Angelique Encens

Getting back to real life, after two weeks recovering from knee surgery, is taking up a lot of my time. So today's post is a reprint from "Olfactarama's" earliest days.  Back next week with a new one!

If you'd like to try the now-discontinued Angelique Encens, leave a comment; drawing details at the end.

Angelique Encens, one of Creed’s celebrity perfumes, is supposed to be an incense scent. Even the name denotes incense. So, where is it?

When modern scents say “incense,” that is precisely what they mean. Commes de Garcon’s “Avignon” in particular evokes Mass in some ancient cathedral, at the moment when the priest passes by, swinging the censer. It is a literal interpretation of the incense concept, as are the rest in CDG’s incense series. As are most modern incense scents.

What I get from Angelique Encens, from the first moment, is musk. Angelica seeds produce a musky odor, which is dominant here. Then, a salty amber. Something animalic (as in very). Vanilla. All of this swirling in a heady, gorgeous, sultry tapestry. But not a bit of incense, not as we understand it in this exceedingly literal time.

Angelique Encens was made by Creed for Marlene Dietrich. I got it in a swap, with no idea that it was such an old perfume. In many ways, it reminds me of Guerlain’s classic 1889 Jicky, but without the herbaceousness that makes Jicky an acceptable “masculine” today. I would say that Angelique Encens, which I can’t imagine a modern man wearing, is a feminine Jicky.

Who could possibly be a better poster-child for questions of gender identity than Marlene Dietrich?

Marlene in a tux. Marlene in black lace. Did she really wear this scent? My guess is that she certainly said she did. Creed’s timing was convenient, with the perfume being released not too long after the English-language release of “The Blue Angel,” which made her an international star. (The concept of positioning – hitch your wagon to a star – may not have been taught in the business courses of the day, but, hey, it’s not rocket science, after all, is it?)

Marlene did not limit her choices. Nor did she trumpet them. The men’s clothing, the fedoras, the ever-present cigarettes, certainly sent a coded message, and, apparently that was enough. Now, of course, such announcements (“Lindsey’s dating a woman!”) are part of our culture of titillation. As in everything literal. As in everything, right out front and in your face.

Angelique Encens is from quite another time and place. Perhaps the “Encens” aspect of the scent was meant to be buried in the mix, difficult to perceive without at least some effort. That would make sense. A mystery. Based on the perceptions, the mind, of the beholder. It's there. Somewhere.

At first, I thought, no way would Dietrich wear this. Her other perfumes (reference below) included Bandit, Tabac Blond and Vol de Nuit. Now, those sound like the Marlene Dietrich we know!

Do we, though? Did anyone?

NOTE: Sadly, Angelique Encens has been discontinued since this post was originally written. I have a few mills of it, though, and can send a 1 ml. sample plus a few surprises to one lucky commenter. Leave a comment no later than Sunday, March 25, midnight US Eastern Daylight time, to enter. I'll do a drawing and announce the winner Monday, March 26.

Perfume Shrine’s Celebrity List can be found here: http://perfumeshrine.fortunecity.com/celebritylist.html

Notes for “Angelique Encens” include angelica, tuberose, amber, incense and vanilla.
Notes for “Jicky” include lemon, bergamot, rosewood, lavender, civet, benzoin, vanilla and vetiver.

Vintage Lanvin Rumeur

A few days ago, I came across a few mills of vintage Lanvin Rumeur.  I didn’t have time to sample it properly over the weekend, so I thought, for some reason, that it was an aldehydic floral like Arpege. Anyway, I grabbed a couple of those for comparison and brought it down to the studio to sniff and write about today.

Maaaannnn! This is no floral. 

Rumeur was released in the early Thirties. Not a particularly good decade for most. Times were tough. (Perfumes, as markers of history, fascinate me. This is why I love the vintage stuff so much.) The Thirties were a decade of tough fragrances, too, like this: leather. Like an old aviator jacket once owned by a pipe smoker who, well, maybe didn’t get to wash his hair as often as he should have; a prominent note here is costus.

