Reviews En Bref: Cuir Garamante & Cuir Venenum

Posted on May 18, 2014 by Kafkaesque

I thought I’d take a brief look at MDCI Parfums‘ Cuir Garamante and Parfumerie Generale‘s Cuir Venenum in today’s mini reviews. As always, my Reviews En Bref are for fragrances that — for whatever reason — didn’t seem to warrant one of my more detailed assessments. In the case of both of these perfumes, neither one was actually a “leather” fragrance on my skin, and both were extremely simple scents at their core.

MDCI PARFUMS CUIR GARAMANTE:

Source: Luckyscent.

Cuir Garamante is an eau de parfum that was released in 2013. According to Fragrantica, its notes includes:

pink pepper, nutmeg, saffron; rose, cyperus esculentus [cypriol], leather, vanilla, labdanum, incense and sandalwood.

Cuir Garamante is virtually identical to LM Parfums‘ Black Oud on my skin. To be precise, it mimics the first 6 hours of Black Oud in an unswerving line, with only minuscule differences in the amount of saffron and Norlimbanol that show up. In fact, Laurent Mazzone’s fragrance — released a year before — was the first thing that came to my mind when I tested Cuir Garamante, followed by Puredistance‘s 2013 BLACK which is also very similar to the opening phase of Black Oud. All three fragrances begin with an extremely spicy, dark, woody bouquet dominated by saffron, pink peppercorns, rose, syrupy purple fruit-chouli, woody notes, and smokiness. None of them are genuine leather fragrances on my skin, but center instead on an oud-like note, whether from cypriol, Norlimbanol, or some other woody-ambered aromachemical

Photo: My own.

The primary differences between the three fragrances involve the changing role of the rose note, the Norlimbanol, and the drydown. On my skin, Cuir Garamante is a largely linear scent that spends hours wafting a blend of spices, purple patchouli, fruitchouli-rose, oud, and dry, woody-amber, flecked with darkness and the subtle suggestion of some vaguely “leathery” undertone. At times, the latter feels drizzled with honey in a way that’s very appealing, and strongly reminiscent of both Black Oud and LM Parfums’ Hard Leather.

In its middle phase, starting roughly in the middle of the third hour, the Norlimbanol grows stronger, slowly overtaking the very jammy rose. At the same time, the other notes turn more abstract, particularly the saffron and spices. With every passing hour, the scent turns drier and the notes melt into each other. Cuir Garamante slowly turns into a simple woody-amber scent and, in its final moments, is nothing more thana blur of slightly sweet woodiness.

Source: hqwallbase.com

I did side-by-side tests of Cuir Garamante, Black Oud, and Puredistance’s Black, and all three fragrances are incredibly close in their opening stage. Cuir Garamante simply keeps that stage for several hours more than the other two fragrances. I think it has more Norlimbanol or cypriol than Black Oud, but significantly less rose and patchouli than Puredistance’s Black. The latter diverges the most in terms of the drydown, has the longest focus on the fruitchouli-rose note, and is the most aromachemical of the three on my skin. It is also the weakest in terms of projection and longevity. Of the three, Black Oud is the least synthetic, the smoothest, the most “black” in visual nature, and the most refined.

Photo: my own.

Yet, if you ignore the small differences in terms of the secondary notes or tiny fluctuations in the nuances, Cuir Garamante is essentially, by and large, identical to LM Parfums’ Black Oud on my skin. They have the same great longevity (well over 14 hours) and similar sillage, but they differ in terms of price. Black Oud costs $225 or €195 for a 100 ml bottle of what is essentially a pure parfum extrait. Cuir Garamante costs $250 for 75 ml of eau de parfum. (Puredistance Black costs almost $600 for a 100 ml extrait, and is definitely not worth the price, in my opinion.) As noted, I think Black Oud is a smoother, less synthetic, higher quality fragrance. I also think it is much less linear, if you consider the nuances. While all that comes down to a question of personal taste, the bottom line, though, is that there is such a substantial overlap between the fragrances that you only need one of them.

PARFUMERIE GENERALE CUIR VENENUM:

Source: Fragrantica

Cuir Venenum (or “PG03 Cuir Venenum“) is an eau de parfum that was released in 2004. Despite the “leather” part of its title, this is a fragrance that is largely centered around orange blossoms. In fact, Fragrantica categorizes Cuir Venenum as a “floral, woody musk,” which is quite accurate, in my opinion. The site says Cuir Venenum’s notes include:

lemon, orange blossom, coconut, leather, myrrh and musk.

