones producing it.
From the cloning of dust on a lit lamp to burnt rubber to wash drying in the wind and from the Synthetic series to the Incense series to the Guerilla scents they have succeeded to churn out so many innovative and anti-perfume scents that they have earned the laurels of the rather unwearable but oh-so-revered post-modern perfume. Brava! The case for schizophrenia is not far behind.



Friday, July 7, 2006

An essay on art in perfumery

The issue of what constitutes art and what does not has been on my mind for years. Being an historian and having a degree in History of Art as well is no help though, because one would be amazed at the diversity of opinion in such circles as to what exactly would be the deciding factor. As perfumery might be considered an art form by us perfume fanatics, I wanted to discuss what exactly would define it as such and pose some questions.
I was reading an interview of painter and sculptor Fernando Botero -probably South America's greatest living artist today- given to Thanasis Lalas on Vima magazine the other day, which inspired this post.


Botero went on to give 9 suggestions to young artists which pretty much define the meaning of art to me. I roughly translate the suggestions and put my personal comment/explanation in parenthesis. Here they are:


1. Choose the right influence (meaning: the best ones! Get to know that
great masters and get influenced in a constructive way)
2. Art should
give some pleasure
(he elaborates by saying he is old school in those
matters and doesn't think that you need a PhD to appreciate art, it just
"clicks" and makes you feel)
3. Develop your own sensibilities (ergo
develop a theoretical thesis about art and its meaning)
4. Abide by your
convictions
(develop a personal style)
5. Be a rebel
(innovation, what else?)
6. Look upon your work as if it is someone
else's
(objectivity is of paramount importance)
7. We all make
mistakes
(he goes on to elaborate that an artwork's main mistake is to have
nothing to say in the first place, which is indeed much to the chagrin of a
modern art appreciator)
8. Success is never complete (personal
growth is tantamount to evolving in one’s style)
9. Art can be greater
than life
(What a great line!!)


In that maxim I see a very nice summing up of what art is really all about (to me at least). It should make a point, it should have something to convey, it should innovate and not rely in its self-importance, it should be evolving and growing, making the artist as well as the audience grow with it.
I think it applies not only to sculpture and painting, but to music, literature, theater, you name it! Hence I thought about perfumery, which although does have a commercial aim (since the product of the creation is to be commercialized through marketing, advertising and sales) it does retain an artistic vision, much in the same way that a designer kitchen appliance designed by Phillip Stark can stand on its own as a modern day art piece (an “artefact” of a certain lifestyle, I’m afraid)
So a thing can have an aesthetic value as well as a commercial one, in that it can provide pleasure and to the degree that it does not break any other rule, it can be sold and bought.



JaeLynn (alias), a prolific writer and a poster on some of the fora I frequent said to me this great line and I quote:

“But then you start getting into the Frankfurt Schoolers versus
Jenkins/Hills/et al, which is a darned fine row if I do say so myself. What
constitutes "art" and are there divisions of high/middle/low? To put it
fragrantly, is there (Frankfurt) or is there not (Jenkins gang) a quantitative
and qualitative difference between a Lutens or Malle perfume and a Comptoir Sud
or Britney Spears perfume? “


What could we say to that? What exactly differentiates a Serge Lutens and a Frederic Malle from a Comptoir Sud Pacifique or Britney Spears perfume, if there is indeed a differentiation?


Surely when one approaches the different lines there is some snobbism inherent, especially among those who are just budding into perfume niches, because, let’s face it, the persona of the celebrity promoting the perfume with his/her name on has an uncanny way of entering our subconscious in more ways than one, alternatively influencing us into giving the perfume bonus points or inherent flaws, depending on our perception of Ms. Spears or any other eponymous celebrity or designer for that matter. Because many designers are capitalising on their name too in order to sustain their couture houses which would only crumble to the ground if left to the moguls clients only (after all how many are those and how many gowns could they wear in a given season?).



