Unterlaender
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Unterlaender
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A timeless character head
Sometimes there is something to be said for having already passed the 30, the 40, and, uh...yes, even the 50. Because we kids of the 80s, this crazy, groundbreaking and unique decade, were lucky enough to get to know fragrances that no longer exist today in this complexity.
One of them is the very first fragrance from Adidas, and it appeared just in time to pave my way to the Olympus of fragrances as my first "real" fragrance (after olfactory warm-up phases with Hattric, Pitralon, Sir Irish Moss and Champaca). I had just saved up a brand-new Vespa, and I needed a fashionable outfit to go with this pudding-yellow speedster!
Sneakers to the scooter? How disgusting! So I found the matching Adidas slippers in a shoe shop in Heilbronn, and while I was still paying a pimple-face that was still puberant, the nice saleswoman said "Wave se au a Pröble, Adidas is now doing the scent! (So, in English: "Wouldn't you be open to a sample of the new odeur from the house of Adi Dassler across the street?") I gladly accepted the vial and the next day I tested the fragrance. What can I say? It enchanted me from the first moment -- and still does, with some long, yes - very long, far too long -- dry spells without it.
The interplay between the citric component and the green elements right at the beginning, plus a pinch of oriental, a scoop of lavender and everything nice and powdery and sweet, but never even close to the olfactory sugar shock overkill, the classic Adidas spreads a wide-ranging opulence that never gets annoying. The heart note then lets everything subside somewhat, the fragrance meanders in calmer waters towards floral borrowings, reinforced by moss and tonka bean. Finally, the citric component provides a tailor-made finale, and the cedar adds a few warm, sensual coniferous farewells to the happy end. But this only hours later. Many, many hours later!
Adidas Classic (which at that time was never called Adidas, just like the VW Beetle was never officially called Adidas on the engine cover!) was a child of its time, cheap in price and yet never cheap in the sense of today's drugstore fragrances, which either smell like shower gel or deodorant or just like alcohol plus some random newsreel of the synthetic headaches the cleaning fairy swept up from the floor, but Adidas was a blueprint for a clean, clearly structured and yet a little bit off the leash biedermann, who can also drum himself on the chest. A pearl of the perfumer's art, a fragrance that left us far too early to let his horrible Mischpoke with the same surname undeservedly take the stage!
One of them is the very first fragrance from Adidas, and it appeared just in time to pave my way to the Olympus of fragrances as my first "real" fragrance (after olfactory warm-up phases with Hattric, Pitralon, Sir Irish Moss and Champaca). I had just saved up a brand-new Vespa, and I needed a fashionable outfit to go with this pudding-yellow speedster!
Sneakers to the scooter? How disgusting! So I found the matching Adidas slippers in a shoe shop in Heilbronn, and while I was still paying a pimple-face that was still puberant, the nice saleswoman said "Wave se au a Pröble, Adidas is now doing the scent! (So, in English: "Wouldn't you be open to a sample of the new odeur from the house of Adi Dassler across the street?") I gladly accepted the vial and the next day I tested the fragrance. What can I say? It enchanted me from the first moment -- and still does, with some long, yes - very long, far too long -- dry spells without it.
The interplay between the citric component and the green elements right at the beginning, plus a pinch of oriental, a scoop of lavender and everything nice and powdery and sweet, but never even close to the olfactory sugar shock overkill, the classic Adidas spreads a wide-ranging opulence that never gets annoying. The heart note then lets everything subside somewhat, the fragrance meanders in calmer waters towards floral borrowings, reinforced by moss and tonka bean. Finally, the citric component provides a tailor-made finale, and the cedar adds a few warm, sensual coniferous farewells to the happy end. But this only hours later. Many, many hours later!
Adidas Classic (which at that time was never called Adidas, just like the VW Beetle was never officially called Adidas on the engine cover!) was a child of its time, cheap in price and yet never cheap in the sense of today's drugstore fragrances, which either smell like shower gel or deodorant or just like alcohol plus some random newsreel of the synthetic headaches the cleaning fairy swept up from the floor, but Adidas was a blueprint for a clean, clearly structured and yet a little bit off the leash biedermann, who can also drum himself on the chest. A pearl of the perfumer's art, a fragrance that left us far too early to let his horrible Mischpoke with the same surname undeservedly take the stage!