Parfumerie Generale, however, lists only:

Orange Blossom, Leather , Cedar, Musk and Honey

Orange Blossom Syrup.

Cuir Venenum opens on my skin with extremely syrupy, extremely sweet orange blossoms, infused with a plastic vanilla note and such an intensely fruited element that it strongly resembles like fruit-chouli. Clean white musk and a tinge of coconut complete the picture. The whole thing is cloyingly sweet, but also smells like something that you’d find at Bath & Body Works, thanks to the perfume’s soapy, clean streak. None of that is a compliment. At niche prices, one expects a little more than a generic, sweet fruity-floral concoction with screeching orange blossoms, plastic-y undertones, soapy cleanness, and cheap white musk.

On my skin, there is not an iota of actual leather at any point in Cuir Venenum’s lifespan. Not one shred of it. Parfumerie Generale’s website says this about the leather note in the perfume:

Sombre, heady and opulent leather is generally an inevitable component of men’s perfumery. Reinterpreted, modernised – even feminised – it shows a new oriental and erotic facet that gives it depth and mystery.

Concord Grape Jam. Source: Tasty Yummies blog. (Link to website embedded within photo.)

Not on my skin. There is no leather — neither opulent, heady, modernised, feminised, refined, nor any other kind for that matter. Instead, there is what feels like a hell of a lot of purple, grape-y, fruit-chouli molasses that further amplifies the syrupy nature of the orange blossoms. The cause probably stems from the grape aspect of the orange blossoms’ naturally occurring methyl anthranilate, but I wish it had been toned down by several decibels.

Source: fantom-xp.com

The best thing that can be said for Cuir Venenum is that it eventually gets better — though it’s rather a relative matter, if you ask me. At the start of the 4th hour, a soft, golden warmth diffuses its way through the flowers, and softens the orange blossoms. It helps to muffle and tone down the reign of sickly fruitiness, even if it’s just by a hair. It also alleviates some of that revoltingly cheap white musk. I suspect it stems from the myrrh, though I don’t detect either its usual anise-like facets nor its incense, dusty ones. There is a muffled whisper of some vague nuttiness in the background, but it is very muted. What is more noticeable is a growing touch of waxy coconut that slowly starts to rise from the base.

Photo: my own.

In its drydown, Cuir Venenum finally turns creamy, soft, and less sweet. Roughly 6.5 hours into its development, a milky quality appears, thanks to the coconut. There is also a softness that almost feels like some vaguely clean, new suede — but not quite. It lacks the untouched, pristine cleanness or powderiness of some suede scents, many of which are recreated through iris. Here, the note is more akin to a soft, smooth suppleness with a certain creaminess underlying it. The fruited orange blossoms still lie over everything, but they are heavily muffled now and no longer drip with a cloying, almost gourmand sweetness. In its final hours, Cuir Venenum emits a vaguely clean milky softness that is almost suede-like and sprinkled with the mere suggestion of orange blossom.

All in all, Cuir Venenum lasted just a hair over 8.25 hours. The sillage was generally soft, projecting initially about 2 inches above the skin. It felt very gauzy, wispy, and lightweight, despite the gooeyiness of its dripping syrup. Cuir Venenum turned into a skin scent on me by the end of the 3rd hour, which I found to be rather a relief. I didn’t find any of it to be a sophisticated scent of luxurious quality, nor a hugely complex, morphing, twisting one, either.

Source: post-gazette.com

Cuir Venenum has received mixed reviews on Fragrantica, though the majority are negative. Usually, I don’t get into comparative assessments in my Reviews on Bref, but the horror and snark on Cuir Venenum are simply too good to pass up:

Smells bizarrely of rotting garbage, specifically of when people collect soda cans in garbage bags for recycling and you can smell the sugary soda fermenting and rotting. Do smell leather, too. Tried it again. My final verdict: a weathered drunkard sits down on a badly tanned leather sofa that’s been discarded on the sidewalk. He opens his quart of Mad Dog 20/20 and starts guzzling, spilling quite a bit down his front. He then passes out and pisses himself. This stuff smells like his crotch. Truly awful.