Costus is made from steam-distilling the roots of the Saussuria costus, a perennial, thistle-like herb that grows in Asia. I have a little bit of the essential oil. It smells like scalp, sort of dirty and fleshy and musky at once. It was used as a fixative in the ancient world, but that may not have been the same plant — there are many types. 

Reading up on the IFRA regulations, I see that costus oil and absolute are — you guessed it! — prohibited, as a severe sensitizer. So now I treasure my tiny little vial of EO all the more. Black market costus! (And no, I’m not going to rub the pure stuff on my skin, nannykins, okay?  I have been using it as an ingredient in mixtures I call scents of place, as an element that adds that necessary bit of urban funk.) Rumeur is full of it.

So can I expect a rash? I’ll let you know.

But back to the scent. I get aldehydes at first, a tiny bit of floral (carved in stone, though, like those carved flowers over doorways in some old cathedrals) and some stone fruit. And civet, a little. The aforementioned costus. Leather leather leather, and it smells like the birch tar kind, not the synthetic “leather” note IBQ. A little smoke. I guess you could call it a leather chypre, as there’s oakmoss in it, too. 

I brought along some 1990 Chanel No. 5 EDT and some vintage Arpege extrait for comparison, when I was still thinking that this would be an aldehydic floral. The Chanel in particular gave me that “Why haven’t I been wearing this more often!” thrill. The Rumeur is an intellectually challenging fragrance, one that I found to be a little, er, disconcerting, similar in that way to Coty's Chypre.

I would love to get my hands on some Remeur extrait. It must be amazing.

Certainly, this is one that would scare the horses.

Remember this is vintage Rumeur. Reviews on the new one, released in 2006, range from “absolutely awful” to “not as bad as all that.”

I know the photo of Ava Gardner is out of time. It's a publicity still for "The Killers," from the late Forties. But it's such a great photo, I just had to use it. I have not been able to find the name of the photographer.

Perfumer was Andre Fraysse, who also created Arpege for Lanvin. "Rumeur" was released in 1934.

A quick search of our favorite auction site revealed…nothing. Not one bottle. But there’s always tomorrow, and some decant sellers might have it.

Full disclosure: I got my sample in a swap.

Two from the Permanent Collection

I'm still on vacation, officially. This is a reprint from November, 2008, about two old favorites: Coco by Chanel, and Scherrer II by Jean-Louis Scherrer. I'll be back on Wednesday, September 14 with a new post on "Miriam" from Andy Tauer, and Brian Pera's film "Woman's Picture." 


Before I became a semi-perfumista, I had two scents that I wore from time to time, but only in winter. They were Chanel No. 22 EDT and Jean-Louis Scherrer 2. Both were strong and sultry, and I thought of them as “old and French.” (This is not a joke.)


They just didn’t smell American. They weren’t light or fresh or clean. They were accessories for a Big Night, obviously seductive, with huge sillage and forever longevity.


The Scherrer, especially; to this day it is my longest-lived perfume. And this is EDT, mind you. (A disclaimer here: my bottle is from the early Nineties, as is the Chanel, so chances are we’re talking about real, unreformulated juice.) I always thought of these two in tandem. They’re different of course; different notes. The Scherrer is a rich, dark take on the white floral. The Chanel (also early 90’s EDT) is all about aldehydes and incense. But they share a table.


I don’t think anyone reading this needs to know more than they already do about Coco Chanel and the Chanel fragrances. No. 22 seems to be in great demand, particularly the perfume, everywhere. The Scherrer is different. It's a bit of a secret. (Jean-Louis Scherrer also makes the excellent big green Chypre “Jean-Louis Scherrer,” released in 1980. That one is a little more well-known than this, but not much.)