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A giant -- forever mysterious
For this excursion please all take a flashlight with you, because we are going into the forest. Not into the typical German mixed forest, but into the, shall we say, Black Forest. To the place where only the coniferous giants grow, come with us into the dark, night-black undergrowth where ferns and mosses thrive and it is pleasantly cool even on hot summer days, because even the strongest ray of sunlight does not reach that far.
Come with me to where the humid air makes your glasses steam up -- this is his home, Davidoff's masterpiece "Relax". A mysterious magician, a beguiling magician who smells of moss, wood and even a good bit of woodruff. Who unabashedly brings vanilla into play just as we are lulling ourselves into the certainty that we have all the ingredients figured out. "Relax" continues to make hooks, because geranium and rosemary raise the flag, tonka bean, sandalwood. Galbanum comes along. Jasmine honours us, but is a little coy. For this, bergamot hits the notch.
The little Sartyr, who is also pictured on the back of the flacons, has meanwhile, appeared out of nowhere, climbed the monster scent and rides this wild animal towards darkness, deeper and deeper into the forest, where none of our flashlights will be able to follow. Sparks are flying, dark green-black sparks that smell like spruce needles, blackberries, blueberries, lichens and fir brushwood. Of forest honey and morning freshness. Of leathery autumn afternoons and the clinking breeze of winter.
We are shocked by the performance just now in the middle of the infinite silent darkness and look with open mouths, stammering associations, panting down the ingredients we thought we heard. But no matter what we think, what we say, what we mean, what we believe and wish, what we see -- none of us have understood it, again not, probably we have never understood it, got it -- and if we did, only to a certain extent at most.
Now he's gone. He's long gone. Painfully long. And it doesn't look like he's coming back again. Too bad, too bad. Though we wouldn't measure him in his giant size again. He remains a fascination. And will always remain mysterious. But maybe the "Relax" never existed and we all only dreamed about it together?
Come with me to where the humid air makes your glasses steam up -- this is his home, Davidoff's masterpiece "Relax". A mysterious magician, a beguiling magician who smells of moss, wood and even a good bit of woodruff. Who unabashedly brings vanilla into play just as we are lulling ourselves into the certainty that we have all the ingredients figured out. "Relax" continues to make hooks, because geranium and rosemary raise the flag, tonka bean, sandalwood. Galbanum comes along. Jasmine honours us, but is a little coy. For this, bergamot hits the notch.
The little Sartyr, who is also pictured on the back of the flacons, has meanwhile, appeared out of nowhere, climbed the monster scent and rides this wild animal towards darkness, deeper and deeper into the forest, where none of our flashlights will be able to follow. Sparks are flying, dark green-black sparks that smell like spruce needles, blackberries, blueberries, lichens and fir brushwood. Of forest honey and morning freshness. Of leathery autumn afternoons and the clinking breeze of winter.
We are shocked by the performance just now in the middle of the infinite silent darkness and look with open mouths, stammering associations, panting down the ingredients we thought we heard. But no matter what we think, what we say, what we mean, what we believe and wish, what we see -- none of us have understood it, again not, probably we have never understood it, got it -- and if we did, only to a certain extent at most.
Now he's gone. He's long gone. Painfully long. And it doesn't look like he's coming back again. Too bad, too bad. Though we wouldn't measure him in his giant size again. He remains a fascination. And will always remain mysterious. But maybe the "Relax" never existed and we all only dreamed about it together?
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Free Life -- last positive rebellion in the house of Aigner
Guys, if it still existed, "Free Life" would be my signature fragrance even before the ingenious No 2! Two things right up front -- yes, similarities with Davidoff's Zino are obvious, although this one, released a year before Free Life, is a bit more earthy, herbaceous. And secondly -- I found the bottle, especially the one from the first series with the purple satin glass, the light-grey cap and the poison-green lettering so eighties, that I still like it today.
Like I said, I knew him before Zino, and I still love him today. This has a lot to do with sentimentality, because in the past 20 years or so he has become increasingly rare and, like so many old-school fragrances, is now being balanced out with gold. Once again quickly to the subject sentimentality -- I had it on me, when I had to say goodbye to my schoolmates* at the Abi-Ball in April 1989, had it on me, when my sister and years later my best friend married and wore it, meanwhile already ennobled to rarity, on the day of the birth of my little daughter and a few months later at her christening
What do I still like so much after 33 years of this olfactory steam pile driver from Aigner? It's this uncomplicated "I am Free Life, your buddy. I'm a real light-footed brother, always ready for a joke and offering you the daily amount of good humour included". Yep. We can leave it at that.