Stale malt liquor with addition of one marinated cigarette butt.

Grape snowball syrup squirted into a bowl with huge feet soaking in stanky wine and vinegar, and then placed into leather boots with no socks. Basically, it smells like a clown working in a leather tannery.

All I could smell was… cigarette smoke! No, it wasn’t tobacco; it was pure nicotine! Wearing Cuir Venenum feels like entering cold, empty smoking-room. It feels like standing next to someone who’s been smoking a pack of cigarettes a day for twenty years now and tries to kill their smoky smell with some kind of cheap perfume.

All in all, to me it is a smell of a dark, freshly draught beer with a slight cigarette undertone.

I actually thought that I was testing a mislabeled sample, so different was my perception from the official notes. Top notes of vinyl and acrid grape cough syrup, followed by a whiff of cow dung (possibly the “leather”?), all leading into a persistent candy-sweet-powder drydown of maligned orange blossom. Very synthetic in character. I dislike this on me and would find it abhorrent on a man.

Parmegiano Reggiano cheese. Source: maltatoday.com.mt

For Dr. Ellen Covey of Olympic Orchids perfumery, there was no rotting garbage, cow dung, beer, a man’s crotch, or stale cigarettes, but, instead, “parmesan cheese” mixed with grape candy, leading her to end her review with a question: “what were they thinking?”

One of the most bizarre openings I’ve smelled in a long time. The predominant – no, overpowering – note is artificial grape candy, accompanied by what I will tactfully refer to as parmesan cheese. There’s also a little civet skulking in the background. It’s an odd combination if ever there was one. Since orange blossom is listed in the notes, it’s possible that the accord was hugely overdosed with methyl anthranilate or some similar “grape” aromachemical.

I kept waiting for the grape and “parmesan” notes to make a graceful exit, but they refused. Instead, they just turned the intensity down a notch, or I slowly adapted to them. I could have scrubbed, but my morbid curiosity had kicked in, so I waited to see what else, if anything, this perfume had to deliver. Apparently there was nothing. After a few hours, all that was left was a light, sugary grape scent on my skin along with something vaguely musky.

“Venenum” is a Latin word meaning venom or poison. […] Cuir Venenum goes into the curio cabinet to serve as an example of a perfume that raises the unanswerable question, “What were they thinking?”

As you can see, a lot of people experienced a fragrance that was much worse than the banal, screeching, cheap Bath & Body Works fruity-floral that I encountered. In all fairness, however, there are people on Fragrantica who actually like Cuir Venenum and its orange blossom blast. They are not many, but they do exist. And some people even experience a leather scent, though few of the ones who do actually seem to like it. So, if you’re a huge fan of orange blossoms (and a glutton for punishment), I suppose you should check out Cuir Venenum. Who knows, maybe you’ll get lucky….

DETAILS:

CUIR GARAMANTE Cost & Availability: Cuir Garamante is an eau de parfum that comes in a 75 ml bottle called a “tasselled” bottle which costs $250 or €215, and a fancier bottle with a bust statue on it in the same 75 ml size for $375. There is also a Discovery Set. You can buy Cuir Garamante from the Parfums MDCI website, which also has an exclusive deal involving their discovery sets. Apparently, if you order either of 2 discovery set (set of 5 or set of 8), that amount is credited towards the purchase of a full bottle. In the U.S.: Cuir Garamante is available at Luckyscent, along with a Discovery Set of 8 different MDCI fragrances in a 12 ml size for $210. Regular sized samples are also available. Osswald also has both versions, but sells the basic bottle for $263, not $250. Outside the U.S.: you can purchase Cuir Garamante from Parfums MDCI, First in Fragrance and other retailers.

CUIR VENENUM Cost & Availability: Cuir Venenum is an eau de parfum that comes in a variety of sizes. Luckyscent sells the 50 ml bottle for $125. You can find the smaller 30 ml size for €62 on PG’s European website, as well as at Osswald NY in the U.S., and many other vendors. Samples of both fragrances are available from a wide variety of sources, including Surrender to Chance.