Lump in that category too overpriced exercises in trends, like sickly foody smells in a hundred different variations imaginable or oils that purportedly have a secret recipe and are all the rage among the famous. They are nothing special appearing as something that could be. Perhaps their art lies in clever marketing, but maybe that is a science after all?
Only blind testing would provide objective data in that stratum and we know this is a utopia for most of us when testing those particular scents.
Nevertheless, the one salient characteristic of most commercial perfumes is their ability to appeal and be pleasant across the boards for initiated and uninitiated alike. By that I do not mean that they are great, fabulous, wonderful or anything along those lines, because despite their pleasantness they often fail to make one genuinely interested and involved, leading to the launch of another new one that will in its turn become obsolete after the 5-year-time frame that modern day perfumes work within. They are perhaps too boring and forgettable to compel us to renew our purchase, so we become serial monogamists: using the new scent until the juice finishes and then on to another. They do smell inoffensive and “nice” though and sometimes being composed by the same noses who make other niche compositions with often comparable ingredients might beg the question why they aren’t considered art as well, per dictum number 2 discussed already.


The Frederic Malle line, on the other hand, started with an artistic reference point from the start as perpetuated by their motto perfumes without compromise: Malle gave the chance to top perfumers to create something they really wanted with the best materials available given no commercial restraints and he, like an editor, would promote it and distribute it for them. Hence the peculiar and sometimes bold nature of such animals as the lush, bombastic baroque Fleur de Cassie by Dominique Ropion or the pungent, bitter minimalism of Bigarade Concentreé by Jean Claude Ellena. In correlating this to the criteria we talked about in the beginning, the Malle line displays no specific homogenous “style” but rather the individual style of his artists who may indeed “abide by their convictions”. However among perfume loving circles I have come across many people who although they like and condone the concept have not found themselves in love with a single one in the line, at least not enough to buy a full bottle of it (what is affectionately termed as being “full bottle worthy” ).


Serge Lutens didn’t begin with such a concept, however there is a definite vision behind his creations with sidekick nose Chris Sheldrake: evoking the rich tradition of the Arabian world, however interpreted in a completely modern way with modern materials and procedures. The results are not erratic as with the Malle line because the collaboration of those two individuals in the line (with the exception of Maurice Roucel on Iris Silver Mist and Pierre Bourdon on Feminité du bois) has ensured coherence of style which however has the disadvantage of not always hitting the right spot. Hence the passionate feelings most Lutens scents arouse in perfume appreciation fans, whether their remarks are mostly positive (Chergui, Fleurs d’oranger) or mostly negative (Miel de bois, Gris Clair). The amount of pleasure one derives is subject to one’s personal associations and memories, as is with the majority of scents, however there is no denying that these are perfumes constructed as an exercise in pleasure recalling an opulence and sultriness of a modern odalisque that is active in an urban territory.


In their elitist mentality though (which in my humble opinion hides a snickering marketing angle too) they go on and produce such shocking segments such as the mentholated top note of Tubereuse Criminelle and the urine-like sweetness of Miel du bois that greet you when you open the vial. That would divert from the pleasure aspect if only there weren’t segments that transport the senses and validate the best wet dreams of an incurable perfumeholic (the creaminess of Un Lys, the deep plush of chocolate-patchouli in Borneo, the sweaty rot of the candied fruits in Arabie).


And then one stumbles on contradictory quotes such as this one:

"We don't care about celebrities at Hermès, it's the artists who drive us,"

Mr Ellena said.

"I do this for me. If it sells, it's a bonus."

The quote comes from TheAustralian.news.com on July 27th from an article about Ellena being in Sydney for the launch of Terre d’Hermès. Which left me wondering the obvious: if perfume is just art and not business, why travel to promote it?


OK, Mr Ellena, I forgive you the lapse this one time.

Wednesday, February 1, 2006

Reviews alphabetized by Fragrance Note

Links direct to fragrances/articles featuring said note, be it of natural or synthetic origin.
Names in parenthesis denote alternative appelation.

