Perfumer Annick Ménardo does a Marc Buxton on us with Le Labo Gaiac 10; a sensual, diaphanous and creamy season-less woody fragrance with just the barest hint of soft, sweet musks and comforting, meditative incense in the drydown. Why so? Because Annick shares the beloved mixture of Ambroxan and Iso-E Super of Buxton's famous woody incenses and fluffies his somber yet clean style with the infusion of a hint of sweetness that lends come hither charm to the proceedings.: a delicate balance fit for an experienced trapeze artist.
Gaïac is a very hard greenish wood that isn’t as dry as cedar and that is subtle, profound, and stable. Le Labo’s GAIAC 10, a perfume extract that has been developed in partnership with cult perfumer Annick Ménardo (Bulgari Black, Lolita Lempicka, Patchouli 24) in 2008, is a tense formula built on gaïac wood and surrounded by muscs (4 different synthetic musk types in all), with hints of cedar and olibanum (incense). If you like the meditative, cool Eastern incense vibe of Kyoto by Comme de Garçons, you have good chances to appreciate that element in the Le Labo offering. The musks are the "clean" variety, lightly sweet with a faintly fruity tonality, with no funk or sweat involved. The woody background with a light peppery nuance is reminiscent of the base notes treatment in Poivre Samarkande for Hermessences and Bang by Marc Jacobs. (So we know it's Iso E Super that's doing the trick). And of course there's incense. Subtle, coolish, lightly smoky incense, contemplative and serene.
Essentially monochromatic, entirely linear but pleasurably so, I find that Gaiac 10 projects as a secret aura more than a fragrance: It's the type of scent to wear when you desire people to spontaneously exclaim "you smell good" instead of "your fragrance smells good".
The lasting power of Le Labo Gaiac 10 is amazingly good, about 12 hours and going on my skin, while the perfume wears close to the body, yet still enough to be noticeable at all times during a hug or a kiss. Marketed as a masculine, I believe it is in reality a shared fragrance and it would be ultra neat for lovers to share; just imagine the possibilities, assuming that the steep price point is not a deterrent! It is available in the standard basic apothecary style bottle and label of Le Labo, customized per customer and only available in Tokyo; unless you get the opportunity to catch this in the course of Japan Relief while supplies last online for a limited time only (find out more on the link).
Still from the film Der Himmel über Berlin (Wings of Desire) by Wim Wenders (1987).
To Dream, indie perfumer Laurie Erikson's (of Sonoma Scent Studio) latest release clearly poses as a violet fragrance and yet it is so much more that it can stand for many things: a woody floral for those who don't want too much of either declination; a balanced composition that explores minimal powdery elements alongside a soft, fuzzy smoothness and sweetened woods over the familiar ambience of viola odorata; a non makeup scent for men who want to venture into the realm. To Dream is quite enchanting, inducing daydreaming indeed, and at the same time supremely easy to pull of for both sexes, projecting on a pleasant hum at all times, no sharp points, but rather colourful accents, like an oil painting by a late 19th century artist.
To Dream features soft violet and rose with a base of heliotrope, tonka, amber, vanilla, frankincense essential oil (very lightly done), oakwood absolute, orris, cedar, sandalwood, and hints of cocoa, suede and moss. Even though Laurie had been working on violets before for her Lieu de Rêves (Place of Dreams), reviewed on these pages, the two compositions, sharing the violet-rose-heliotrope heart, soon depart. Lieu de Rêves has a childlike innocence and the hazy contours of flou stills of Louis Malle's Pretty Baby; a nascent sensuality which beckons you closer Bambi-eyed. To Dream is a bit more sophisticated and more unisex, with woodier aspects from French oakwood absolute which comes from wine barrels made of Quercus robur wood; Quercus is the Latin name for oak, i.e. these are oaky barrels, the kind that hold aging-simpatico dry, red wine).
Smelling the raw essence of oakwood absolute, mossy and fruity at the same time, brought to my mind all the early memories I had when as a kid we went to grape distilleries & wineries (a Greek pastime during family holidays driving through the lush countryside) and I buried my nose inside the by -then empty- oaky barrels before being shown the fungus that is added to begin the fermentation process. The tannic facets of the wine were mingling with the slightly musty, pungent aroma of the wood itself. In To Dream this is a definite note and oenophiles will be delighted to discover it within a fragrance fit to wear. This woody note naturally lends itself to pairings with moss and the soft notes like the rose and strawberry bouquet of a young red wine. But that is not all: The powderiness and slight almondy character of To Dream enrobes this wood note and the florals with plush, a fine muskiness surfacing to blend all into a comforting, snuggly haze you won't want to get away from.
Notes for Sonoma Scent Studio To Dream:
Violet, rose, heliotrope, cedar, amber, frankincense, oakwood absolute, vetiver, tonka, orris, vanilla, musk, sandalwood, oakmoss, subtle suede, cocoa, and aldehydes.
In Oscar Wilde's tale "The Nightingale and the Rose", drawing upon an ancient Sufi tradition, roses are dark red like blood, bearing the price of sacrifice for the sake of beauty and love. In L'Artisan Parfumeur Voleur de Roses we witness the dark, earthier aspects of a nightime rose garden which blossoms, dense with foliage, only when true love manifests itself and a nightingale sings ever so sweetly as its pierces its heart upon the thorns.
Even though men are not known for typically wearing roses in the Western world, in Arabian countries they embrace those dark, almost gothic roses flanked by pungent woody notes like oud and patchouli. For those men and women with an adventurous heart, L'Artisan Parfumeur created almost two decades ago one of the most characteristic combination of those two polarising essences: the brutal yet tender collision of rose and patchouli.
Voleur de Roses (Roses' Thief) is like the granpa of niche patchoulis on the market, as it came out as early as 1993, composed by perfumer Michel Almairac (well known for his work on Chopard Casmir, Gucci Rush, several Bond no.9 scents such as Fire Island and The Scent of Peace, the new Chloe and the re-orchestration of Zen into a springly fruity floral). Subsequently all brands jumped onto the bandwagon of patchouli revival (it had been a dormant note since its heyday in the 1960s) and now it has not only swept the market as a protagonist in the new "pink chypres" (faux woody florals that substitute the base of moss with patchouli and vetiver) but also the much maligned -but deservedly most of the time- "fruitchoulis". Imagine a current bestseller, Chanel's Coco Mademoiselle, without the accord of the soiled petals gathered off the ground which made it so contemporary and attractive to young women: it would have been impossible without a forebearer providing the skeleton of the idea, such as Voleur de Roses. Patchouli and rose is nothing new, as the dark, deep and sweet earthiness of the former seems to make the essence of the latter smell like petals unfurling into infinity. All perfumers know that. But in the L'Artisan scent this notion was put front and center, united in an accord which projects with both strength and sensuality. The rose is not sour and it feels natural, not like a photorealistic rose on the stem, but rather true to the rich liqueur-like essence; boozy and contrasting warmth with coolness.