I got curious about Jean-Louis Scherrer, the designer. It appears that he dressed some of the world’s most opulent women: Queen Noor, Francoise Sagan, Sophia Loren. (I use the past tense, because in 1992 he was fired from his own company due to financial problems. He sued and won some money, but not the use of his name.) He dressed many wealthy Arab women, a specialty. My guess is that Scherrer 2, released in 1986, was made for them.


Chanel No. 22 was released in 1922 and, I was a bit surprised to learn, has been associated with bobbed hair, ropes of pearls, chemise dresses – in other words, flappers. I think of Habanita in those terms, but this would make sense, too; the sparkly aldehydes bubbling up like champagne; the in-your-face, supremely modern quality it would have had at that time. One couldn’t have ignored it then. One can’t ignore it now.


The Scherrer, though, is my favorite of the two. I love its dark honeyed floral essence. This scent says “rich.” It’s an Eighties fragrance fer sure, with that long, long list of notes. I can smell it on a fur coat, not that I have one. If Chanel No. 22 is pearls, then this is pigeon-blood rubies, or maybe big flashy diamonds, or how about pigeon-blood rubies surrounded by big flashy diamonds? (Hey, I didn’t say it was subtle – it most certainly is not.) To me, it still smells “French.” And it comes in a beautiful Art Deco bottle.


Once in a while, it’s kind of nice to feel rich. To give up the tasteful lady act. Like on Christmas Eve, or New Year’s Eve. Especially when one can find something like this for around $35.00 at the online discounters.*


Hey…I won’t let on about that if you won’t!


*Scherrer II has been discontinued and is rarer than it used to be, but is available here and there for around $40. 


Notes for Jean-Louis Scherrer 2 include aldehydes, bergamot, “green notes,” pineapple, anise, jasmine, Mandarin, orris root, peach, Lily of the Valley, honey, rose, musk, sandalwood, amber, vetiver, benzoin and vanilla.

Notes for Chanel No. 22 include aldehydes, jasmine, rose, tuberose, ylang-ylang, incense, vanilla, opopnax and vetiver.

Photo of Parisian lady by Eric for Paris Daily Photo.com (http://www.paris.dailyphoto.com)

CleanAmerica and Nuit Noire

For the next two weeks, I'm going to be on vacation -- back September 14 as part of the launch of Andy Tauer's new perfume "Miriam," in conjunction with Brian Pera's "Woman's Picture." In the meantime, I'll post reprints from awhile back -- this one from 2009, about the soon to be discontinued Nuit Noire, from Mona di Orio. (The comments are from the original post, too -- feel free to leave a new one!) See you September 14th!

I’ve always loved what in perfumeland is euphemistically called “skank.” It’s something most Americans don’t want to think about, much less wear.

But, for many fragrance lovers, skank is great stuff. I’ve been thinking about fragrance “families” a lot, and, like most systems of classification, these can be endlessly divided and subdivided. Even “skank” is an, uh, blanket term -- there are different kinds -- the musky ones, tangy ones, earthy ones and so on. Today, I’m talking about civet, and Mona di Orio’s Nuit Noire.

Civet! OMG! The well-replicated modern recreation of the anal gland secretions of the civet cat, actually a member of the mongoose sub-classification! If there is ONE perfume ingredient in all the world that is just about guaranteed to make the modern all-American hetero male turn up his nose in horror, it’s civet. I’ve been wondering exactly why that is.

Before germ theory came along, disease was blamed on “bad air,” or miasma. Until the research of Louis Pasteur and other scientists took off in the late 19th century, it still was, and although cultures differed in their ideals of body hygiene, living spaces were filthy by modern standards. But when the populations of Britain and, even more so, North America, realized that microbes were in fact the culprits, and that they were little beasties with life cycles of their own, cleanliness became much like bad religion. Allowing these invisible enemies to thrive inside one’s home, or, godforbid one’s body, became not only a sin, but a form of gross neglect. At roughly the same time -- the decades around 1900 -- advertising began its rise to power. By the Fifties, no germ was safe, or so we thought.

