Cincinnatus, who seemed pitch-black to them, as though he had been cut out of a cord-size block of night, opaque Cincinnatus would turn this way and that, trying to catch the rays, trying with desperate haste to stand in such a way as to seem translucent. Those around him understood each other at the first word, since they had no words that would end in an unexpected way, perhaps in some archaic letter, an upsilamba, becoming a bird or a catapult with wondrous consequences. In the dusty little museum on Second Boulevard, where they used to take him as a child, and where he himself would later take his charges, there was a collection of rare, marvelous objects, but all the townsmen except Cincinnatus found them just as limited and transparent as they did each other.
Vladimir Nabokov in Invitation to a Beheading
I dug up an old email I had sent, in which I described Alberto Absolu thusly: “…it takes such curious little turns. It’s sex and chocolate, a library filled with leather bound editions, good olive oil, warm cookies from the oven, a walk through a garden, and a very tiny petting zoo, all distilled into the crazy farmer’s market of its aroma.” This is wordy, and yet inadequate. The fragrance is an upsilamba. And all its wonderous consequences have left me scratching my head for another way to describe it than as precisely that. I give up. Quite simply, it is perfumer Alberto Morillas’ upsilamba.
Alberto Absolu was a perfume self-portrait composed by Morillas as part of Sacré Nobi’s /7S/ Olfactory Installation along with his Seven Deadly Sins. You can also read more about it at Chandler Burr’s website. Alas, it is currently unavailable, but I’m secretly hoping perhaps I can stir a wee bit of interest in it, so that it might be sold sooner rather than later.
Yesterday it snowed! Okay, so it was light, and it melted right away, but it snows so rarely in my corner of town that we had fun with it.
It was cold enough though that I realized it’d be my last shot for a while at wearing Comme Des Garcons’ 2 Man. The last time I can remember pulling out 2 Man was on Christmas Eve, and sure enough, one spritz of it on my skin and a little snow brought Christmastime right back to me.
The opening blast always weirds me out just a little. Whatever notes are ascribed to it don’t matter to me. It smells like typewriter ribbons, and I move back through time and space to my ninth grade typing class:
the quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog
the quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog
the quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog
The memory of it jars me. On the one hand I fondly recall my silly self at that age again, and on the other I can never forget the time I caught an ungodly flu and tried to get through the class typing as fast as I could while stopping every three seconds to wipe and blow my nose. To this day I remember the crazy high fever I had, but I could not bear leaving the classroom to see the nurse. Her office had the stench of death about it. I don’t mean figuratively, I mean literally. Some rodent had obviously died inside the walls, but apparently it hadn’t occured to anyone that removing a decaying animal corpse from the health offices might be a good idea.
I digress. Which is kind of the point about this fragrance. It’s swirly abstractions provoke imaginings of things real and unreal, but also stir memory.
2 Man recalls the way Gres Cabaret seems filtered through a cloud of smoke without smelling smokey. Its woody notes are real but unidentifiable, like staring out a train window and watching the blurry trees fly past. Mutant spices that I know without recognition drift by until we land at nutmeg. The nutmeg of 2 Man’s dry down is warm and dry, mixed into the smeared streaky watercolors of an abstract forest.
Upon reflection, I don’t think this is one of those men’s scents that very many women could see themselves in. Nor can I see just any man wearing it either. 2 Man isn’t too weird, however it’s unusual enough that it won’t be quite to everyone’s taste. Which is fine. All’s the more for me, heh.
EDIT: Oops, forgot to mention a great review of this scent by Basenotes member Indie_Guy (it’s the second one on the scroll down.) I think he’s dead-on with his astute observation that 2 Man seems like a bit of a pastiche comprised of elements from other Comme des Garcons fragrances.
Luca Turin’s latest article for NZZ Folio has just been posted online, and his subject matter this time is perfumer Jean Kerléo’s creation Sublime. I love his comparison to the old gods (though the myth lover in me is pained by the mishmash of Greek and Roman names), mainly because their feet of clay were not so neatly hidden as those of the god from the Jude0-Christian tradition, so that they seem easier to understand. And of course, they are a raucous bunch, which makes them awfully fun. In addition to the perfume review, there’s even a great personal story to boot! Neat.
I do not wear Sublime; Sublime wears me. It pulls me around like a river, and at the end of the trip I am both exhilarated and relieved when it ends.
As I wear it, there seem to be three layers to the fragrance. These layers seem as if they were seperate perfumes in their own right, yet connect tenuously from one to the other. Sweet, slightly tart fruit drip into a warm, nearly oily scent. This first period lasts me twenty minutes, and the oily lingers only long enough to usher in the second phase. It is then that a clean floral chypre surrounds me without any notions of sharpness. The florals fade and leave oakmoss behind to walk me towards the last phase. Cozy and vanillic, this end period is the one that sticks longest to my skin. The drydown of Sublime is far richer than many newer perfumes made to focus solely on a vanilla theme.