Although built upon two distinct and contrasting elements, the structure of Voleur de Roses is a powerful synergy of these antithetical forces, uniting into a stentorian voice which denies rose of all its archetypal attributes: romanticism, femininity, delicate elegance, softness. Instead this fragrance is like the torrent that ripped rose bushes off their petals and leaves (hence Voleur!) and left the premises like a patchouli-wheeled tractor ran through them repeatedly. If you do not like patchouli as a note (and if you're a reader who didn't live under a rock for the past 15 years you'd recognise it from overexposure in many contemporary fragrances) you're advised to back slowly away and never look back or you'll turn to salt like Lot's wife. This is a direct, over patchouli scent which gains in that odd camphoraceousness that patchouli soli-scents exhibit as time passes ~Borneo 1834 or Prada Intense are good examples of that sort of thing. It figures that L'Artisan featured a stand-alone Patchouli (later substituted by Patchouli Patch) on their catalogue previously: it's the stuff that niche fragraces capitalised on; focus on the raw materials themselves, far away references, emphasizing different facets of the essences. Voleur de Roses is a fusion of two essential elements that comprise over 3/4 of total number of fragrances in both feminine and masculine perfumery, from floral chypres and masculine woodies via floral woodies and from Chanel through Guerlain. But the formula in this L'Artisan is also a careful framing (rather than ornamentation) of that skeleton with fruity accents (hints of strawberry, a whiff of plum) and a slightly musky-salty note. The composition is linear and a love-it-or-hate-it opus, one clear message in a perfectly coherent chord reverbarated into eternity into a hollow stone-built church. I personally like it very much indeed...but then I am a devotee of the sweet earthiness of aged patchouli that is reminiscent of burying one's hands in wet black soil...
Those who find they'd like the idea of rose and earthy notes/patchouli combined should also try Agent Provocateur's original scent in the pink "egg", Une Rose by F.Malle, Parfums de Rosine Une Folie de Rose (a lighter and easier interpretation) as well as Rose d'Homme by the same company (a decidedly masculine take on the idea), and also the more chypre-leaning Rose de Nuit by Serge Lutens.
Notes for L'Artisan Voleur de Roses: bergamot, rose, plum, patchouli
Perfectly unisex, although originally marketed as masculine (at least going by what the older bottles read on the top of the cardboard box), Voleur de Roses is available online at L'Artisan and at boutiques specializing in L'Artisan scents.
illustration by Charles Robinson for the Oscar Wilde fairy tale
Much has been made of Ambre Sultan's resemblance to women's odorata sexualis, the intimate scent of a woman, and although I fail to take this literally, this Serge Lutens perfume is certainly one of arousal. Lovers of this deep, devilishly suave iconoclast of a scent (which doesn't recall any of the powdery, "safe" sweet ambers you might have known before) confirm it.
And if it seems counterintuitive to think of an amber when spring is around the corner, and indeed when Lutens has just launched his newest Jeux de Peau, Ambre Sultan can surprise us; the perfect amber blend for warmer weather, blooming into something more meaningful with each sun ray that hits our hair.
According to fragrance expert Roja Dove ~journalist Hannah Betts quotes him in Let Us Spray~ this is part of a wider trend: "When the Aids epidemic hit, we wanted all the sex washed away, but perfume is returning to its semier side." Amber fragrances in general have something of Eros in them, because they try to recreate an oriental ambience that spells languor, exoticism, opulence, all conductive to a let go of the senses evocative of odalisque paintings by Eugène Delacroix or orientalia scenes by Rudolph Ernst. The most common raw materials for creating an amber "accord" (accord being the combined effect of several ingredients smelling more than the sum of their parts) are: labdanum (resinous substance from Cistus Ladaniferus or "rock rose", possessing a leathery, deep, pungently bitterish smell), benzoin (a balsam from Styrax Tonkiniensis with a sweetish, caramel and vanillic facet) and styrax (resin of Liquidambar Orientalis tree with a scent reminiscent of glue and cinnamon). And most ambers are usually quite sweet or powdery-hazy (particularly those which include opoponax and vanilla) which bring their own element of both comfort (a necessary part in surrendering inhibitions) and desire. Ambre Sultan has a devil may care attitude and the necessary austerity to break loose with all conventions.
The truth in the creation of Lutens's famous opus is different than the rumours, although none the less semiotically erotic. Serge Lutens was simply inspired by his forays into local Marrakech shops, full of interesting knick-knacks and drawers of pungent spices, where precious vegetal ambers are preserved in mysterious-looking jars alongside Spanish Fly. As the polymath Serge divulges: "An amalgam of resins, flowers and spices, these ambers are a praise to women's skin". This was the brief given to perfumer Chris Sheldrake and together they set on to create one of the most emblematic orientals in modern perfumery in 2000.
Interestingly enough, the pungent, sharply herbal opening of Ambre Sultan, full of bay leaf, oregano and myrtle is traditionally thought of as masculine, but it is the rounding of the amber heart via mysterious, exotic resins, patchouli and creamy woods which captures attention irreversibly and lends the scent easily to women as well. The first 10 minutes on skin are highly aromatic, like herbs and weeds roasting under a hot sun on a rocky terrain, with bay and myrtle surfacing mostly on my skin. The effect translates as spicy, but not quite; what the creators of Diptyque must have been thinking when they envisioned their own original herbal fragrances treaking through mount Athos. Next the creamier elements segue, contrasting warmth and cool, fondling the skin and at the same time hinting at an unbridled sensuality. Although Ambre Sultan is a scent I only occassionaly indulge in (preferring the leather undercurrent of Boxeuses or the hay embrace of Chergui and the bittersweet melancholy of Douce Amèrewhen the mood strikes for a Lutensian oriental), probably because it's rather masculine on my skin, I marvel at its technical merits each and every time: the way the creaminess never takes on a powdery aspect and how it's poised on a delicate balance between smoky and musky without fully giving in to either. Much like Lutens is the sultan of artistic niche perfumery, Ambre Sultan is a dangerous fragrance in the pantheon of great orientals that like a possessive sheik will never let you look back...
Lovers of Ambre Sultan might enjoy other dark, non sweet or spicy blends such as Amber Absolute by Christopher Laudemiel for Tom Ford Private Blend, Creed's Ambre Cannelle (whose spice uplifts the skin-like drydown) and I Profumi di Firenze incense-trailing Ambra del Nepal. Those who would love a sweeter amber but still firmly set into the Lutens canon, can try his equally delightful Arabie with its dried figs and pinch of cumin spice.
Ambre Sultan is part of the export line by Serge Lutens, in oblong bottles of 50ml Eau de Parfum, available at select boutiques and online stores such as the Perfume Shoppe.
