Vrabec

I became aware of Olympic Orchids Artisan Perfumes via detours. I started to be interested in Zoologist, but surprisingly I smelled few, because the interest ebbed away again. I had read a lot, especially Bat, whose original version was created by Dr. Ellen Covey and lives on as Nightflyer in her brand. Besides this I also found Blackbird very exciting sounding, which is why I finally bought it. After testing both I can see a certain kinship in the fragrance structure.
What the wine-red, thick stain of perfume oil reveals are initially deep red, dried up and overripe blackberries. This smell you actually know when you walk past unpicked blackberry bushes in late summer, this scent is really well imitated. Leaves are also most authentically recreated here, giving shape to the blackberry bush. A really nice head note experience, which one rarely experiences and one until the decease of the same with the nose on the back of the hand can be stuck.
If this passes Blackbird develops more and more to a forest fragrance, as Minigolf so aptly describes in the last comment. The blackberry note remains Prominent, but makes room for a wonderful fir aroma (without 80s vibes, which I very much welcome) dry peaty forest floor and a palette of woody impressions. The scent definitely takes on something warm here, which gives one assurance that the sun must be shining in this dry but fertile, light forest.

From this moment does not do much more, the scent remains quite constant and with a sufficient sillage and durability.

What did I particularly like?

I had the feeling to be able to smell the concept of the fragrance exactly, which I have very rarely.
The fragrance is very rich in facets and attracted me to want to decode him completely, to elicit his secret.

What did I not like?
The blackberry note is a bit too extreme for me, precisely because it does not present itself as a tasty one.
The fragrance shows up only near the skin as a fan of fragrance experiences, with a little distance it smells a little plumper like fruit tea, but also more synthetic.

I remain somewhat perplexed, because Blackbird is a perfume about which I find writing incredibly easy, the evaluation, however, significantly more difficult.

In the following commentary I will refer to both perfume of the brand Orto Parisi, as well as Nasomatto. For me, the Gualtieri DNA is so accurately recognizable throughout that it would not have needed the division into both brands. Although with Orto Parisis, I increasingly feel that large portions of Nasomatto's standalone DNA are mixed in with each new release up to a point. Black Afghano I recognize quite often, but also Pardon, Duro, Blamage. While this leads to the fact that I would find any Orto Parisi incredibly interesting if I didn't know its siblings, since this is the case, each new one seems progressively less innovative.
This also reflects my impression of the Parfumo community, so the level of interest in Orto Parisi is significantly lower than the fame of the Nasomatto greats.
Before I am misunderstood here:
I'm a big fan of Gualtieri's DNA,
anything that comes from his pen I can appreciate, it's just that I increasingly get the impression that he has only mastered one style of writing, which is why I don't need many of his fragrances when I already own a similar one.

This basic attitude determined me when I received through through Scentman76's sharing a sample Cuoium.
And again, a déjà- vu experience, even several.
The scent starts off exactly like Marc Gebauer's #Air Tiger, to my nose. Somehow ironic. Here, cardamom seems to be dumbed down in the same loud, cutting style. However, I find Air Tiger to be quite simplistic, just turned up and trimmed to two days of screaminess, this is not the case here. Cuoium is clearly more varriative, reveals the familiar Gualtieri DNA from the depth, in my opinion most reminiscent of Terroni, however, it takes here surprisingly little space, but provides a nice transition to the actual theme, the leather. This is most reminiscent of a worn leather jacket, with an emphasis on the black greasy patina that inevitably forms over decades of use and lack of care. What surprises me greatly is the raspberry that makes an appearance here. Gualtieri doesn't usually soften his challenging creations with pleasingly sweet notes and then not with something as expected as raspberry? Leather raspberry is next to rose oud but almost already the running gag of the perfume industry
So prominent as with other leather perfumes it is not, is dimmed by ashtray notes, this must be said fair way.
And in this fragrance impression Cuoium leaves me disappointed, I had hoped for something new, or at least more focus on leather, despite bias.

Cuoium doesn't appeal to me, there are just too many familiar DNA's built in, which by now no longer appeal to me. Air Tiger itself was already too much wanted Interlude Man for me. For whom, however, a fusion of Tuscan Leather and Air Tiger sounds exciting in Gualtieri way, for which this release is perhaps worth testing.

I am not a Tauer expert, admittedly measures I have only had 4 of his creations under the nose. All I liked more than well, the usual suspect "№ 02 - L'Air du Désert Marocain (Eau de Toilette Intense) | Tauer Perfumes" will also certainly find its way into my collection. His unusual career in the perfume industry I find more than sympathetic, just like his transparency on social media..
In addition: according to Instagram Cologne du Maghreb is "empty" whether it is only the first batch or this was generally limited, I do not know.... But this just as a hint.

Cologne du Maghreb is a reissue of the 2010 published original ( "Cologne du Maghreb (2010) | Tauer Perfumes" ) , which I have unfortunately never smelled. Just like the original version, natural ingredients are used here by Tauer. Only more concentrated it is to be, differences in the fragrances there are none, except for the fluctuations to which natural fragrances are subject.