"FL" is a well-balanced mixture of bergamot, lavender and citrus notes, to which vanilla and tonka bean are added in the heart note, and patchouli raises its voice, even if only a little shyly. Towards the end it becomes powdery, sweetish, but not too sweet. One last time because with "FL" -- from a purely subjective point of view -- the great era of Aigner fragrances ended. Soon, a few years later, "FL" and its powerhouse giants such as Sport Fragrance, Silver, Super Fragrance and Urahn No 1 were buried. What then -- with the exception of my, see above, all-time-favorite NO 2, sailed under the flag of Aigner was, to be honest, a pity about the alcohol used for it and damage to the reputation of a still large brand.
I consider myself lucky to own a 30ml bottle of the first series in addition to two full minis, and yet I will only apply this broadband seducer again on an occasion worthy of it (wedding, baptism, world peace, my 100th birthday in 48 years etc pp). Peace!
Like I said, I knew him before Zino, and I still love him today. This has a lot to do with sentimentality, because in the past 20 years or so he has become increasingly rare and, like so many old-school fragrances, is now being balanced out with gold. Once again quickly to the subject sentimentality -- I had it on me, when I had to say goodbye to my schoolmates* at the Abi-Ball in April 1989, had it on me, when my sister and years later my best friend married and wore it, meanwhile already ennobled to rarity, on the day of the birth of my little daughter and a few months later at her christening
What do I still like so much after 33 years of this olfactory steam pile driver from Aigner? It's this uncomplicated "I am Free Life, your buddy. I'm a real light-footed brother, always ready for a joke and offering you the daily amount of good humour included". Yep. We can leave it at that.
"FL" is a well-balanced mixture of bergamot, lavender and citrus notes, to which vanilla and tonka bean are added in the heart note, and patchouli raises its voice, even if only a little shyly. Towards the end it becomes powdery, sweetish, but not too sweet. One last time because with "FL" -- from a purely subjective point of view -- the great era of Aigner fragrances ended. Soon, a few years later, "FL" and its powerhouse giants such as Sport Fragrance, Silver, Super Fragrance and Urahn No 1 were buried. What then -- with the exception of my, see above, all-time-favorite NO 2, sailed under the flag of Aigner was, to be honest, a pity about the alcohol used for it and damage to the reputation of a still large brand.
I consider myself lucky to own a 30ml bottle of the first series in addition to two full minis, and yet I will only apply this broadband seducer again on an occasion worthy of it (wedding, baptism, world peace, my 100th birthday in 48 years etc pp). Peace!
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A pearl unjustly forgotten
As a "newcomer", as far as perfume comments are concerned, it's my concern to write the first commi to the John Player Special EdT. Strangely enough, nobody (anymore) seems to have this scent on the radar, which is a pity. I first met it on my 19th birthday, when I saw it prominently positioned in a perfumery in the neighbouring town, and so I assume that it must have been released shortly before -- we write April 21st, 1988.
The opening -- the top note -- is citric-spicy, lemon and bergamot rush forward like young concertgoers at a "Backstreet Boys" or "Take That" concert in the early 90s towards the stage. But at the same time, the lagging wood, which hadn't quite come out of the quark at the start, takes its lasso out of the quiver and catches the two of them, only to progress together in increasingly balsamic-powdery fashion.
On their further way they take some mint and sage with them, and then let it sink in. In the middle section, the heart note doesn't (no longer) do much, the fragrance stays on a high and good level of quality and this until the end, stays straight without big surprises, but always on the spicy wood and lemon level.
Only at the end, in the base note, does a little verbena and levelling, perhaps also a hint of rose, appear again and accompany the now somewhat tired ingredients into the sunset. Tomorrow is another day...
As I said, the Straub company from Wertheim still produces fragrances under the JPS brand license, but none of them comes even close to this firecracker from the 80s. If you are lucky enough to get hold of it today, I congratulate you and grant it the JPS from my heart. The bottle, in all its Bauhaus sobriety, gets a full 10 points, because it simply goes with this noble and straightforward fragrance!