Nothing is more alluring than the forbidden and at a time when the Muslim world appears as West's "enemy" in the zeitgeist, the surge for Arabian-inspired perfumes is gaining momentum thanks to that very axiom. Incense Oudby Kilian is one member of the cast in this multi-character play where prestige and polish are given to niche lines through the claim on age-old materials, such as oud/agarwood and incense; but it's not just a supporting player.
Incense Oud managed to make me notice ~my nose has become seriously jaded with oud-claiming notes in just about every price-point in the market!~ and that's no small feat. Is it because oud has become a play on perception since the perfume doesn't -apparently- contain any? Smoother than the Montale aoud scents, which possess that "Band-Aid note" so distinctly and which announce their presence from five blocks away, the Kilian fragrance feels very wearable and with its elegant eloqution of Eastern materials manages to smell at once mysterious and meditative. It's an "oud fragrance" for non-oud-lovers, but it doesn't betray the promise of Middle Eastern atmosphere.
To an audience of men and women tired of the pop celebritoids popping up through reality TV and one-hit wonders, a media plate brimming with upstarts ready to forsake their panties at the drop of a nickel and eager to leak their own sex video tapes online, a veiled lady or a tanned Arabian prince half hidden under a djelaba look not only exotic, but infinitely classy. When on the other hand you have a Colossus such as LVMH, the Group behind the By Kilian brand (indeed Kilian Hennesy is the heir to the throne of the cognac empire) supporting and pushing the Arabian Scent Concept to anyone willing to look beyond Walmart, you can bet you have a sizzling hot trend on your hands!
As announced, By Kilian Incense Oud is the newest installation to the "Arabian Nights" collection. It is a dark and well balanced blend of frankincense & woods (cedar, patchouli and sandalwood get amped by the naturally leathery accents of cistus labdanum and the murkiness of a little oakmoss) evoking the "impression" of oud. The patchouli gets a boozy, almost licoriced facet, it's soft and quite delicious. The first impression you get from Incense Oud is terpenes-rich frankincense, the kind you smell in Catholic churches (the Roman Catholic Church sources its supplies from Somalia); in fact the brand claims it makes a quart of the total formula! It doesn't present itself as a hard-core incense fragrance nevertheless and there is no smoky trail, but rather a resinous quality about it. The naturally citric facets of this ancient gum are reinforced by complimentary notes (methyl pamplemouse for one, which is grapefruit-like). The natural pairing of oud on the other hand is traditionally rose, but you can't quite pinpoint this is as rosy. Rose is smoothly blended with the patchouli and therefore nothing like you'd meet at the florist's or ~heaven forbid!~ in a toilet freshener. Think of the treatment of rose in Voleur de Roses in L'Artisan for that segment in the fragrance, a dark rose unfurling its petals under a moonless sky. The lasting impression is patchouli with a hint of myrrh to reinforce the sweetness in Incense Oud: the longer the perfume stays on skin, the more pronounced the sweet leaves become. Of course, patchouli is to the 2000s what hair mousse was to the 1980s: there's simply no escaping it. Not that I particularly mind.
Sidonie Lancesseur had composed the oud-themed Cruel Intentions, as well as Straight to Heaven, for the brand’s introductory "L’Oeuvre Noire" series. The rest were composed by Calice Becker. Although the info on shopping sites presents Lancesseur as the creator of this scent as well, the Kilian press says that Becker is the real creator. Here she was presented ~oddly~ with the challenge of composing an oud-themed fragrance without including the essence or the synth. I seem to think there's a smidge of it there, but I could just be showing my contrarian colours!
The whys of such a decision not to advertise as it containing oud, when the name alludes otherwise, could be seen in diverging interpretations: It could be that the challenge is a plea to people's intelligence and consequently perfume aficionados' increasing cynicism: "You distrust oud as a mentioned ingredient, so here, we're offering you one which doesn't lie in its notes about what it contains or not". Or it could be interpreted differently, along the lines that since oud is the material du jour, it doesn't matter whether or not there is any included; "as long as it's mentioned in the name, people will try it and buy it". Of course I am not professing any of the two versions as truer than the other; I'm just noticing things!
Kilian offers cardamom as a featured note too (probably because the inclusion of cardamom pods are a time-honoured tradition in the preparation of delicious Arabian coffee and is too good a reference to eschew), but it's not as discernible as in Cartier's Déclaration for instance; it doesn't form a major part of the experience.
Simply put, if you like frankincense and patchouli-rose accords, you stand good chances to like Incense Oud, because it lives up to the former (being the first half of its name) and offers a polished interpretation of the later. The sillage is medium and tenacity is very good. It's a sneaky scent I found, growing on you upon consequent wearings.
Notes for Incense Oud By Kilian:
Guatemala cardamom, pink pepper, Turkish rose, Egyptian geranium, methyl pamplemousse, Virginia cedarwood, Indonesian patchouli, Indian papyrus, Somalia incense (oil and absolute), sandalwood, Macedonian oakmoss, Spanish cistus labdanum, musks.
Available in 50ml bottles for $395 (ouch!!) at Luckyscent et al.Smart tip: go for the refills for same quantity for 175$ (i.e. perfect for splitting).
Disclosure: I was sent a sample vial for reviewing purposes. Pic was sent to me by email unaccredited.
Horace had written* referring to his diet: "Me pascunt olivae, me cichorea, me malvae" ("As for me, olives, chicory, and mallows provide sustenance"). I don't know if I could supress my gluttony for "all the perfumes of Arabia" into a diet of only a few well-chosen ones, but Serge Lutens has a way into tempting me. Jeux de Peau, his newest (upcoming for the US) launch, is no exception. With vivid contrasts and a fascinating plot via Daedalean alleyways, it proves that the Master is still producing fragrances that can surprise and excite.
Jeux de Peau (pronounced Zø de POH) aka Skin Games, a fragrance for both genders, was supposed to smell of buttered toast, recalling Serge's quick run to the boulangerie across the road to pick up a baguette: "It gets me back to the 'don't forget to pick up the bread on the way back from school!' At the boulangerie at the end of the road, its captivating odour and its blond and warm light, a golden moment..." says Serge. Well, naughty, naughty Uncle, this is not what one would expect! The mercurial Serge actually hints at the humanity of the fragrance when he provocatively says "Eat, for this is my body"; especially if we consider that some human skins do smell like bread, the "dough" impression being a Ph variance.
Not that that this cryptic game would be unusual for any fan; in fact the fascination with the newest Lutensian opus comes exactly by its surprising character, at once a part of the Lutens-Sheldrake canon and a little apart; it's new and at the same time familiar, like seeing the photographs of antecedants and trying to pinpoint what part of the genetic roll of dice resulted in similarities with one's own offspring. Starting to break down the composition of Jeux de Peaumuch talk has been conducted about the "burnt" note of pyrazines [see this lexicon on perfume effects according to notes/ingredients for definition] but I remain sceptical: Jeux de Peau doesn't really smell burnt or heavily roasted; more milky-spicy-golden in the sandalwood goodness that was Santal Blanc. It has a pronounced celery-pepper opening note, much like Chypre Rouge did, a trait that will certainly prove controversial, coupled with delectable milky-buttery notes which almost melt with pleasure on skin. The celery effect ~celery seeds were a common element in Mediaeval French cooking~ lasts for only about 5 minutes seguing into the main course: the buttery accords, alongside a distinctive, very pleasant chicory note.