Then, in the late Sixties/Seventies, “natural” became the ideal, drifting out of California like most things did then. Shining, unsprayed hair, washed every day; skin without a trace of odor, glowing tans, perfect white teeth, neutral breath: healthy. That ideal is still with us.

I bring all of this up because I received a sample of Nuit Noire in the mail yesterday. I applied it lavishly, for me, noting that, hmmm, yes, there was a certain, er, fecal quality. I was just beginning to analyze it thoroughly when my husband came home. Usually he’s pretty good about my fragrance experimentation. Not this time. “Jesus,” he said. “That stinks.”

O-kay. So this is one of those love-or-hate-it ones. The perfumer probably could have used a lighter hand with the skank, but to what end? To produce something that smells like fifty other perfumes? This stuff is brave. It’s like a dare. It’s perfumery taken to the furthest extreme I’ve yet experienced. I like that.

Those who love it seem to really love it. And those who don’t -- well, let's just say that they really, really don't.

I remember once reading about a study on the effects of skatole -- an essential molecule of the “fecal” note. A group of subjects were, um, subjected to a blast of air scented with animal excrement. None lasted more than five minutes. Physiological reactions, such as rise in blood pressure and increased sweating, and ultimately nausea, were observed.

(One has to wonder about these subjects. Don’t any of them own cats? Were they all male Oxford undergraduates who have never been near a loaded diaper? But I digress.)

Oddly enough, when you think of the classic perfumes of the germophobic mid-Twentieth century, most are 1.) French and 2.) have got at least a little civet in them.

I find this to be really interesting. Perhaps it was a vestige of our animal nature’s giving the finger to the midcentury onslaught of household and body cleaning products and the ubiquitous advertising, intended to produce guilty housewives, that promoted them. Perhaps, on some deeper level, the women who wore these perfumes knew that scrubbed-clean, while appealing, isn’t exactly alluring.

Would I wear this fragrance to the grocery store? Probably not. Would I wear it for a special evening out with hubby? Definitely not. Will I wear it when I’m alone? You bet!

Here’s what else I’m going to do with my Nuit Noire: I’m going to layer it under various other fragrances and see what happens. I’ve already tried it with the modern version of Bal a’Versilles and, yeah, there’s that...ooomph that’s been missing. I wonder what it would do for one of those stone-cold roses. Or some timid little office-appropriate floral.

Or some reformulated horror that smells like a melted Mr. Clean popsicle.

Hmmmm.

The official notes for Nuit Noire do not include civet (!) But just about every reviewer swears it’s in there, and so do I. It’s classified as a “spicy Oriental” with a top of orange flower (aha!) and cardamom; base notes include leather, amber, musk and tonka. The perfumer is Mona di Orio.

Photo copyright Ruslanchik. Used under license from Dreamstime.com.

Is It Spring Yet? (Barbara Bui Le Parfum and Miller Harris Fleur Oriental)

 To get through this wretched winter, I’ve taken to wearing some strange clothing around the house. Wool socks, day and night, and a ratty, pilled and snagged black acrylic sweater, which happens to be the warmest garment I have that isn’t a coat. Last week we had a couple of thaw days, and I hung it up. When put it again on I nearly swooned with pleasure at the scent it gave off. It was powdery, but with a subtle growl. I couldn’t identify it at first, but a bit of primary research revealed that it was Fleur Oriental by Miller Harris.

I guess there is powder and then there is powder, like some vintage Habanita EDT I have. That one has enough powder to bring on an asthma attack in sensitive individuals, as they say on TV in all those drug ads. I started thinking about some other sweet and powdery scents, and one that came to mind was Barbara Bui's Le Parfum.

There are certain fragrances that most of us here in perfumeblogland adore and no one else has ever heard of. This is one. It came out in 2004, a designer scent from the Paris-based Vietnamese Bui. It was discontinued, apparently in a fog of legalese, but is still available here and there at online discounters and on fleabay for very reasonable prices. 

