MemoryOScent

Yeap, this is exactly what Urban Musk is... The perfume itself is the most interesting of the White Musk collection. It opens with a strange note that oscillates between wood and halitosis. Now the idea of smelling like bad breath and liking it is something that has most of you frowning in disgust already, but it is not just me. Kevin of Now Smell This has reviewed all four from the White Musk collection and he also reports the “bad breath” note and agrees with me that Urban Musk is the most interesting of the quartet. I cannot quite explain how this note can be attractive in a perfume. All I can imagine is that it feels warm and alive. I smell the same note in the opening of Le Labo Oud 27. In the opening of Urban Musk it is more restrained and has a woody quality. How can this relate to filmstrip projectors? Film strips contain lignin which is a form of cellulose, the sugar that gives rigidity to plants. Pyrolysis (a heat mediated reaction) of lignin yields guaiacol, and yes, this is the connection between the smell of my projector and perfume. The heat of the projector lamp slowly turns film lignin to an aromatic derivative usually isolated from guaiac wood and palo santo tree. I do not know how all this connects to halitosis but the fact is that both Urban Musk and Oud 27 have been accused of this association. The opening of Urban Musk feels grey and woolly. This doesn’t last long. Ylang-ylang and musk add familiarity, sweetness and warmth. The musk is slightly dirty and animalic but in an elegant way. Honey and benzoin added in moderation increase the balmy sensation but they never impose on the composition. The overall effect remains airy and velvety. The drydown is powdery. Although iris is not listed in the semi-official lists of Fragrantica and parfyym.pri.ee there is a striking similarity with L’Homme de Coeur, a stellar iris perfume.

I don’t enjoy hot weather that much, especially when I have to spend my days in the city, going to work and doing all the things that require a cool breeze to be tolerated. The first hot days make me want to reach for my bottle of Anice. The obvious reason being that Anice smells just like ouzo and what is a summer night without a dash of ouzo? But Anice is an extraordinary scent in its own right.

Those of you not familiar with ouzo might think that it is petty much the same thing as sambuca or pastis. It is quite different actually. While sambuca and pastis are mostly flavored with liquorice and contain a lot of sugar, ouzo gets its flavor mostly from anise and never contains sugar. Essentially it is a variation of arak or raki, drinks of Middle East and Turkey. Anise is the main flavouring ingredient but many other spices and herbs are added, each distiller having their own secret ingredients that often remain almost imperceptible. The only way one can start pinning them down is to take sips of different labels of ouzo, one after the other, and only then cinnamon, clove, nutmeg, mastic, oregano, mint, thyme come through the dominant flavour of anise.

This is exactly what is happening in Etro Anice. Anise hits you right from the opening and stays strong throughout the development. One would be tempted to consider this a very simple perfume but it isn’t. It is extremely textured and although anise is a spice the end result is not a spicy fragrance but a musky floral. Right from the bottle the topnotes are very volatile with a transparent floral element. The floral aspect is very brief and rather hard to pin down. Mostly jasmine but not quite, maybe a touch of lilac, this is a very ethereal and metallic flower, much like the opening of Serge Lutens Un Lys. It only takes moments for anise to take over with a hint of citrus. But Etro’s version of anise does not have the oriental, spicy quality of the seed of anise. It is cool, slightly metallic and velvety. A touch of vanilla adds the kind of sweetness that comes built-in with aniseed or liquorice and in the end a delicate musk creates a compact, sticky base.

The overall experience is just like sipping a a glass of iced ouzo. The aromas are delicate, underlined by the steely touch of alcohol and anise itself. The volatility of ouzo is mirrored in the delicate floral aura of the opening. The discreet sweetness of anise is highlighted by vanilla and musk illustrates the creaminess that blooms when ouzo is watered and becomes milky white. Even though Anice is not a fresh fragrance it offers an alternative to the summer colognes for anyone who wants something a little more adventurous than a clean or citrus perfume. It is unique because you will never find such an overdose of anise in another perfume but also because anise has never been more unexpectedly treated in a composition. Anice is addictive and abstractly gourmand and it is my summer essence.

Notes from my nose: ouzo, jasmine, lilac, bergamot,vanilla, musk

Created in 1951 by none other than Edmond Roudnitska, it is a piece of olfactory history by anyone’s definition. And reformulations aside it smells like it. Nothing out there smells like this. It opens with a greasy bergamot note that comes hand in hand with earthy cumin. This opening is the most challenging part of the composition. It is not fresh or clean like an Eau should be. It is dirty and sour like no one would expect and with a vinegary vibe. Soon after the weird opening accord hits you with its individuality the heart notes come into play adding warmth. Cinnamon, cardamom and tonka are the unlikely continuation of the rude opening walking in on a bridge of geranium. The cinnamon is hot, peppery and is the most prominent of the spice notes. Up to this point there is nothing in the composition to justify naming this an “Eau”. But soon after the heartnotes establish themselves the entire composition takes an unexpected turn. It starts to soften, becomes rounder and more mellow. A delicate slightly powdery leather starts to develop leaving the strange opening behind. Eau d’Hermès becomes a light, airy composition that manages to incorporate the plush leather note in a delicate way that reminds me Cuir de Lancome. All in all It is remarkable scent that transcends perfume genres and styles. It starts citrusy and spicy to end up luxurious and soft. From aggressive opening to delicate base. It is old fashioned in the same way that Bandit is old fashioned: it showcases that there was a time were perfumers took their audience with them on an adventure, rather than recreated the familiar.