Amouage Journey (Man): Fiery Splendour

Posted on May 8, 2014 by Kafkaesque

Source: dragonw.wikia.com

Stunning, bold splendour that grabs you from the first moment, and never lets go. Amouage‘s new Journey for Men takes you on a tour of the spice markets of Sichuan, armed with a hefty bottle of expensive cognac, as tendrils of incense waft from a nearby Buddhist temple. The fiery bite of a thousand Sichuan Hot Pots envelop you, but so do the dry woods nearby which are shot through with tiny streams of leathery resins. A haze fills the air, a haze of golden amber which cocoons you in warmth as you stumble — drunk on fruited booziness, your mouth on fire from the chili peppers, with incense smoke woven through your hair — into a soft cocoon of tonka creaminess. Journey Man is a brilliant essay on spiced, fiery boldness mixed with oriental opulence. I thought it was truly fantastic, but that opening… what a stunning opening.

Journey Man. Source; Amouage Facebook page.

Journey Man accompanies Journey Woman as the latest releases from the house of Amouage. They are both eau de parfums that will be released in June, and were created by Alberto Morillas and Pierre Negrin under the direction of Christopher Chong, Amouage’s Creative Director. As of yet, there is no press release on the exact inspiration or story behind Journey Man (hereinafter sometimes referred to just as “Journey“), but Amouage provided the perfume’s notes on its official Facebook page:

Woody Spicy

Top: Sichuan Pepper, Bergamot, Cardamom, Neroli Bigarade
Heart: Juniper Berries, Incense, Pure Geraniol, Tobacco Leaves
Base: Tonka Beans, Cypriol, Leather, Ambrox.

Sichuan hot pot or "Huo Guo". Source: thebeijinger.com

Sichuan hot pot. Source: thebeijinger.com

Have you ever had a Sichuan Hot Pot? I’m far too much of a chili pepper coward to do so, but I saw and smelt plenty of them when I was in China. The Hot Pot is a much beloved dish that goes back over a 1,000 years, and is centered on a hearty stock infused with chili peppers to which you add other ingredients. There are variations from region to region, but the province of Sichuan is famed for having the fieriest of them all. I’ve seen the impact on aficionados like Chef Anthony Bourdain, who was almost completely hobbled by its flaming intensity in one episode of No Reservations. As Wikipedia succinctly explains:

One of the most famous variations is the Chongqing (Chungking) má là (Chinese: 麻辣 – “numb and spicy”) hot pot, to which Sichuan pepper (Chinese: 花椒 huā jiāo “flower pepper”; also known as prickly ash) is added. Combined with spicy ingredients like chili, it creates a sensation on the tongue that is both spicy and burns and numbs slightly[.]

source: colourbox.com

Journey Man opens on my skin as a milder version of the Sichuan hot pot that made Anthony Bourdain gasp. In Amouage’s kitchen, the stock is made of expensive, aged, neroli cognac, while the accompanying ingredients are incense, dry cypriol, leather, and a touch of amber. It is fiery with a serious bite, but fantastically boozy as well. There is spiced dustiness hovering all around, which is perfectly balanced and countered by a wave of slightly sweetened richness. The intensity, fieriness and incredible boldness of the scent punches you in the solar plexus — and I mean that in the best way possible.

Journey’s spiciness seems to far transcend mere chili peppers, though. It feels as though half of a Chinese spice market has been combined in a really potent mix that is made of pure booze. I have absolutely no idea how the various notes coalesced to produced a cognac accord with a vaguely fruited undertone on my skin, but a random guess would be the amber mixed with the neroli and the juniper berries. The latter never carries a pine nuance but, rather, smells fruited, bitter and slightly resinous. Actually, it feels a lot more like pink peppercorn berries than anything from a juniper tree. As for the cardamom, it doesn’t have the vaguely sweet nuttiness that it often manifests on my skin. Instead, it feels more like the powdered remains left at the bottom of an old wooden spice drawer.

Cypriol. Source: indianflowersandherbs.blogspot

The cypriol (also knows as nagarmotha) is key in all this. As Fragrantica explains, the plant “is a relative to papyrus. Its smell is woody with earthy and spicy nuances.” Its oil is often used as a base for oud fragrances, which perhaps explains why some people smell the note in a perfume and think that they’re detecting agarwood. Here, the cypriol combines with the cardamom and incense to create an unusual dustiness. It’s not purely like an ancient Buddhist temple filled with incense; it’s not purely like spice dust; and it’s not purely woody dryness, either. It is like some combination of all three of those aspects in one. Perhaps the best way to describe it is as spiced, woody, incense dust.