Barbara Bui is a gorgeous confection, on my skin the olfactory equivalent of  my grandmother’s divinity fudge, white, light, rich melting decadence. It is  my go-to sleep scent. The notes tell of incense and spices, but what I get is heliotrope, soft white musk and -- although it isn’t “official” -- vanilla. (Maybe more the concept of vanilla than actual vanilla.) And the powder-soft drydown, which lasts all though the night.

I’ve only worn Barbara Bui out into the world once, though. It just seemed wrong, somehow, like it didn’t belong anywhere but between sheets, or on a silk peignoir (not that I actually own one) or, in my case anyway, a flannel shirt. It’s for cold nights spent inside a cozy house.

The Miller Harris Fleur Oriental is another story. This, I’ll definitely wear out. There’s an edge to it’s sweetness, there right away. The notes mention carnation, but it’s citrus I smell, and I’m sticking to it. After it fades a little, there’s an darkish back note, reminiscent of tobacco, something like the vintage Shalimar EDT I have, but without that one’s “tar” quality. A little rose -- anything I swoon over is bound to have a little rose --  and there’s the heliotrope again. Sweet musk, amber (could be anything) jasmine and -- aha! -- “orange.” (This comes in EDT and EDP; it is the EDT I’m reviewing here.)

It’s one of the ones I’m in love with right now. 

This has been the coldest winter -- go ahead and laugh, you folks in Chicago and Boston -- I’ve experienced in years.  The week spent icebound was a record-breaker. Isn’t lack of such weather one of the reasons why my home town, Atlanta, is filled with Northern transplants? But what the hey. It’s nothing we can’t handle, as long as we have central heat, fireplaces, old sweaters and luscious powdery perfumes to spray them with.

“Notes” for Barbara Bui Le Parfum include spices, incense, jasmine, musk, sandalwood, heliotrope, amber and cedar. Perfumer: Anne Flipo.

“Notes” for Miller Harris Fleur Oriental include carnation, Turkish rose, incense, jasmine, sweet musk, heliotrope and orange. Perfumer: Lyn Harris. 

Want to sample these? What is your favorite scent for sleeping?  Leave a comment by midnight U.S. Eastern Standard Time, Monday, Feb 14. I’ll do a random drawing and announce the winner Tuesday, Feb. 15. (I’ll throw in samples of two more sleep-scent favorites of mine, too.)

Full Disclosure: The Barbara Bui is from my personal collection,  and I was recently given some Miller Harris Fleur Oriental by a friend.

Image © Olga Kriger | Dreamstime.com

Used under license

The Day

 

The light begins to bend differently around mid-August here. It’s still hot, with bugs and humidity, but I’ll be driving somewhere and will suddenly notice that the trees look different. The sun’s position has changed (okay, to be perfectly accurate, the earth’s has). There is more refraction, longer rays of light bending toward the yellow end of the color spectrum, and so the leaves reflect a warmer green.

 “The Day” is what I call that first breath of autumn, an afternoon when I realize that the humidity is gone and won’t be back for awhile, when the winds stop blowing moisture up from the Gulf and start blowing cool air down from Canada. Not much is certain these days, but this is. 

Not too long ago, a commenter here mentioned seeing a lot of “ennui” on the perfume blogs and forums. It is true that there haven’t been many great releases lately, and the new Bleu de Chanel has disappointed several reviewers I follow, with its apparent pandering to the men’s mass-market (can you say dihydromercanol? No? Me neither.) I wonder what similar delights are coming next. Times like this send me back to the back of my cabinet. I’ve noticed that I’m not the only one. I’m seeing lots of classics and forgotten treasures on the other perfume blogs. It’s a welcome development, I believe. There is so much out there that deserves attention, and certainly isn’t getting any from the popular press.

Exploring the glimmers deep inside my own perfume cabinet, I found three scents that seem perfect for this time of year. Two are fairly obscure and one is really obscure. 