Chicory, a bitterish-spicy smell, is a profoundly clever "note", if I am correct in surmissing it was the centre of the Jeux de Peau creation all along: It was substituting coffee in WWII, which might account for some of the memories of Serge, but it also evokes beer because producers add some in their stouts to lend flavour. Beer is so close to bread in olfactory terms that it's enough to put some on a pot on the stove for your guests to be fooled into thinking you're baking your own bread! (Not that you'd resort to such tricks, or would you?) Plus chicory root is 20% inulin which is very similar to starch. So the bread connection is there all right! Immortelle/helichrysum notes (caramelic maple & spicy fenugreek facets) are allied to the familiar candied-dried fruits (apricot mainly, simply lovely!) which perfumer Chris Sheldrake has been respinning in novel and delecious combinations for Lutens ever since the inauguration of the Palais Royal niche line in 1992. This complex stage in Jeux de Peau by Lutens is sustained for a long, long time; it reminds me of rich Byzantine mosaics; tiny tesserae of glazed material surfacing and receding according to the angle from which you're viewing it.
If you like the core accords of Féminité du Bois or Boxeuses, you will probably detect them easily in Jeux de Peau. But the two diverge in other ways: there's no familiar plum, not much cedar, nor leather (as in the case of Boxeuses), while we can see that wheat & barley are evoked throughout that warm "gourmand" woody. If Serge hadn't mentioned he was inspired from his forays to the baker's clutching the baguette for home, we wouldn't be so insistent on searching for toast; a whiff of Crusader's painau four it is and delectably so I might add.
If you're wondering if Jeux de Peau would suit you, apart from the wise advice I can offer to always sample a Lutens any fragrance ~just in case~ I can suggest that if you're a lover of other intellectual oriental woodies such as Like This by Etat Libre d'Orange or Tea for Two by L'Artisan, you have high chances of liking this one very much as well. It's rather odd that Jeux de Peau launches in spring, when it's the sort of snuggly fragrance you'd want to put on while wrapped in a cashmere blanket watching nonchalantly the logs in the fireplace change colours from brown to vermillon to bright red to ashen, but Lutensian fans are not very season-specific anyway.
A sample of the upcoming Jeux de Peau will be given away to a reader. State in the comments what is your most fragrant memory from childhood not involving actual fine fragrance and I will pick a random winner. Draw is open till Friday midnight.
Jeux de Peau belonging to the export range of oblong bottles is out in France as we speak (79 euros for 50ml Eau de Parfum), but will launch internationally on March 1st. The Perfume Shoppe in Canada is already taking pre-orders.
*Odes 31, ver 15, ca 30 BC
An intelligent essay on the scent, in French, on Ambre Gris. Photograph in black & white Le Petit Parisien by Willie Ronis via Art is not Dead. Bottle pic via duftarchiv.de
Disclosure: Initial sample was kindly procured by my reader Emanuella. Another sample was later sent by Lutens as part of their mailout, so that is given away to the readers.
In the secrecy-laced world of perfumery it's not unusual to have the same idea colonise several brands. Sometimes it happens through the same "nose" (perfumer), such as Anne Flipo for Rykiel Woman and Barbara Bui Le Parfumor Maurice Roucel working for Musc Ravageuras well as L de Lempicka). Other times, because it's the direction dictated by a new material such as the ubiquitousness of oud (Rose Oud by Kilian, Oud Leather by Dior) or Ambroxan lately (Another 13 and Baie Rose 26, Not a Perfumeby Juliette Has a Gun). Or it's a new technique; take the novel method of maceration of iris root for only a few weeks instead of three years resulting in a pleiad of niche iris scents 3-4 years ago. Added to that is also the reason of marketing: A new sector opened by a pioneer is exploited by other brands later on, even by home fragrances and functional products (this is called "trickle down" in industry speak). The point of Twin Peaks series on Perfume Shrine is exactly that: to pinpoint fragrances that are smell-alikes and delineate the reasons and hows of their resemblances. Which brings us nicely to Poivre Samarcande by the exclusive boutique line of Hermès and Bang by Marc Jacobs which circulates in the department store circuit. Smell the two though and you can see there are less of six degrees of seperation between them.
Poivre Samarcande came at a time when Jean Claude Ellena was busy populating the -at the time- novel concept of boutique exclusive fragrances, the Hermessences (The original quartet which was sold in 2005 included also Rose Ikebana, Ambre Narguilé and Vétiver Tonka). It must have felt especially validating to have everyone follow, from Chanel down to Cartier and Dior La Collection and produce "exclusive" collections in a niche manner of presentation and concept (focus on raw materials, identical bottles, limited distribution, star perfumer working for them). Poivre Samarkande was in many ways a pioneer because it was incorporated into Jean Claude's experimentation with Iso E Super started with Déclaration, which he overdosed in the Hermès scent in order to boost the effect of an airy pepper accord, which although spicy is transliterated like a wood thanks to the boost of cedar, oak and patchouli notes. In actuality it's the Iso E Super which underpins the spices, making them shine and feel cool and silky, projecting in a linear manner. The unisex effect alongside its peculiar feel good, feel non-perfumey character has made it a soaring success. It was only natural the great idea would be perpetuated. Enter Marc Jacobs.
Bang is Marc Jacob's latest foray into perfume, coming out in July 2010. His line of scents is well thought out, but without presenting much of an excitement to the hearts of dedicated niche perfumery consumers. The scents simply read as a tad too "safe" to present the much coveted challenge we seek. However, their execution is usually very good, from the bright and happy Daisy to the snuggly but light powder of Amber Splash. Bang is no different: It takes its central leitmotif from someplace else, but the result isn't a total bore, probably because the original idea was an intelligent one to begin with and someone was wise enough not to muck with it too much. Bang was created for a “contemporary guy, who, even if he isn’t young, has a younger spirit.” Jacobs created the name first and development of the composition in cooperation with Coty followed. “I wanted to do something that I would love” said Jacobs. “I particularly like spice notes, especially pepper, so that became a starting place.” Bang was art-directed by the revered veteran Ann Gottlieb who requested such notes as black, white and pink pepper, alongside masculine woody notes (Iso E Super and ambrox for you), while the base includes elemi resin (in itself having a peppery aroma), benzoin (a sweeter resin), vetiver, "white moss" (a patented IFF accord that was introduced in Jasmine White Mossin Estée Lauder's Private Collection line) and patchouli. The scent has a vibe of a metrosexual preening in front of a black-tiled bathroom mirror, so I would most enjoy smelling it on someone unexpected. Preferably a woman.