The opening -- the top note -- is citric-spicy, lemon and bergamot rush forward like young concertgoers at a "Backstreet Boys" or "Take That" concert in the early 90s towards the stage. But at the same time, the lagging wood, which hadn't quite come out of the quark at the start, takes its lasso out of the quiver and catches the two of them, only to progress together in increasingly balsamic-powdery fashion.
On their further way they take some mint and sage with them, and then let it sink in. In the middle section, the heart note doesn't (no longer) do much, the fragrance stays on a high and good level of quality and this until the end, stays straight without big surprises, but always on the spicy wood and lemon level.
Only at the end, in the base note, does a little verbena and levelling, perhaps also a hint of rose, appear again and accompany the now somewhat tired ingredients into the sunset. Tomorrow is another day...
As I said, the Straub company from Wertheim still produces fragrances under the JPS brand license, but none of them comes even close to this firecracker from the 80s. If you are lucky enough to get hold of it today, I congratulate you and grant it the JPS from my heart. The bottle, in all its Bauhaus sobriety, gets a full 10 points, because it simply goes with this noble and straightforward fragrance!
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A complex character
"My name is Silver. Aigner Silver," he said. What do you mean, said? He talked, didn't, he roared, stood in front of me with his legs apart, cocky as a cowboy at High Noon, blew his teeth, grinned unsympathetically in my face and fogged the room into a never-ending cloud of incense.
"May I come in?" barked that Silver. Well, I'm not a monster, I thought, I don't like you somehow, but I offer him a drink anyway. Then he sat down, suddenly seemed to calm down, he suddenly seemed milder, smiled instead of grinning and said in an unusually calm manner: "I'm sorry if I've upset you a bit. But if you want to come to terms with me, I'll look into it first!" Aha. I didn't know what he was getting at, but the initially overpowering incense scent, which slowly receded more and more into the background, was suddenly joined by musk, some leather, a hint of African redwood, amber and, yes, a touch of patchouli and a little galbanum.
He became more and more relaxed, this Silver, and soon we were chatting animatedly with each other, he turned out to be a gentleman, as I would certainly not have looked at him at first, this big-headed show-off, who he wasn't after all! We sat and talked and Silver, unlike me, didn't get tired, but suddenly picked up some vanilla and tonka bean, I even meant Rose and very, very weakly, Jasmine. But by then my eyes had probably already closed.
The next morning I woke up. Silver had left me a little note with a greeting, he had covered me with a blanket and put a pillow under my head. And suddenly I still smelled a little hint of incense. He had been gone for a long time and yet he was still present!
Conclusion -- in its unmatched complexity, this powerhouse giant from the house of Aigner is not an easy sparring partner, but one with whom patience should be shown. A fragrance that is exciting and rather for men over 40 with slightly greying hair. I think it's a pity it hasn't been around for so long, because in today's trivial sea of random Maintream plörre without ebb and flow, such a giant could score as the only wave of hope!
"May I come in?" barked that Silver. Well, I'm not a monster, I thought, I don't like you somehow, but I offer him a drink anyway. Then he sat down, suddenly seemed to calm down, he suddenly seemed milder, smiled instead of grinning and said in an unusually calm manner: "I'm sorry if I've upset you a bit. But if you want to come to terms with me, I'll look into it first!" Aha. I didn't know what he was getting at, but the initially overpowering incense scent, which slowly receded more and more into the background, was suddenly joined by musk, some leather, a hint of African redwood, amber and, yes, a touch of patchouli and a little galbanum.
He became more and more relaxed, this Silver, and soon we were chatting animatedly with each other, he turned out to be a gentleman, as I would certainly not have looked at him at first, this big-headed show-off, who he wasn't after all! We sat and talked and Silver, unlike me, didn't get tired, but suddenly picked up some vanilla and tonka bean, I even meant Rose and very, very weakly, Jasmine. But by then my eyes had probably already closed.
The next morning I woke up. Silver had left me a little note with a greeting, he had covered me with a blanket and put a pillow under my head. And suddenly I still smelled a little hint of incense. He had been gone for a long time and yet he was still present!
Conclusion -- in its unmatched complexity, this powerhouse giant from the house of Aigner is not an easy sparring partner, but one with whom patience should be shown. A fragrance that is exciting and rather for men over 40 with slightly greying hair. I think it's a pity it hasn't been around for so long, because in today's trivial sea of random Maintream plörre without ebb and flow, such a giant could score as the only wave of hope!
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