Opium Fleur de Shanghai: This one is discontinued, which is good news. I love discontinued. I know it’s going to be an older, or maybe even the original, formula; no chance that I’ll encounter another disappointing reformulation. This is a 2005 “special release,” designed for warmer weather, full of magnolia, a bit of star jasmine (which is subtle) and mandarin, which gives it a slight fruit note. The Opium base -- carnation/clove, myrrh and patchouli -- is there, but it’s a whisper. I’ve heard that Opium EDT -- the real thing, not the new one -- can be a good summer fragrance, but I can’t imagine wearing it in our July humidity. In this fragrance, though, the florals and earthy base balance each other perfectly. Not too sweet, not too heavy, comes in a big bottle, designed to spray lavishly: the perfect September fragrance. Best of all, there seems to be plenty to go around. I bought my 100 ml bottle for less than $40, on fleabay. I have not been able to find out who the perfumer was, but the house is Yves St. Laurent.

Rose d’Homme: OK, so it’s a men’s fragrance. And? Perhaps there will come a day when American guys feel secure enough in the ol’ masculinity department to wear a rose-based scent. In the meantime, I’ll continue to hijack this one. It’s one of those that thrill me when I smell it. Lots of bergamot up front, and the notes from Rosine’s website mention vetiver, a “lavender base,” tangerine, herbals and leather. I get a woody, patchouli-laced rose, and it is divine. It’s a perfect late fall scent, more November than September. Not for patchouli-averse though; I’d say that, in the drydown, patch is the dominant note. The perfumers are the Rosine team of Marie-Helene Rogeon and Francois Robert. Not discontinued, but certainly not commonplace. Not exactly a bargain, but I’ve seen 50 mls for less than $75 online. I bought my bottle from LuckyScent, last year. From Les Parfums de Rosine.

Halston Couture: This is a very obscure and challenging fragrance. Of all the perfumes I’ve ever tried, it is by far the driest, the boniest, the mossiest. Do you like galbanum, that cracked-green-leaves essence? It’s here, along with a ton of oakmoss. There’s musk, too (not much), and bergamot, and, although the notes list jasmine, I don’t smell any. I do smell the marigold and carnation, though. This is a take-no-prisoners spicy, bitter green chypre. The closest relative I know of would be Jacomo’s bitter green “Silences.”  This is Silences on steroids.

I’ve started experimenting with this fragrance, using it as a base for oils that might just be a little too cloying, or florals that are too sweet, to construct a chypre with floral notes. I think it would be a great man’s scent, too -- although, for all I know it might have been one. Perfumer? Who knows? Released in 1987 or 88 (indexes vary) It comes in the Halston bottle -- the off-kilter, Elsa Peretti one -- except that the glass is frosted and the top is silver, which tarnishes, so we know it’s real. Discontinued of course -- this much oakmoss would make the entire IFRA faint -- but widely available on fleabay, usually for less than $30, which is how I got mine. Perfect for early fall, when it’s often still hot. Strong. Lasts. Not for the timid. 

A few other transitional scents that seem “right” to me in fall: Eau de Rochas, with its unlikely mix of citrus and patchouli; Nuits de Hadrien (Annick Goutal) with its peppery ginger opening, and Anya’s Garden “Kewdra,” with its spice and warmth. What are yours?

I’m curious: do you layer and mix a lot? It seems that the transition seasons bring out the tinkerer in me. A little of this, a little of that; sometimes mixed, sometimes just applied on different places; do summer scents layered with winter ones equal autumn? What do you think? Let me know in a comment. I’ll pick a winner at random and announce the results in two weeks, on Tuesday, Sept. 14th,  for a generous sample of each of these fragrances.

Photo: © Miklav | Dreamstime.com

A Study in Contradiction: Four by Liz Zorn

It has occurred to me in recent months that I really should spend more time with the real niche fragrances. I tend to shy away from them for personal use, because I have yet to meet a “natural” perfume that lasts more than an hour on my skin, and they’re expensive. Thick, scent-gulping skin requiring constant reapplication and big-bucks outlay usually don’t mix in my (check)book, but whatever -- there are always samples. I had read about Liz Zorn’s Soivohle perfumes on other blogs, and was intrigued. 