Absinth
African Musk
African Stone
Agarwood (oud)
Aldehydes
Aloeswood (oud)
Ambrox/Ambroxan
Amyl Salicylate
Androstenone (pheromone)
Aoud/Aoudh/Oud
Amber
Ambergris
Ambrette Seeds
Angelica
Anise/Aniseed
Artemisia
Almond
Basil
Beeswax
Benzoin
Benzyl Acetate
Benzyl Salicylate
Bergamot
Birch
Bitter Orange
Bread
Broom
Bug Spray note
Cade oil
Calone
Camphor
Capucine
Caraway
Cassia
Cashmeran (Blond Woods)
Castoreum
Cardamom
Carnation
Champaca
Chestnut
Chocolate
Cherry Blossom
Cinnamon
Cistus (Labdanum)
Citrus
Civet
Clary sage
Clean notes
Clementine
Clove
Clover
Coconut
Coffee
Coriander
Cosmone
Coumarin
Cumin
Cyclemone
Cypriol (Nagarmotha)
Damascones
Damascenones
Datura
Dihydrojasmonate
Dihydromyrcenol
Egyptian Musk
Elemi
Fenugreek
Fig
Fir
Florazone
Frangipani
Frankincense (Olibanum)
Gaiacwood (Guaiacwood)
Galaxolide
Galbanum
Gardenia
Gentian
Geranium Leaf
Gin
Ginger
Grapefruit
Guaiacwood (Gaiac)
Hay
Hawthorn
Hedione
Helional
Heliotrope
Hemlock
Honey
Honeysuckle
Hyacinth
Hyrax
Incense
Indole
Immortelle
Ionones
Iris/Orris
Irival
Iso-E Super
Jasmine
Jasmolactones 
Jonquil
Jovanol
Juniper 
Kumquat
Labdanum (Cistus)
Laurel
Lavender
Leather
Lemon
Lemon Blossom
Lentisque (Mastic)
Licorice/liquorice
Lilac
Lily
Lily of the Valley/Muguet
Lime
Linden
Lotus
Loukhoum/Loukoum
Magnolia
Mandarin
Marron Glaces
Marzipan
Massoia
Mastic (Lentisque)
Mate
Methyl Acetate
Methyl Anthranilate
Methyl Salicylate
Menthol
Mimosa
Mint
Moss
Mousse de Saxe
Muscone
Musk
Myrrh
Nagarmotha (Cypriol)
Narcissus
Nectarine
Neroli
Nitromusks
Nutmeg
Oakmoss
Olibanum (Frankincense)
Oleander
Opoponax
Orange
Orange Blossom/Orange Flower
Orchid
Oregano
Osmanthus
Oud (Aoud/Aoudh/Agarwood)
Pandanus
Passion Fruit
Patchouli
Peach
Pear
Peony
Pepper
Petit-Grain
Peru balsam
Pheromones
Pikake
Pine
Pink Pepper
Pittosporum
Plum
Plumeria
Pomegranate
Powdery Notes
Pyrazines
Quinolines
Raspberry
Rose
Rosewood
Rubber
Rum
Saffron
Sage
Sampaquita
Sandalwood
Sea Spray
Silk Tree
Smoke
Soap Notes
Star Anise
Styrax
Suede
Tar
Tea
Tea Olive
Terpenes
Tiare
Thyme
Tobacco
Tolu balsam
Tomato Leaf
Tonka Bean
Toscanol
Tuberose
Vanilla
Vetiver
Violet
Violet Leaf
White Musk
Wine
Wisteria
Wormwood
Ylang Ylang

Saturday, January 7, 2006

Articles in the Press focusing on scent

This is a reference index of articles concerning smell appearing in the press which I have amassed through various sources. Parentheses are mine giving the focus of the article.