It tries desperately to keep the cognac-like richness in check, but, to my joy, it fails. The fiery, spiced booziness flows over everything in a way that would make the Greek god of wine, Dionysius, and the Roman hedonist, Apicius, proud. My skin tends to amplify sweetness, so the note may not appear so strongly on others, but I really hope it does because it’s intoxicating when combined with the walloping amount of spices.

Alahine by Téo Cabanel. Source: liannetioparfums.nl

The overall effect resembles the start of one of my favorite fragrances, the opulent Alahine from Téo Cabanel. Journey Man is like a fierier, more piquant, drier and non-floral cousin to my beloved Alahine.

There are other differences as well, though. Whereas Alahine has deeply velvety, dark Ta’if roses and ylang-ylang, Journey has cypriol and strong woodiness. Journey’s fruitiness is more of the bitter bigarade and pink peppercorn kind (though it really feels as though Journey has petitgrain as well). And Alahine’s spice market is in Morocco where there are no Sichuan peppers to be found. Journey also has more of a leathered undertone. The differences become greater when you consider the development of the two fragrances as a whole, but they share a very similar opening centered on powerfully spiced booziness with incense and amber. Those of you who know my feelings about Alahine can perhaps understand why Journey Man impacted me so strongly.

Journey Man is very intense and potent, especially up close, but it is much airier than you’d expect. Initially, its sillage is excellent, though: using 3 spritzes from my decant which amount to roughly 2 small sprays from an actual bottle, the perfume projects about 4 inches above my skin. Yet, Journey doesn’t feel heavy or dense. It has strong weightlessness, to paraphrase a description that one of my readers likes to use for Bertrand Duchaufour creations.

Source: carolinejasmine.com

Actually, Journey Man feels like it could very well be a fragrance from Duchaufour. It initially has the same dusty quality as his stunning Trayee for Neela Vermeire, not to mention a similar spice, incense, woody vibe.

As with Alahine, here, too, there are differences. Journey Man is strongly boozy, while Trayee is not. Journey is more peppered, and significantly more fiery on my skin than Trayee; the incense feels more diffused throughout Journey and less individually distinct; there is no oud in Journey, though the cypriol tries to step in; and there is more golden warmth at the start. The cardamom is much less noticeable in Journey than in Trayee, especially as any sort of sweet nuttiness, and there is absolutely none of the true Mysore sandalwood that makes Trayee one of my favorite fragrances. I suppose if Trayee and Alahine had a torrid three-way love affair with some Sichuan chili peppers, their love child might be Journey Man.

Source: wallpapersfor.biz

Speaking of those peppers, they have a strange effect on me. Something about the scent tickles the nose and the back of my throat much like the capsaicin molecules in a real chili can do. At least, I think the tickle in Journey is from the Sichuan peppers. It could be from something else, since Journey Man also has an accompanying streak of raspiness and parched dryness that lasts for hours. I am sensitive to aromachemicals, so perhaps it stems from the cypriol, the Ambrox, or another molecule. In fact, I could very well be mixing two separate issues — the Sichuan capsaicin and the raspy woodiness — into one.

Photo: Jo Van Damme on Flickr. (Website link embedded within photo..)

Whatever the source of the Hot Pot bite, I happen to thoroughly enjoy it as an interesting counterbalance to all the booziness, but I do think that some people may struggle with its fiery kick. Another possible difficulty may be those flickers of desiccated woody dryness and raspiness that push Journey Man just to the edge of the unisex-masculine border. For me, the heavy layer of booziness and the ambered warmth counter these two rather separate issues, but it’s really going to come down to individual skin chemistry and personal tastes. People who like softer, richer, or cozier Orientals may struggle with these aspects of Journey, but those who love drier, woodier, and heavily spiced fragrances should have no problem.

Orange peels in cognac. Source: zmojournal.blogspot.com

Journey Man continues to shift. The fruited undercurrent grows richer and stronger after 30 minutes. It is perfectly balanced between sweetness and bitterness, perhaps because the neroli often comes across a lot more like petitgrain (the woody twigs from the citrus tree) on my skin than the actual fruit. In contrast, the juniper note continues to smell like a spiced, bright, fresh pink peppercorn berries with a fruited character. Both of them are really quite muted, and are subsumed into the cognac as if orange peels, bitter berries and bigarade petitgrain had been left to macerate in the alcohol. On my skin, Journey Man isn’t really “fruity,” let alone in any strong, distinct way. It’s more like a subtle suggestion of rich orange and woody citrus twigs.