The two scents smell quite alike, Bang being a bit sweeter and with more pronounced vetiver and watered down in the lasting power stakes (to the point of annoying), but it's the optical differences which stuck in one's mind: On the one hand a refined and sparse representation of a leather-clad bottle, on the other a slicked-up Marc posing with the (impressively designed) bottle between his bare legs. Take your pick according to your aesthetics and wallet.
It's probably not strange, but certainly unexpected, that a figure with retro connotations such as comte Robert de Montesquiou-Fézensac (who inspired not only Marcel Proust but also Joris-Karl Huysmans) should come out of a recent batch bottle of a Guerlain fragrance! Yet this is what happened when I tested Arsène Lupin Dandy, a scent that intrigued me for a long time before I put my thoughts into black & white.
(EDITOR's ADDITION: Please NB, due to ensuing legal disputes with L'Orsay who also have a Le Dandy fragrance, Guerlain has since dropped the Dandy from the name and now this is available as simply Arsène Lupin. The rest of the review mentions it with its older, longer name as that is what it was launched with at time of writing)
Given Jean Paul Guerlain's unfortunate recent comments and the futore which ensued, it's doubtful that we'll see another fragrance bearing his signature in the future. More's the pity, because amongst great perfumers of the 20th century, alongside his ascendant Jacques Guerlain of course, Ernest Beaux and Edmond Roudnitska, he certainly takes a place in the pantheon. Arsène Lupin Dandy, infiltrates Les Parfums Exclusifs, joined by Arsène Lupin Voyou, both in Eau de Parfum like the double face of Janus, and some of the other exclusive masculines (details here), is indeed a swan song of infinite grace and refined luxury. Much like some of Jean-Paul's best creations of his "golden years" such as Vétiver pour homme, Chamade, Habit Rouge (not Sport) and Chant d'Arômes , Dandy manages to exude richness without heaviness and luxury without one iota of vulgarity. This is how Guerlain ought to be constantly! Preferably in the mainstream sector as well.
Jean Paul collaborated, according to his own testimony, with in-house Guerlain perfumer Thierry Wasser to whom he passed the baton, on the two new masculine releases in their teak-wood-edged bottles. We will probably never find out the exact truth (especially given the two releases smell completely different and as if arrived at by different mentalities), so it's futile to press the point. Of the two fragrances, Dandy easily is the standout; the reason isn't hard to see.
Within this contemporary light woody chypre one can detect the emblematic character of 1920's & 1930's fragrances that made the reputation of Guerlain Parfumeur, such as Sous Le Vent (which which it shares the bitter green tinge of galbanum and the overall chypre elements, although it substitutes the murkiness of oakmoss with the quite different treemoss alongside patchouli and probably a smidge of vetiver). But it's also a modern enough accord to be featured in Martin Margiela's Untitled! The "nose" is reworking the best elements in the Guerlain tradition into formulae that are completely modern and can stand on their own in today's market.
Dandy is a grey suede leather which opens dark only to reveal lovely powdery nuances derived through ionones (floral violet & iris notes) and some spice later, very finely worked and flanked by patchouli and a resinous incense note. The citric aspects of the olibanum (frankincense) are complimentary to the hesperidic notes, which have a pleasantly restrained bitterish tinge, much like bergamot "spoon sweet" is the nicest to consume (same with sour cherry) because the natural tanginess of the fruit offsets the sugary aspects. The same effect is witnessed in maple suryp, which also has a passing resemblance with the resinous note in Dandy. The leather accord, immediately perceptible from the start, is in reality soft, maleable, velvety, echoing the suaveness of the literary character who inspired it. The literary character Arsène Lupin began his fictional life in 1905 (under "Lopin", until a namesake politician protested), smack-right into La Belle Epoque; an enigmatic figure in black-tie respendid with white gloves, a cape and a monocle, relieving the haute-bourgeoisie of their money, which seems like the perfect analogy for the clients of Guerlain Exclusifs!
The spices on the other hand (peppery bay and cardamom) provide a piquant tongue-in-cheek touch, fanned over the more predictable musk & light amber/labdanum impression of the far drydown, denoting the idea of a delicate "skin scent". The fragrance reads as a ballad of binary form.
For all its underlying complexity, appreciated through repeated wearings by both men and women who can snatch this easily for themselves, Arsène Lupin Dandy is a scent that does not proclaim its intricasies up front and keeps a cultivated air of mystery in the very best Voltaire tradition.
Notes for Guerlain Arsène Lupin Le Dandy: bergamot, bigarade, pink peppercorn, cardamom, violet, sandalwood, patchouli, cistus, olibanum.
For our readers a draw of a small decant out of my own stash: Say in the comments which is your favourite Guerlain fragrance and why and I will pick a random winner. Draw is now closed, thank you!
Wheelbarrow, lay off the whip and don't rush the horses, you don't need to hurry when you've got your love so close by. When he smiles, the world smiles at me, so let the wheel run where it might, and wherever it goes, it's fine by me. ~from the song "Wheelbarrow" by Manos Hadjidakis from the 1963 Greek film Χτυποκάρδια στα θρανία/ (hence the top clip)
Any mention of Bosphorus, the strait between East and West, uniting and at the same time dividing Constantinople (Istanbul), which lays on both its banks, never fails to ignite a very palpable nostalgia laced with a smattering of pain for any Greek. We're automatically thinking of the failing grandeur of the Paleologi dynasty and lamenting for the times when Greeks and Turks co-existed in peace for centuries in this most cosmopolitan of Eastern cities. Traversée du Bosphore(Crossing the Bosphorus) by L'Artisan Parfumeur, like its namesake strait, was the straw that broke the ~proverbial~ camel's back, as anything referencing the city of Constantine will make me reminiscence yet again of my forebearers and the sweet camaraderie they had to abandond due to political turmoil. But The City, Istanbul, is in reality neither Greek, nor Turkish. It's neither christian nor muslim. It's a cultural border, a place where everything meets and unites, a cauldron of cultures and men; the place which millions of different people, of different nationalities and religions, loved madly through the centuries. A city so beautiful that there was no other way to call it than The City, η Πόλη!
Traversée du Bosphore comes now from Bertrand Duchaufour and L'Artisan Parfumeur as the symbolic strait between modern French perfumery and its oriental heritage. The unisex fragrance was fittingly inspired by a journey to Istanbul, when at the crack of dawn the cobblestone streets still retain their sleepy languor, like heavy-boned odalisques stealing gazes through the lacework wooden panel of the musharabieh, and when the many fishermen set out to catch their day's worth, packing nets, salty sardines and pita bread. You can easily lose yourself promenading unhurriedly through the small alleys towards the seraglio and Kahrié djami with its blue-peacock mosaics, gazing at the narthex's domes for hours or the many fountains where pilgrims ritualistically wash their head and hands before proceeding. It's a slow world, filled with beautiful wistfulness.