The fragrance

Cologne du Maghreb starts with a flood of peels of various fruits, primarily the orangey, here clementine and tangerine. These leave an authentic fruity impression, like the smell of freshly squeezed juice.
However, the fragrance does not become sweet, the hesperides lemon, bergamot and petigrain are prominently represented, in a rather immature green, very bitter form and pull the water out of your salivary glands, like a good gin and tonic does. For in the start, the fragrance is primarily bitter and sour.
Green or herbaceous impressions I have in the first few minutes none. These are really wonderful and also very strong in the sillage. Would it remain so, I would immediately strike.
Unfortunately, the bitterness pulls you back already after 10 minutes and the initially extremely tangy fragrance comes to rest. The acidity settles down a bit and the fruity sweetness gains weight, turning from a juicy more into a powdery direction. Although everything still remains very natural, I think more and more of dextrose from the pharmacy. And that disappoints me a little, just because the start was so nice.
Towards the base, the powdery sweetness decreases and it becomes slightly woodier. A soft, dry dust association (possibly from the cedar?) mixes in, along with a really unsweet, airy rose.
A dry shimmering atmosphere is created by this, very skillfully.
Rosemary and lavender play a minor role here, which I very much welcome, because lavender can spoil a perfume for me, if too strongly perceptible.

Unfortunately, it is with the durability not so long hin and after an hour is the good only after perceptible near the skin. Until then, however, he radiates quite well. Whether you invest in a bottle for this hour, everyone must know for themselves.

With Colognes it is a bit like with wheels. You don't reinvent them. But here we have a natural representative, which at least conjures a smile on my face and whose top note is madness.

I didn't have a real gourmand yet. Noir Exquis let me hope for a dark representative of this fragrance direction, with the focus on black coffee and dark brown chestnut, a nutty spicy gourmand, wearable for men. But nothing is really black here.
The opening shows light brown through the chestnut, which comes across very natural, almost immature. A chestnut in early autumn, not a roasted chestnut. Warm orange sauce drips with it, reminding me a bit of canard d'orange. With this sauce, the sour simmered concentrated orange aroma is more to the fore rather than the sweetness. A similar olfactory impression also shows up here, this stands in the meantime clearly in the foreground.
In the base it becomes milder, despite coffee. This comes in soft form, not freshly roasted but as a served cappuccino, with cream and maple syrup. As the cappuccino cools to a drinkable temperature, you're served a glass of orange juice, because it's quite a warm day for autumn.
The syrup does not present itself as excessive sweetness, more like honey, which sinks to the bottom in warm milk and so is not so present from the surface.
The coffee scent is unfortunately much less present than I would have liked and so it dissipates quite quickly.
What remains is a woody tart vanilla milk in fun-loving lightness a sunny but cool late summer day ushers in. Where the vanilla coming rather from a bitter nature remains rather in the background. Nutty aromas keep popping up. I see this fragrance on perky cheerful ladies, aged between 20 - 30 years.

If you like this and would rather trade the smooth coffee for a hint of strawberry, I recommend "This is Her!" By Zadig & Voltaire, which smells surprisingly similar but has a much nicer, if slightly squeakier, sillage.

Thank you so much for reading my comment

It was warm and loud in the streets, you strolled through the alleys, away from the jostling tourists. The smell of cannabis and the noise along the canals gave you a headache and so your way led you almost like a flight into the narrow streets, where it was virtually non-existent. You felt like going to a coffee shop where coffee was really the main thing. Smiling tiredly you shake your head. Ah, Amsterdam. A city so different, you have to love it. But it's also exhausting.
Your eyes fall on a wood-clad facade, with the squiggly inscription "SM Café", though you don't bother with the letters "SM" - probably the owner's initials. (You naive retard)
You step over the threshold, and a darkened room opens before you, also paneled with fine wood from the inside. Reassured, you realise that cigars are probably only smoked here now and then.
The armchairs standing around the small tables, as well as the bar stools, are leather-covered, polished smooth by decades of butts sliding over them. You decide to sit at the counter, behind which there is a certain amount of disorder. Crumbs of ground coffee litter the corners, the scent of the oily greasy fine dust found in grinders that are often used and rarely cleaned lingering in the air. The door from the next room flies open, and a barrista frantically adjusts his crooked tie, wiping sweat from his brow as he runs, his collar deftly concealing a welt on his neck. He smells of lavender. You stare at him with raised eyebrows as he prepares your espresso doppio, admittedly expertly. Cherry. You didn't hear the dominatrix coming, who suddenly stands next to you, smiling wickedly. Her leather costume stretches skin-tight over your elegant body, leaving your most intimate parts exposed. As you gasp for air, her tongue is already shoving a Mon Chéri into your mouth, while her claws dig under your shirt into your back. The firm grip on your thigh blocks your escape attempt and presses you firmly onto the barstool. "Please! I just want to drink my coffee!" you yip into the air of leather, cherry, and roasted aromas.
"Really? We rarely have anything like that here!" smirks the lady in leather. She floats back into the next room and with her, that disreputable cherry. The barrista serves you your espresso and winks at you. "Ah, Tom, you're here again!" He turns to his next customer. Standing in the doorway is Tom Ford, who is clearly caught by my gaze. After a moment's thought, he joins you at the bar, nervously sliding around on his stool and ordering his token coffee (as if he's only here to drink coffee). Wearing Tuscan Leather, he seems to have regained his self-assurance after a few minutes and casually makes his way to the next room, his scent taking him with him, thank goodness.

You sit in silence at the bar, enjoying your espresso. The barrista, who seems to have been watching you the whole time, comes over, leans forward, and only now do you notice the smell of patchouli. His carotid artery pulses beneath his collar.
"Are you sure? " he murmurs to you.
"Quite sure." You reply. Inwardly, you have to laugh.
Ah, Amsterdam.