Photo: Hawkea. Source: hawkea.blogspot.com

By the end of the first hour, Journey Man is a stunningly intense, fiery, boozy, lightly “fruited” spice bomb with incense, dry woodiness, and ambered warmth over a balsamic, resinous, leathery base. The perfume feels richer, deeper, and smokier than it did at the start. However, the very first, tiny streaks of tonka appear in the base, promising changes up ahead. Up top, the dustiness has receded by a hair, probably thanks to the growing presence of the Ambrox, though the occasional raspiness and the capsaicin bite continue. The spice mix also seems to change a little, as something creates the impression of saffron. Not buttery or sweet saffron, but the more fiery, red, nutty kind. It is probably an indirect result of the Sichuan peppers merging with the cardamom.

Source: allposters.com

None of these smaller elements can detract attention away from Journey’s main duo: the spectacularly fiery, spice-booze accord. Honestly, I wonder why no-one has ever thought to combine chili peppers with slightly fruity cognac and incense before. It’s rather brilliant, if you ask me, especially with the balsamic leatheriness of the base. I also find it very evocative. I keep imagining the red dragons of classical Chinese art, or the lion (Foo dogs?) sculptures that guard the Forbidden City — only, here, they’re drenched in expensive French cognac. I really hope that other people’s skin chemistry will highlight or amplify the booziness in the same way, because it’s a superb counterbalance to all of Journey’s drier, woodier, and spicier elements.

Eventually, the cognac takes a step back and Journey Man turns much drier. It starts roughly 90 minutes in, when the perfume turns woodier, as the cypriol grows stronger. The spices feel a little more hazy and dusty, though the suggestion of saffron remains. The notes start to overlap, losing some of their distinctive edge, but also flow more seamlessly into each other. The amber is lightly flecked with tonka, while the orange fruits lose a touch of their sweetness and turn more bitter. The subtle dustiness returns, though it may be from the growing presence of the incense more than from the spices at this point. And the whole thing is much softer in sillage. Journey Man now hovers 2 inches above the skin, though it is still very strong when sniffed up close.

Tonka beans. Source: Fragrance-creation.com

To an extent, all of these changes are ones of degree, but Journey shifts fundamentally at the start of the 3rd hour when the perfume turns creamy. The tonka fully emerges from the base, melts into the boozy-incense-spice mix, and softens its edges, while also pushing back against the dryness. Journey feels less fiery and dusty now. Its spiciness has a creaminess underlying it which only grows stronger with every passing hour. Everything from the leathered undertone to the woody dryness now feels coated by a smooth layer of tonka.

At the same time, the amber grows simultaneously softer and more prominent. It doesn’t feel like an aromachemical and, in some ways, it doesn’t even feel like “amber” at all. Rather, there is a growing golden hue about Journey Man, a gentler warmth. Together with the tonka, the amber begins to tame Journey’s red dragon. Roughly 4.5 hours in, the perfume turns into a beautifully spiced, creamy amber fragrance with more subtle fieriness and quieter boozy, fruited cognac. Muted swirls of incense smoke are diffused throughout, as is the dry woodiness that no longer feels quite so scratchy. They all sit upon a smoother, gentler resinous base which is only vaguely leathered now, and completely tamed by the creaminess.

Artist: Helen Abbas, “Ramad (Ashes)”. Source: islamicartsmagazine.com

Journey Man feels bold but soft; rich but polished; fiery but creamy and (almost) tamed. However, it’s also much gauzier and lighter. The perfume’s sillage settles at the start of the 6th hour to hover just above the skin, feeling almost like a skin scent, though Journey was still easy to detect up close for another few hours.

Journey’s fire-breathing dragon finally settles down at the start of the 7th hour. The chili peppers remain, but they are fully coated and anesthetized in a layer of creamy tonka sweetness. In fact, the tonka slowly starts to take over everything. I have to admit, I’m a little regretful about that. I like creaminess, but not as much as I do spiced booziness. Here, the effect is to squash or muffle the incense, dry woodiness, and booziness to a large degree.