Zorn is an artist who seems to work in every discipline; a painter, musician, writer, perfumer. That’s one of her paintings. It’s a word-image piece, and to my eye looks nothing like what I’d expect from a natural perfumer: it’s rough, full of texture, monochromatic and primitive. The image looks like it was scratched on a cave’s wall with a piece of burnt firewood, as the cave paintings at Lascaux and Altamira were. What did I expect, flowers?

Well, um, yeah. Because “SOIVOHLE” is an acronym: “sending out inspired vibrations of healthy loving energy” and if that’s not new-age wackadoodle I don’t know what is. Then I look at the painting, and some of her other work (references below) which have a directness that is almost brutal. There have to be some interesting contradictions here.

I chose four samples from her line, hoping they’d be representative. 

The first one I tried was “Grand Canyon.” It reminds me a bit of an Andy Tauer fragrance , with the generous use of resin, particularly myrrh. The notes list orange flower, but it’s well-hidden. The fragrance is a little sweeter on my skin than on paper, but it’s not a sweet scent, at all. This is an imagined Grand Canyon. The real one smells like piñon pine, wood smoke and dust. What I smell here is bergamot, with the slight bitterness of citrus rind, and the herbs and woods and, later, the vanilla. Notes from the website are orange flower, citrus, herbs, myrrh, black pepper, laurel, vanilla and woods. A great unisex, it’s one of the “Signature Naturals” line, and is priced at $50 for 4.5 mls (parfum).

“Lilac Heliotrope,” a new offering from the “Moderne” (naturals and synthetics) line, was not my favorite of these. I didn’t grow up in a region where lilacs are common, so have no scent-memory attached to them; as a result, lilac smells like soap to me. That’s just a personal preference. If you like lilac, my guess is that you’d love this. The heliotrope anchors the lilac with its characteristic sweet heaviness, and although my sample was the EDT, it seems to be lasting as well as the stronger ones on my skin. My guess, without knowing Zorn’s entire line, is that this scent is a nod to accessibility; this is reinforced by the more reasonable price of $65 for 12 mls (EDT strength). Official notes are white and purple lilac, orchid, “hint of” rose, mosses, musk and benzoin.

“Cordovan Rose,” also from the Moderne line, opens dark, dark red -- like one of the “black” rose cultivars (actually more of a deep burgundy color) you can buy now. Truth is, I smell very little rose in here. This is another Tauer-like fragrance, heavy on the base notes of “woods” and “spice.” It’s not a leather in the way we usually speak of leather, either: not fleshy-aromatic, or tobaccolike. It’s much woodier. The notes list “full ripe plums” as well. Plums are a difficult fruit. I’d say this “plum” is more like the fruit’s skin, dark and dense, although it’s not unpleasantly so. I would readily recommend this as a true unisex rose, a rare thing! Half an ounce of the EDP is listed on the website at $50.

And now we come to “Love Speaks Primeval.” Does it ever. 

This is the one I’d most associate with Zorn’s paintings. I’m just going to say it: it opens with the strongest cat pee note I’ve ever smelled, but that just lasts seconds, and then it begins to mess with the mind. This is a concept scent. Can we tawk here? It is the muskiest, most realistic, most shocking well-used-knickers perfume I’ve ever tried, ev-ah. And, faithful readers, you know I love the skank, and am not easily shocked. But: Oh my heavens! Where are my smelling salts?

Wait a few minutes. It’s great. Better than the real thing. It’s called a “natural floral chypre” on the website (um, right) with notes of "rose-dominant," violet, pink lotus, jasmine, labdanum, patchouli and “soft warm woods.” This rocket ride is what a niche perfume should be. Perfume strength, from the “Signature Natural” line, it’s priced accordingly, at $70 for 4.5 mls, $180 for half an ounce.