The strange thing about Traversée du Bosphore, part of the Travel series in the niche brand's subplot, is how a -by now- cliché concept (i.e.eastern exoticism) that should be a foregone conclusion (loukhoum, tanneries, saffron, milky salep drink, tobacco in hookahs, opulent roses, strange white flowers......hasn't Lutens exhausted that genre?) smells interesting and contemporary; nothing like a heavy odalisque looking through the parapets or Alladin rolled into plies and plies of plush carpets. Instead it's a gouache of a scent: a transparent suede floriental with soft musky notes, a marriage of rosewater and suede.
Indeed, the list of official notes for Traversée du Bosphore reads like a shopping list of things to find in a Turkish souk or at the very least smells encountered around a Turkish souk. The apple-laced çay (tea) is very popular and no one makes it more delicious than Piyer Loti Kahvesi at Eyup (the European side of the city), a stone's throw away from Sultan Ahmet Mosque and the Byzantine apotheosis that is the temple of Aghia Sophia. Loti is the writer of Aziyadé (see the perfume inspired by it) and knew a thing or two about sensual abandon...Tobacco is still smoked in hookahs; not only by old men in derelict coffee-shops, heavy in political talk, but from younger ones as well, when they finally sit down to have an aimless break. Men and women alike buy fresh phyllo pastry, almonds and pistachios to make baklava, and Turkish delight by the pound to bring back at home. The market is filled with golden and red heaps of spices, precious saffron and dried Turkish roses for using as pot-pourri. Tanneries do work merrily (Turkish leathers have competitive prices), although the effluvium isn't anything one would associate with perfume.
But the summation of the notes or the panoramic vol plané shot does not really tell the whole tale: Duchaufour was no stranger to Byzantine formulae, including everything but the kitchen sink before, and the results are diverse: from the baroque patina gold of Jubilation XXV for Amouage to the carnal tryst of Amaranthinefor Penhaligon's, all the way to the deceptively diaphanous muddy-incense of Timbuktu for L'Artisan. His compositions include many pathways that lead to a gauze of orientalia. For Traversée du Bosphore Duchaufour eschewed clichés to come up with a composition that marries on the one hand Anatolian leather (you will only smell grey suede, really, not harsh quinolines; it's comparable to the note in Sonia Rykiel Woman-Not for Men! and Barbara Bui Le Parfum) and on the other hand Turkish Delight (loukhoum), into a unique interpretation of the leather genre; velvety and whispery soft, opening upside down: After the brief apple çay top (blink and you'll miss it!), you sense the suede and only later the powdery loukhoum accord. The strangely greyish powderiness of iris dusts the notes like white copra dust enrobes the small rose-laced loukhoum cubes, while saffron with its leathery bitterish facets reinforces the impression and balances the sweeter notes, much like it kept vanilla in check in Saffran Troublant. The iris-leather accord in Traversée du Bosphore weaves a whispery path together with a hint of almond giving a light gourmand nod. The whole smells like rosewater sweets wrapped in a suede pouch, never surupy and very skin-scent like (incorporating that Havana Vanille base), although a tad more flowery feminine than most men would feel comfortable with. It's a fragrance which smells nice and simple like a nostalgic song from an old movie which dies down to a murmur, and might demand your attention to catch the smaller nuances.
As for me I know well that the past is inextricably tied to the future, and revel in thinking of Istanbul as the pathway where cultures and people will eternally meet...and part.
For our readers a draw: one sample to a lucky commenter. Draw is now closed, thank you! Tell us where you would envision the next travel series by L'Artisan should take us.
L’Artisan Parfumeur Traversée du Bosphore is available in 50 ($115) and 100 ml ($155) of Eau de Parfum wherever L'Artisan is sold (voutiques, Perfume Shoppe, Luckyscent, Aedes, First in Fragrance etc).
The bottom music clip and the film stills come from the Greek 2003 film Πολίτικη Κουζίνα/A Touch of Spice by Tasos Boulmetis, starring George Corraface and exploring the culinary philosophy that maps the course of modern Istanbul and the fateful, doomed romance between a Greek boy and a Turkish girl before the deportation of Greeks in 1964. It's uploaded in its entirety with English subtitles on Youtube: the first part is on this link and you can take it from there. Happy watching!
Penhaligon’s latest fragrance, Sartorial, is tailored; literally. It reminds me a bit of the Humphrey character in 1980s BBC Yes Minister! satirical series: of a certain age and social placement, immaculate, a bit stuffy suits thanks to the job requirements, yet there is a glint in the eye, no doubt about it. You can't deny there is rhyme to its reason and intrigue to its plot, but is the scent as inspired as it's suggested in the press material?
Still for all its smell-good factor within the tired (by now) aromatic fougère* genre Sartorial by Penhaligon's presents something of a dichotomy: On one hand, it reminds me of my elegant grandpa (he uncharacteristically wore chest-thumbing Givenchy Gentleman and carried an inexpensive white bottle of Tabac with him on beach vacations, of all things), so young blokes might get scared off ~or repelled, it depends on their lineage memories. On the other hand, it's got something of the ape-to-gentleman British touch which Penhaligon's obviously meant to catch for overseas audiences, so chalk it up to a success at the drawing table, pun intended. What's left to wonder is whether high-end shoppers will immediately realise that it is so reminiscent of older classics of the 70s that have trickled down to the point of "old man scent" (Please refer to our The Perfume Wars Old Lady vs.Older Woman Perfume article to fully realise the implications of such a moniker)
Created by perfumer Bertrand Duchaufour at the nudge of Emily Maben, Penhaligon's marketing director, it was inspired by the scents of the workroom at Norton & Sons, bespoke tailors at No. 16 Savile Row who dressed everyone from insulars Winston Churchill and Cary Grant to "imported Beau Brummels" Fred Astaire and King Juan Carlos of Spain. Now, the tailor's doesn't really smell of much, you might argue, perhaps a bit of that indeterminate wooliness and dry chalk that is par for the course where flannels and fine cashmeres are cut to produce those bespoke suits we admire. And you would be right! So, we're dealing with a transposition of Englishness into a brand which is characteristically British to a fault to begin with; it's a bit like putting a huge beret on the Eiffel Tower or an extra pinch of sugar to a square of Turkish baklava!
According to Penhaligon's:
"Sartorial is a contemporary interpretation of a classic Fougère; the traditional notes of oakmoss, tonka bean and lavender have been exquisitely stitched together with woods, ozonic and metallic effects, leather, violet leaf, honey and spices to create the perfect illusion of a tailor’s workroom. The modern thread running through Sartorial is beeswax; echoing the blocks of wax each thread is run across before stitching. This sweet smudged note ties together the more traditional elements; the oiled flash of shears cutting cloth, the rub of fabric beneath fingers, tobacco tinted cabinetry, puffs of chalk in the air and old paper patterns vanilla with age".