Ten hours into Journey’s development, the perfume is primarily a woody tonka fragrance dusted with light touches of largely abstract spices and embedded within a soft, golden warmth. The peppers feel more and more like fruited pink peppercorn berries, with only a mild touch of Sichuan. The cypriol has changed as well, and is now slightly earthy woodiness, more than dry or raspy.

Painting by Moon Beom via lostateminor.com

For the next few hours, Journey Man devolves more and more into lightly spiced creaminess with a vague, nebulous touch of woodiness. It’s pretty, but I personally find it a little uninteresting. (I think I’m mourning the loss of the boozy cognac.) At the same time, I have to admit that it’s nice not to have the Sichuan bite any more. Journey lasts a very long time on my perfume-consuming skin, and I think 12-plus hours of fieriness would be a little exhausting. In its final moments, Journey is nothing more than a blur of spiced creaminess. All in all, Journey lasted roughly 13.75 hours, with sillage that was generally moderate when taken as an average whole.

Source: fanpop.com

Journey Man is one of those fragrances that makes me happy when I wear it. It is evocative, tells me a thousand stories, and always transports me places. It is very distinctive with a strong identity that is centered on opulence, intensity, and spicy boldness. And, it is very much what I expect from an Amouage fragrance, which was not the case, alas, with Journey Woman. For me, Amouage should be more than mere prettiness with polished elegance. When I first applied Journey Man, my first comment was “my word!” The second was, “this is more like it!”

Not all of Amouage’s fragrances work for me as a personal matter, but they are generally fragrances that I deeply respect for their innovative brilliance, their complexity, and their luxurious character. Journey Man is one that I would absolutely wear myself. With a smile on my face, and a passionate response each and every time to that stunning opening. For me, Journey Man is much more approachable and appealing than some of the men’s line that I have tried, like Fate Man, for example, or the difficult Opus VII. I respect the technical brilliance behind them, but I can’t or wouldn’t wear them.

However, I also recognize that Journey’s appeal will come down to personal tastes, not to mention skin chemistry. It always does — but perhaps for Amouage more than for some other perfume houses. I don’t know if a fiery Sichuan Hot Pot made from cognac, incense, occasionally dusty spices, and dry cypriol will be for everyone. As noted above, my skin tends to amplify sweetness and base notes, so I’m not even sure if others will experience that mysterious cognac note that worked so brilliantly with the chili pepper and that so perfectly counterbalanced the woody dryness. I also suspect that for some, particularly women who enjoy softer orientals, both the Sichuan bite and the overall spice mix may be a little much.

All I can say is that, if you love spice bomb fragrances with fieriness, woodiness, incense, some dryness, and ambered warmth, you should try Journey Man. If you loved Alahine or Trayee, then you should go out of your way to try Journey. I think it’s a dragon worthy of Imperial China, and its bold splendour is stunning.

Disclosure: My sample of Journey Man was courtesy of Christopher Chong and Amouage. That did not influence this review, I do not do paid reviews, and my opinions are my own.

DETAILS:

Cost & Availability: Journey for Men is an eau de parfum that should be available in June in most parts of the world. I don’t know its price, but it will be offered in a 50 ml bottle as well as 100 ml. All the usual Amouage retailers should carry the fragrance, including Luckyscent, Osswald, MinNewYork, Parfums Raffy, First in Fragrance, Jovoy, Harrods, and the like. I will try to remember to update this section at that time. Samples: Surrender to Chance just received Journey Man in store on June 16th. Samples start at $3.99 for a 1/2 ml vial.

Stéphane Humbert Lucas 777 Black Gemstone: Black (Gold) Beauty

Posted on April 30, 2014 by Kafkaesque

Source: wall321.com

Love at first sniff. Black Gemstone is an opulently ambered, spicy, woody-incense fragrance from Stéphane Humbert Lucas that caught my attention from the very first time I tried it. Mysterious woods, black frankincense and tart lemons curds, thick velvet and sticky amber — those disparate images are only one part of the complex tale created by one of the chic-est, most polished, most intriguing orientals that I’ve tried in a while.

“Shades of Caramel Abstract” by David Naman. Source: Fine Art America. (Website link embedded within.)