Notes from my nose: bergamot, cumin, vinegar, cinnamon, cardamom, tonka, leather, powder

Fields of Rubus despite its benign name (I had to look up “rubus” to find out that it is the latin name for the berry genus) leaves the sunlit paths of the field for darker places. My first impression was patchouli straight up. But this was just my first “open the vial, splash some on” impression. I am very much afraid of fruity notes in perfumes, at least as it is used in most fragrances these days: a note added hastily as a “digestif” to make the composition more recognizable and accessible to young consumers. Fruit however can be incorporated beautifully in the composition to create a specific texture, much like aldehydes. It can make a perfume feel round and shiny. Jean Laporte has been the master in this use of fruit with L’Artisan Parfumeur Murs et Musc and the less berry-centric use in Route du Vetiver (you have to try really hard to get the note in this one) and the Muskissime series.

Fields of Rubus develops like an inverted pyramid: if your read the official note listing, read it from the last to first to get an idea of what this smells like. First I get patchouli, a brown, autumnal patchouli laced with amber. It is not a camphorous, herbal, green patchouli. This patchouli smells of chocolate, or to be more precise, it smells of carobs which are used to make chocolate substitute. Now carob has a labdanum similarity so probably this is where I get the amber lace in the opening of this. Then comes a bread yeast note with slightly sour hue. From the way I am describing this you can tell that the opening is right up my alley, strange, difficult and moody. It is not meant to be a crowd pleaser but please bear with me and my rantings because it is worth it. Yeast goes away and carob just leaves its autumnal warmth on the skin. Then comes tobacco and guaiac wood (yeap, I get guaiac wood here), good old unscented tobacco, not the cherry flavoured variety. So where is the fruit? It’s in there, in the deep drydown as a berry note with a subtle vanilla and an even more subtle musk note but in reality it has been there all along making the carob sticky and the tobacco leaves damp. Although this is by no means a feminine scent it is probably the one that more daring women, the ones that enjoy Bandit, would feel most comfortable slipping into. Fields of Rubus dwells on the edge of the field, in the shadows of the trees, in a mysterious and dubious, genderless place. If Creature conjures Dryads, Fields of Rubus dances on the Faun’s goat legs.

Notes from Kerosene: Raspberry, Plum, Apple, Tobacco Wood, Musk, Vanilla, Sandalwood, Cedar, and Patchouli.

Notes from my nose: carob, yeast, tobacco, guaiac wood, vanilla, musk, berries

Off it goes with a strong mint opening with an added hint of camphor, just enough to keep it from smelling too toothpaste-y. Just when I think that this is just going to be a fresh cologne in comes an almost dusty, cold and detached note of bamboo. This probably comes from the combination of the official notes of green tea and sweet birch. The opening is extremely impressive. Even more unique than that of R’oud Elements. Pushing the sprayer of this is like rubbing the lamp and letting the genie loose. You have the mint jumping and grabbing you by the nose, you have the bamboo note pulling you to the ground with a milky, sappy smell. It feels very natural, alive in an unembellished way. Without actually having a noticeable fig note it makes me think of a fig tree with all the different aspects of the fig note it can offer: the green of the leaves, the smell of the milk oozing from the twigs, the dry smell of the fig tree wood. There is no sweetness in this one. At this stage Creature brings me to mind the myth of the Dryads, the nymphs living inside trees. I have a vision of a tree cracking open and a creature jumping out of the tree trunk. Initially I get all the milky smells of the wood torn open, the slightly ghostly smell of mint and this is alarming. But then I actually see the Nymph. The drydown is pure green heaven! Everything quiets down and clicks into place. The most heavenly unisex green scent I have smelled in years. I will go out on a limb here and trust the deepest hard-wirings of my mind: I do not have an active memory of how Jacomo Silences smells although I have smelled it many years ago but catching the deep drydown of Creature after about four hours made Silences wake up in my mind. I will have to search for a bottle to verify my memory but I can also tell you that a bottle of Creature is in my immediate shopping plans. Creature has the same insane development as R’oud Elements and slowly morphs into a perfectly balanced green scent that feels equally comfortable on a man’s or on a woman’s skin. All the notes form a perfect solved puzzle where everything has its place, nothing sticking out. Sheer elegance.

Notes from Kerosene: sweet birch, lemon, mint, green tea, jasmine, sage, violet leaves, cypress, moss, patchouli, cedar

Notes from my nose: mint, camphor, bamboo, galbanum, jasmine, moss