If I didn’t know any better (and in truth, I don’t) I’d almost say Kerléo composed Sublime as a perfume version of an Exquisite Corpse. I could single out and enjoy any of these layers individually. However, he fused one layer to the next to create a whole that leaves a grander impression than just the parts. Sublime may well be steeped in the classic tradition, but I don’t personally believe it was made as a throw back to an earlier time. Rather it tossed forward with its release in 1992 a hint at what was to come. While the minimalists may currently be the cool kids, it’s hard not to notice the perfumers seeking ways to express themselves uniquely while still deepening and expanding the boundaries of traditional perfumery. There’s room for everybody I think.
Most perfume commercials are pretty cheesy. This one is the cheesiest I’ve ever seen,
and I mean that in the best way possible.
Other videos of interest include:
Remember the old Calvin Klein commercials? I guess I don’t too well, because I plum forgot just how creepy this old one from 1985 is: Click here.
Commercial for Christina Aguilera’s new scent Xpose (And my god, it looks to be exactly what you’d expect. The concept for it seems to have been developed before she made her transition from downtown hoochie to uptown floozy): Click here.
Seeking a unique way to scent your life? Look no further, for Archie McPhee brings you bacon air fresheners. And to think I thought my idea for Bacon perfume was that ridiculous.
You Tube has a number of items on its site, including a four minute video for Anna Sui Secret Wish, an ad for Calvin Klein Ella Bleu, trailers for the upcoming Tykwer film of Patrick Suskind’s book Perfume, and an assortment of other commercials, too. I just used the search term “perfume.”
By request I am reviewing Silver Rain, which I believe was asked due to my habit of making it the butt of my jokes. I am lazy, so very lazy, like, reeeeeeallly lazy, and taking cheap potshots comes easy. Maybe if I get this out of my system, I’ll tire of inflicting them on everyone.
La Prairie’s Silver Rain has one of the most exquisite flacons ever. Simply gorgeous. Sadly, the juice inside does not fulfill the promise that lovely bottle offers. Imagine the excitement of receiving a blue Tiffany’s box, only to open it and discover one of those charms in a plastic bubble that can normally be had by depositing two quarters into a grocery store vending machine.
How shall I describe the fragrance? Silver Rain is… smurfy*. It cheerily sings a mindless tune**, rolling along in bright colors and offering its impotent*** message.
Its bouquet is familiar to me, however I cannot name precisely what it calls to mind, because it reminds me of far too many fragrances that are just as forgettable as this one. You couldn’t identify it if you stuck it in a police line-up. And you should stick it in a police line-up: the price verges on criminal. I’ve tried my best, but I can’t for the life of me discern anything about the fragrance inside that justifies a $135 sale tag. Honestly, I think if you layered Jeanne Arthes Boum with Jovan Pink Musk you’d more or less arrive at Silver Rain. Berries and fruit, some silly use of florals that renders them unidentifiable (in a bad way), vanilla, wood, light musk, and… and oh bother, I hope I’m not putting you guys to sleep, too. This is not to say it’s horrible - it’s just no better or worse than a ton of other fruity-florals out there right now.
What peeves me is that Silver Rain shares its name with a poem by a favorite American poet, Langston Hughes. His In the Time of Silver Rain isn’t really one that’s close to my heart, but it’s exactly 3,000% better than this liquid mediocrity. Your time and money is better spent on reading a volume of his work containing this poem. And look, here’s a link so you can do so right now: Powell’s Books, with apparently some used copies still available.
*”They are good… He is bad.” Hee! Good lord, no wonder my parents hated it when we kids would watch this cartoon. Now it’s just hilarious to me, but… yeesh, this is what I was watching in my young formative years? It sadly explains so much about me.
**Is it me, or does the phrase “Smurf yourself a grin!” sound unspeakably dirty? Again, no wonder my parents hated letting their kids watch this show.
***In point of fact, according to the Smurf Name Generator, La Prairie Silver Rain’s Smurf name is “Erectile Dysfunction Smurf.” Make of that what you will. Or not – I’m being way too ridiculous.
Image of smurf from http://plus.es superimposed on index page from the official Silver Rain site, and the other two from its splash opening, which I must say is pretty nifty. Linked song is from Frogstar.com, which has a ton of quirky stuff like The Smurfs theme song.
Please click here to see the Basenotes community’s top picks for 2006 in the 6th Annual Basenotes Awards.
From the press release:
Each year, fragrance website, Basenotes, asks its visitors which fragrances they have enjoyed in the previous year. The winners for this year have been announced online at the Basenotes website.
To read my own “best of” yearly list, please click here.
Jane’s Addiction was indisputably one of the great bands of the 80s and 90s, but so many people missed out on them because they were too busy pearl-clutching over the band’s image to notice the music itself. Of course, some folks simply didn’t enjoy them due to the acquired taste that is singer Perry Farrell’s voice. To quote the only technically English speaking Paula Abdul, he’s rather “nasally up in his nasal.” And yet still others only heard their more raucous tunes, punctuated by creative rhythms and swirly, crunchy guitars, not ever realizing the magical turns the band could take with their music. “Summertime Rolls,” from their first album Nothing’s Shocking, rises, soars, then recedes with such a twinkling tranquility that one must nearly remain still in order to appreciate it.