Nice story, but what is original in Sartorial is first and foremost structure: One of contrasting duality between tradition and deconstruction (is it old or is it new again?), and one which reinterprets programmatic elements into an abstract impression, much like the fougère itself. Lavender, oakmoss, patchouli and often geranium with coumarin as the sweeter note act as the skeleton of the fougère, the most archetypally "virile" genre, but also one which doesn't evoke a natural smell but rather the Victorian salons where men were allowed to scent their handkerchiefs with "clean" colognes and waft them in the air. That's so Penhaligon's I could tear up a bit. The dichotomy is so clear as if Terence Stamp is weilding his sabre in Far from the Madding Crowd and then shoots a baddie in The Limey.
The arresting top note in Penhaligon's Sartorial is nicely misleading, seemingly giving the impression of a masculine cologne citric blast (thanks to traditional distillate neroli, often featured in men's colognes as a mid-hesperide, mid-floral top note). But it's actually a careful, intelligent nugget which belies any classification: It combines the sharp notes of ozone with the soapy-clean-after-shave effect of aldehydes, sprinkled with the metallic-watery note of violet leaf (very cliché, as it's featured in so many unisex and masculine contemporary scents, so obviously Bertrand is toying with us). Despite the mention of spices, the effect is not pronounced (a bit of pepper is all I sense). Sartorial is not a spicy fragrance and none of the spices make themselves known per se; the wonderful leather, lavender and patchouli-coumarinic facets rise soon after the top notes dissipate and persist for long: The caramelised end of the spectrum of lavender is supremely coupled to the naturally occuring dark cocoa note of natural patchouli absolute. It just smells good! The earthiness of patchouli is a given for Duchaufour who has proclaimed the earth's smell as an eternal inspiration (and who uses the Racine base** to infiltrate his compositions with it very often, a note between aged vetiver and polished woods): The effect is not exactly "dirty" though (as in dirt), as it is closer to yummy, honeyed and lightly incense-like (more myrrh than frankincense) and somewhat musky: think of Luten's mysterious and intense Borneo 1834 with its roasted notes and Ayala Moriel's Film Noirthan Chanel's fluffier chocolate meringue Coromandel.
Penhaligon's Sartorial weaves its strange spell by its poise and cocksure attitude at the tailor's fitting: Not only does it not proclaim whether it's a "leftie" or "rightie" (is this too much information for a Brit?), it's snuggly enough to be filched by a woman as an androgyne backdrop for when she ventures out to turn the tables; only if she's supremely feminine however!
One carded sample is available for a lucky reader. State what you think if you tried it in the comments; or, if you haven't, whether you like its concept or not and why.
Notes for Penhaligon's Sartorial: HEAD NOTES: Aldehydes, Ozonic Effect, Metallic Effect, Violet Leaf, Neroli, Cardamom, Black Pepper, Fresh Ginger HEART NOTES: Beeswax, Cyclamen, Linden Blossom, Lavender, Leather BASE NOTES: Gurgum Wood, Patchouli, Myrrh, Cedarwood, Tonka Bean, Oakmoss, White Musk, Honey Effect, Old Wood Effect, Vanilla, Amber
Artist Quentin Jones was commissioned by Penhaligon’s to create a stop-motion animation exploring the story behind the new gentlemen’s fragrance Sartorial. Filmed at the Norton & Sons shop on Savile Row, the animation features the fragrance’s creator Bertrand Duchaufour. Patrick Grant, the owner of Norton & Sons, also makes a cameo appearance. The opening scenes depict perfumer Bertrand Duchaufour at Norton & Sons, absorbing the scents and smells of the workrooms. Bertrand is seen smelling the fragrant scents exuded from the rolls of fabric, machinery and paper patterns before he is able to embark on the creative journey to craft a contemporary fragrance or cologne inspired by the scents and smells of the famous Savile Row workrooms.
*Aromatic fougère is a subcategory of the "fougère" family of scents: Essentially, an accord of lavender-oakmoss-coumarin (from tonka beans) creates the classic fougère (examples of which are the historical Fougere Royale by Houbigant which started the "family" and the 70-80s classics Azzaro Pour Homme, Paco Rabanne pour Homme, Drakkar Noir) and touches of aromatic plants (usually herbs) are added. **Corps Racine by Symrise or 2-(3-phenylpropyl) Pyridine according to H&R
In the interests of full disclosure, the company sent me samples in the mail to try it out.
Creed is celebrating 250 years of family business apparently and therefore have issued the Royal Exclusives line: Notice the cunning use of Royal accolades for something completely new which surely can't have been commissioned by any royal personage? Especially since this is a release for the American market who is dazzled by royalty. We, Europeans have a much different view on them, having known them from all the bad angles, I'm afraid... Anyway, there's nothing wrong with a little bit of marketing on the part of Oliver Creed, so I won't insist on this minor point.
So after Sublime Vanilla, Creed Spice & Wood marries two of the favourite themes of many perfume lovers, thus also hinting at an "old school" thematology. Would the material be treated in a such a way? The inspiration was reported to be the pairing of Antony and Cleopatra and I couldn't but recall of the line about Marc Antony's sexual tastes which leaned "more to the molded cheese than the pure one off the cheesemaker's" as jotted down by Octavia, his 3rd wife and antagonist of his GrecoEgyptian lover. I guess Creed missed that part.
So, is it? Is it not? Who cares...saying that a fragrance was inspired by some perfume that Cleopatra or Marc Antony wore, or from fragments of anything that belonged to them, might cut it with the average consumer.
What matters is the fragrance itself. And alongside the promised spices and woods there is a more esoteric accord, which runs through some of the Creeds, a bit metallic, a tad salty. There is also a touch of a Cuir de Russie pungency, thanks to white birch featured, but nothing out of this world. The dominant wood is cedar, both austere and a little sensual, with a bit of that petroleum note which it takes in many modern compositions instead of the pencil shavings that we're accustomed to think of when cedar is mentioned. The base overall has some similarities with Aventus, a previous Creed fragrance with which it shares notes on paper, as well as Original Santal (a modern offering despite the "original" in its tag line), differentiated by the spiciness ~nowhere near Baie de Genievre alas~ which comes across as peppery-clove-y (iso-eugenol) and an abscence of sweetness. Overall, despite the expectations, it's a subtle, delicately warm fragrance without old-fashioned richness, more transparent and modern than anything; like they're pulling an Hermes on us, only with royal insignia to boot. I guess it works for the intended audience.
Parthian shot: Is it very masculine, you ask? Creed says: "Spice and Wood is the luxury asset hand made for men -- but also intensely enjoyed by women". Two birds with one stone, but of course!