General Interest

A message in a bottle (perfume packaging) from Newsweek
A pungent puzzle (how language lacks scent vocabulary) from The Globe and Mail
Aveda, the problem with common scents (perfumer Ko-Ichi Shiozawa's quest for organic materials) in Science Daily
Bacteria Manage Perfume Oil Production From Grass (how bacteria aid in the production of vetiver oil) from Science Daily.
Beauty: the new weight of scent (trend towards solids) from Newsweek
Body Odors Individual as Fingerprints (60-Second Science podcast explaining how our natural smell is detectable underneath it all) at Scientific American.
Bottling your own personal smell (custom-made perfume and those who do it) from Newsweek
Catherine Deneuve and scent (she reveals her tastes) from Times Online
Common Scents (a new book tells you why sniffing pastries can make you nicer) from Newsweek Could perfume be the recession antidote? (a little pick-me up in hard times) from Times Online
Food and Flavour (how the two combine) from Foodarts
Giacomo's Scent (the celebrity scent of a horse!) from Newsweek
Italian scents (homage to Italian perfumery) from Osmoz
Let us spray (the animalic and dirty smells in perfume) from the Guardian
London shopping for perfume (the seven places you shouldn't miss) from the Guardian
Love Sskews your sense of smell from the New Scientist
Madagascar scents (the smells of Nosy Be island on the north of Madagascar) from MSNBC
Mysterious sweet smell from 2005 returns to Manhattan (the smell of maple suryp from a nearby company) from NY Times
Natural perfumery (natural perfumes and the Anya McCoy enterprise) from eworldwire
New scents crowd thriving perfume field (the super-exclusive one-off scents from L'artisan) from the International Herald Tribune.
Perfume: Start making scents (the focus on perfumes is escalating) from Newsweek
Return to Luxury from Times Online
Samurai (Home fragrances) on the NY Times
Scents and Personalities (an explanation of what your perfume says for you by Marian Bendeth, fragrance expert) from Lifewise Beauty
Scentimental France (Marian Bendeth explains her memories and impressions) from Basenotes
Scent of a man (Women rate masculine fragrances)in the Times Online
Scents of the city (Grasse perfume industry) from Newsweek
Smells Good (Turin and Sanchez pick women's perfumes from the holidays 2008) from Times Online
Smelly Masterpieces (a review of Perfumes, the Guide, giving a glimpse to the bean counters in Zurich and Paris) from Times Online
Solid scents that can last (on the trend of solids) from Newsweek
Taking a front seat (the case of a woman becoming a professional driver and how people respond to her perfume) from Newsweek
The Gift I never Want (why perfume giving isn't always a good idea) from the Atlanta Journal Constitution
The Good Life (Grasse history and operations today) from Newsweek
The Scent of a man (fragrance alters the way we view ourselves and thus how we are perceived) from The Economist
The Smell of Fear is Real (how it's not a myth according to scientists) from the Guardian
To bee or not to bee (bee repellants and scents affecting them) from Newsweek
Travel: Tours with a slice of sugar and spice (scented travelling guide) from Newsweek
Unisex Fragrances from the Times Online
Vintage fragrances en vogue from the Financial Times
Which Chanel perfume should you wear? (Marian Bendeth tackles Les Exclusifs) from Canadian Living
World Perfumery Congress Cannes from Time Magazine

Historical

Chanel and Rallet from Perfumer & Flavorist magazine
Francois Coty from the New Yorker archives (article from 1930)
Fragrance of the Pharaohs (Nenufar and the collection by David Pybus) from Newsweek
Joan of Arc and the forgeries of her relics (science debunks the forgery when Patou and Guerlain noses detect vanillin) from Lifestyle Extra UK
Inconvenient woman (on Mary Magdalene) from Newsweek
Questions in Qumran (archaeological discoveries regarding the ascetic Esenes Jews) from Newsweek
Perfume vials from the time of Jesus unearthed from MSNBC
Staying in the Saddle (the Hermes house history) from Newsweek
Terrasanta (on discovering terracotta pots with ancient ungunts from 1stcentury AD)-in Italian
Woman's best friend (the story of Lalique) from Newsweek

Interviews
Catherine Deneueve from Times Online
François Demachy (Senior Vice President for Olfactive Development at Louis Vuitton Moët Hennessy) talks to ShinyGloss about the early days.
Jean Claude Ellena : Conjuring Paradise, from LA Times
Jacques Polge (on Chanel archives and re-issues) from the Living Scotsman
Roja Dove (on luxury and forgotten scents) from the Living Scotsman
Serge Lutens: l'etat de l'art from Osmoz
Victoria Beckham ("not sure everyone would want to smell like me") from Bang/Sweden.real.com

Miscellaneous
An alluring Perfume (on the film Perfume the story of a murderer) from Newsweek
Can certain hairstyles and smells make a headache worse? from Newsweek
Christian Lacroix brand takeover from Newsweek
Franken-tomato (genetically manipulated tomato exhibit different scent) from Newsweek
French company denied strawberry trademark from BBC
It's all in the bottle (the spirits business influenced by the perfume business) from Newsweek
Highlights and exclusives (luxury market watch) from Newsweek
Luxury for a little less (ideas in the middle of recession) from Newsweek
Organic Art Spoils the Pleasure of Patrons (artist Jan Fabre's installation at the exhibit COLLECTIE XXIII, which runs through 4/1 at the MuHKA.be museum in Antwerp) from the Washington Post
Tip sheet (traveling by rail allows you to engulf your senses) from Newswek
The sweet smell of success (Lisa Price, founder of Carol's Daughter) from Newsweek
Truly, madly, deeply (the Theresa Duncan case, author, cinematographer and blogger) from Newsweek
What does the moon smell like? (Apollo 16 pilots reveal) from Boing Boing.Net

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