Click to hear* a clip from Summertime Rolls:
Amusingly, upon the various perfume boards there’s been a little bit of pearl-clutching going on about the concept of a marijuana perfume. Most folks do seem to have a good sense of humor about it all, or at least an open mind, fortunately, and at least they will not miss out on the most interesting thing I think Fresh has made lately.
I suppose with regards to their eau de parfum Cannabis Santal, one could mentally cull up a million and one pot songs or pieces of stoner art for quick reference. But for me, the essence of the scent plays out like the lazy peace of “Summertime Rolls.” Unlike the lyrics of that song however, Cannabis Santal has no “sea of grass” to fall into.
I don’t know how I’m going to get through this review without sounding like I am a MAJOR POTHEAD, so let’s run a little disclaimer at this point: I live in Oregon, which is one of the pot-growing capitals of the world. You are much more likely to buy fresh “product” here, meaning the weed is freshly preserved, retaining a bit of moisture and stickiness. Like many who live here, I have partaken of Oregon’s biggest cash crop a few times in my younger days, and each time it left me unimpressed. Something about the “experience” always left me wishing I had spent my time doing something instead of it. I have and have had friends who enjoy it regularly - friends who I do not judge, so I am not unfamiliar with the smell and look of it.
The opening notes indicate white flowers and chocolate pastilles, which only gently shift up key into the eponymous Cannabis layer. It takes a full twenty minutes or so before I can appreciate the note. Ahhhh, very pretty. And very light, I must add. A small puff of smoke rises, but minus the almost gag-worthy (well, sometimes not almost, *cough cough*) ancillary resinous smell we associate with pot smoking. The peculiar aromas of candied green and herbal green dance around each other, in a Fred and Ginger waltz between the smell of freshly dried whole buds and little loose curled leaves still in a baggie waiting to be smoked. If you feared cannabis would be all there is to this scent, you can rest those fears now, and if you were hoping for something explicit, you will be disappointed. The woody santal alluded to in the name is so delicate as to be slightly misleading in a way. It’s here for the relaxative effect that is usually employed in incense (but this IS NOT an incense perfume) for its ability to induce a sleepy forgetfulness at the end of a stressful day. In actuality, the base is dominated by a melliflous embrace of blond patchouli and the vanillic pillows of benzoin. Depsite their prescence through the entire devolpment of the scent, at the dry down I am caught by surprise by these notes. If you love and enjoy Givenchy’s Pi, then you already understand how the base of Cannabis Santal works. Indeed, I believe this fragrance will be labeled as more appealing to men than women for that very reason. I do have to wonder if perhaps the subtle chocolate of the fragrance is really just a function of the benzoin, which I am given to understand can have chocolately aspects to it? Because on the dry down, I do find chocolately intonations in there that are just like the ones I sense in the opening.
The copy for the notes of Cannabis Santal reads: “A blend of patchouli, rose, chocolate vetiver and vanilla musk.” Here’s my smart-assery at work, because the idea of chocolate vetiver makes me think of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, with Willy Wonka’s garden of candy flora… ah yes, the chocolate grass growing up inbetween the lollipop blossoms and across the banks of the chocolate river. Watch your step, and mind the Oompa-Loompas now. I really have no idea what the hell “chocolate vetiver” is, and frankly, I don’t think Fresh does either. Oh to play in the land of make-believe that ad copywriters live in.
I well appreciate perfumer Caroline Sabas’ approach, and find it to be a complex yet feathery scent. However, I do wish that the cannabis aspect was stronger - I can only hope for Fresh to pull a L’Artisan and introduce an “Extreme” version at some point in the future.
Cannabis Santal is slated for wide release in April, and until then, it’s exclusive to Barneys.
*I must apologize for inflicting my musical tastes on everyone again. I will say it is far preferable to how I was going to write this post out: I was thinking it’d be kind of funny to write it out as a political essay expounding on the merits of MEDICINAL perfume use. Which… yeah. The idea amused me, but the execution of it probably would have left much to be desired.
Yesterday it snowed! Okay, so it was light, and it melted right away, but it snows so rarely in my corner of town that we had fun with it. 
2 Man recalls the way Gres Cabaret seems filtered through a cloud of smoke without smelling smokey. Its woody notes are real but unidentifiable, like staring out a train window and watching the blurry trees fly past. Mutant spices that I know without recognition drift by until we land at nutmeg. The nutmeg of 2 Man’s dry down is warm and dry, mixed into the smeared streaky watercolors of an abstract forest.
By request I am reviewing Silver Rain, which I believe was asked due to my habit of making it the butt of my jokes. I am lazy, so very lazy, like, reeeeeeallly lazy, and taking cheap potshots comes easy. Maybe if I get this out of my system, I’ll tire of inflicting them on everyone.