Notes for Creed Spice & Wood: Top: bergamot, lemon, Italian Court Pendu Plat apples from Rome Heart: angelica root, Luxor rose, clove, desrt pepper, patchouli, white birch Base: Egyptian iris, cedar, oakmoss, musk.
Creed Spice and Wood is available in Eau de Parfum in a 250ml/8.4oz bottle made by Pochet et du Courval with a spray mechanism for 550$ from the Creed boutique and soon from retailers who distribute the line. Erwin Creed, 29, seventh generation of Creed and its future head, visits the U.S. in November, upin which occasion he will make public appearances at Bergdorf Goodman and select Neiman Marcus stores coast to coast, presenting the fragrance to the public for the first time and signing bottles. Please see all the dates and places of Erwin's US tour dates on this article.
Hermès has gained the sense of olfactive consistency that Guerlain once had back in the day thanks to its head perfumer, Jean Claude Ellena. Their latest unisex, Voyage d'Hermès , is a recapitulation, a déjà vu and a voyage not only through the body of work of Jean Claude himself, but of the house of Hermès as an entity! It's as if Voyage is a passport into the world of Hermès: Small little snippets of numerous fragrances hide beneath a hazy cloud of a formula that must have been laborious to construct without falling apart. Yet what has Jean Claude succeeded in doing, at this point in his career, is creating his own syntax and his own vocabulary for communicating which translates as perfectly leggible and intermixable, even in snippets of conversation that all mingle together harmoniously.
In order to appreciate Voyage d'Hermèson whether it succeeds to convey the vision behind it, we need to access the perfumer's technique in rapport with the values dictated by a mass-marketed but still prestigious Hermès fragrance such as Voyage.
Starting by the latter, we're "stumbling" on the mega-success of Terre d'Hermès, a masculine which is -according to the month in question- the first or second best-selling fragrance in France and terribly popular throughout the world as well. Its mineral & airy interpretation of the Mediterranean coast-line, full of fresh breeze, the whisper of citrus groves from afar and vegetal waste rotting on the hard rock, is the transfiguration of an lived-in impression into a scent (aided by a generous helping of IsoE Super, a synthetic which turns the intriguing aromata into a legible abstraction). A new mainstream release would not want to disrupt the commercial success of Terre, but at the same time, it should bring in women too (sharing thus the desirable facets of Terre) and consolidate the past and future of the house into the consience of everyone. In many ways, it feels to me that Hermès was simplifying its historical codes into an Esperanto of signs for everyone. To that degree they have certainly succeeded.
Ellena himself communicated his aim in composing Voyage d'Hermès, not as the desire to create a figurative or programmatic ~to borrow a term from music~ fragrance "but to create abstract art. A play on paradoxes. Complementary elements. No, this perfume would not smell of a kind of wood, a flower, a particular raw material, but of the unknown in all its glory. To express its nuances and unexpected pairings. Familiar, surprising. Energy, comfort. Masculine, feminine. An infectious mixing of genres. A woody fresh, musky fragrance." Ellena's style (and so is Olivia Giacobetti's in a similar vein) is the quiet, yet subtly intricate music for a quartet, rather than the bustle of a Wagnerian symphony with brass horns and full percussion joining. This is an aesthetic choice, not the result of simplistic or unchallenging incompetence. Comparing ~say~ a traditional Guerlain or 1930s Patou to a modern Hermès composed by Ellena would therefore be a futile exercise in omphaloskepsis. One either likes one style or not, but that doesn't mean that the two are poised on the same plane of existence; they're actually poles apart. In that regard, Ellena in Voyage d'Hermès is reffarming his signature touch and on top of that creates something that cannot be pinpointed into anything familiar in nature; because there are plenty of familiar accents in the formula itself, as we'll see.
Voyage d'Hermès feels like a composition created on two tiers: The first movement is a flute, oboe and glockenspiel trio, namely the grapefruit-citrus chord he excells at (see Rose Ikebana, Un Jardin sur le Nil, Terre d'Hermès, even Cologne Bigarrade) with a touch of icy artemisia (see Angeliques sous la Pluie with their perfect gin & tonic bitterness) alongside the spicy suaveness of cardamom (diaphanous as in Un Jardin apres la Mousson, yet also a little sweaty as in Déclaration). To that musical line respond clarinets of other spices: some pepper, some ginger. On skin the spices are much more pronounced on the whole, with a small sub-facet (pungent, even a bit leathery) that personally reminds me of Eau d'Hermès. The second movement is constructed on a basso continuo (the Iso E Super, perceived by many as cedar, alongside an incredibly lasting cluster of musks) with a lightly underlining phrase by a viola, the floral note of hedione (or an analogous material) giving a nod to Dior's Eau Sauvage and an elegant amber-ambergris base recalling Eau de Merveilles. This second movement is most alike Poivre Samarkande from the Hermessences, with its overdose of Iso-E Super. Seeing as Poivre Samarkande is the uncontesatble best-seller in the Hermès boutique in Athens, Greece, ever since the line's introduction, it makes sense that Hermès wanted for a Voyage composition a formula that has already been OK-ed by a warm Mediterranean country: After all, the very term Voyage makes us unconsiously dream of vacations, doesn't it? The two Roudnitska homages (Eau d'Hermès and Eau Sauvage), on the other hand, are unifying two houses and two perfumers into one style uniquely its own.
This clarion call of style, ensured, affirmed, self-reliant, is the fragrance's moot point: It means that if you like previous Jean Claude Ellena fragrances, you will like Voyage d'Hermes. If you don't, there are very little chances that it will change your mind. It also means that if you have all the segmentated make-up-pieces in your perfume collection, you might not be tempted to sort out the Visa and buy the new fragrance. But seeing as this is a mainstream release meant for everyone, not just maniacal collectors, those people will be few and far between.
The bottle design is spectacular: pure Hermès, both classic, inspired by la petite maroquinairie ~and specifically the Evelyne coin purse~ but also subtly modern high-tech too, reminiscent of USB sticks to put in one's computer (formerly known as "travel sticks, because you took them along while travelling, is it any coincidence?) or of a shiny silvery iPod, blasting a daydreaming Debussy tune. The promotional video shows a bird flying towards a horse running in the sea, showing ice, desert and water: an analogy of the segments that the fragrance goes through as well.
Notes for Voyage d'Hermès: citron, bergamot, coriander, ginger, artemisia, cardamom, black pepper, tea, birch, white musk, amber and cedar.
Available in 35ml, 100ml & 150ml bottles, available at major department stores carrying Hermès. For those registered on the mailing list of Hermès, please use this link to see the promotional video.
Music: "Divertimento for Flute, Oboe and Clarinet" by Malcolm Arnold with Meera Gudipati, flute; Steven Robles, oboe; and James Calix, clarinet. Print by Nhyen Phan Chanh (1932). Hermes official Voyage d'Hermes ad.
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