The trip from “Lilacs Heliotrope” to “Love Speaks Primeval” is as contradictory as Zorn’s paintings are to the visual art I’d expect from a natural perfumer. (Yeah, yeah. I know. It’s a stereotype and should be beneath me.) But I enjoy contradictions. 

Btw, the samples they send out aren’t what I’d call generous. But they’re big enough so I can decant some of each -- enough to try -- for one interested reader. Leave me a comment. I’ll pick one winner at random, to receive these four scents. Deadline is Monday, May 17^th, midnight U.S. Eastern Daylight time.

Reference: interviews and representations of Zorn’s visual art are here and here.

The photo of the Liz Zorn painting “Brevity” comes from a 2003 article in “The Tear,” referenced above.


Full disclosure time: I bought these samples from the Soivohle website.

RandomBuzz

Saw the trailers for the upcoming season of “True Blood” last night: “Waiting Sucks.” Brilliant. Here’s the thing though: Hollywood bodies in South Louisiana? Lemmee tell ya: there is no way that those people snarfing pork chops at Merlotte's are gonna look like the extras on “True Blood.”

Those extras spend 4 hours a day at the gym. Trust me. In BonTon, Louisiana, Merlotte's is the gym.

Finally got around to trying L’Artisan’s Al Oudh. Late to the party as usual. This one deserves a whole post. The title? “Perfumes I’m embarrassed to go grocery shopping in.”  I mean, I love it. But, ahem...this one makes “Boudoir” feel like some little-girl violets-at-Easter cologne.

If there is anything more beautiful than a Lady Banks rose vine in bloom and cascading over a fence, I don’t know what it is. I’m looking at one right now.

It’s spring here in the South. The time of year that you actually want to go outside, assuming that you can tolerate the pollen that is coating everything, like sticky yellow talc.

Here’s a tip from an old-timer: put a tablespoonful of locally produced honey in your tea or coffee once a day, starting around January. Honey is made from pollen. This is a homeopathic, and it works. 

ELPC’s Tuberose Gardenia smells just right, right now.

What is going on with those little bottles of vintage Shalimar? They’re going for $50 to the-sky’s-the-limit on fleabay. I mean, I want, but $50 is my absolute limit -- which I’ve never paid -- for used perfume that might or might not be “off”; what’s yours?

Grain de Musc’s recent writeup  on the forthcoming L’Artisan tuberose by Duchafour was really intriguing. Also made me resolve to order a sample first. 

Two great recent samples: L’Artisan’s Havana Vanille (more vanilla than tobacco, imho) and Annick Goutal’s Vanille Exquise (nice and boozy). Both last, a long time, even on my skin. Will save these for October.

Q: What always smells better than it tastes? A: Barbecue.

From the TV shows I’ve never watched list: “American Idol.” Yes, it’s true! Does this make me an elitist? 

So be it.

If it weren’t for the HBO shows and “Mad Men,” I’d get rid of the damned thing entirely. We have about 400 channels. There’s never anything on any of them.

Got a bottle of Balmain’s “Ivorie.” I never knew what “soapy” really meant until now, but no matter. It’s green, green, green and megasoapy and will be perfect for July.

I really like the fig scents too. “Ninfeo Mio” and “Premier Figuer,” especially. I don’t know about wearing them outside though. Maybe the Ninfeo Mio; it’s more green than fig. But we have every kind of wasp and hornet you can possibly imagine here. Figs are their favorite thing in the whole world. I'd rather not be.

The other night the DH and I watched an episode of that makeover show where the bitchy woman and snide guy rip into some poor girl’s self-image so they can subject her to their ideas about style. I glanced over at him. He was staring at the screen in horror. He said “I’m looking at this...other world.”  Ya think?

Better advice: Sweetie, return all those ugly clothes and spend the $5000 on a therapist.  If you didn’t need one before, you will now!

photo © Kokimk|Dreamstime.com used under license