I’m not sure where to start in trying to summarize Black Gemstone. Should it be the well-oiled woods drizzled with honey and saffron? The way the perfume changes shape each time, or how it tantalizes you with little tendrils of notes that are never quite what they seem? Should I talk about how its darkness turns to a sensual warmth that envelops you like velvet on satin skin? Or how its surface simplicity dissolves upon closer inspection into layer upon finely calibrated layer — all like tiny detailed brushstrokes of enameled lacquer on an ornate golden heart of patchouli and amber?

I don’t know where to begin, in part because Black Gemstone feels truly mysterious on some levels — and not simply because the perfume changes on my skin from one spot to the next, or from wearing to wearing. I don’t find many fragrances to evoke a sense of mystery, let alone darkness, but, somehow, the opening of Black Gemstone does. And, as a whole, it is one of the chic-est damn things I’ve tried in ages.

Stéphane Humbert Lucas, via SHL FB, used with permission.

Black Gemstone is a 2013 parfum extrait from Stéphane Humbert Lucas 777 (hereinafter just referred to as “SHL 777” or “777“). All the perfumes are created by Monsieur Lucas, who used to be the in-house perfumer for SoOud and Nez à Nez. Up to now, the 777 line was exclusive to Europe, Russia, and Middle Eastern, but there is excellent news.

The complete SHL 777 line should be coming to America in a few days, including the stunning amber monster, O Hira, that was previously contractually limited to Harrods and to Printemps, and the 2013 iris-amber-heliotrope Khol de Bahrein. The new 2014 releases should also be available, such as the highly original cherry-latex-almond-cedar-oud Qom Chilom, the immortelle gourmand Une Nuit à Doha, and the Cambodian oud, smoke and leather, Oud 777. The scents will be exclusive to Luckyscent and Osswald NYC. I have samples of the line, thanks to the generosity and kindness of Monsieur Lucas, and Black Gemstone is the second to last in my series. (I’m only missing Rose de Petra, so Soleil de Jeddah will be the last.)

Black Gemstone. Photo and source: Stéphane Humbert Lucas.

Black Gemstone is a pure parfum that is described in the press materials provided to me as follows:

Tribute to the Black Stone
Brewed essence, tender as clay,
petrified, blackened.

Infusion of three Cedars – Lemon
Myrrh tar
Incense [Olibanum] – Teak – Tonka.

As with other SHL 777 fragrances, the official list seems to be merely a nutshell synopsis. I detected far more emanating from my skin, from honey and labdanum amber, to sweet myrrh/opoponax and woody-leathered undertones. So I sent off yet another pestering email to poor Monsieur Lucas to ask what else was actually included in Black Gemstone. I’m always grateful for his time, patience, and forthright openness, but I was especially relieved this time because, by the time I got his reply, I was pretty sure I was wafting eucalyptus, saffron and patchouli as well. You don’t know how crazy you start to feel when you smell things a galaxy away from what’s on an official note list. (I mean, eucalyptus, for heaven’s sake!)

The actual note list for Black Gemstone turns out to be:

Italian lemon, 3 types of cedar, frankincense (olibanum), myrrh, sweet myrrh (opoponax), patchouli, cistus labdanum amber, teak wood, birch wood, saffron, basil, a camphor accord (eucalyptus and rosemary), and tonka.

Source: Stéphane Humbert Lucas.

Black Gemstone opens on my skin with beautiful honey and deep, concentrated tart lemon over dark, smoky woods. There is a noticeable leather undertone and a strongly balsamic base, along with almost a black tea-like smokiness, all of which are lovely. The woods are dark and blackened, but not singed or burnt. Rather, they’re sweetened and musky, then drenched with an incredibly real lemon note.

Photo: bravetart.com

The latter was the star of the opening act on my skin in quite a few tests that I did. It has the perfect balance of a tart, tangy Meyer’s lemon, a type of lemon that does not have strong acidity. This is no crisp, zesty, or chilled citric note. It’s also far from thin. Instead, there is a very heavy, sun-ripened juiciness that has been concentrated into something almost akin to unsugared lemon curd in its beautiful, tart depths. I cannot get over the lemon note in Black Gemstone, really I can’t. And I’m not one who ever gushes about citruses in fragrances.

I think one reason why there is such a full-bodied richness and fruited heaviness is that the lemon has been subtly amplified by patchouli. It’s the syrupy, fruited patchouli that I normally loathe so much, but it’s managed with incredible finesse here. Never gooey or overly sweet, and only occasionally like jammy, purple molasses, the patchouli here has been refined to add just a touch of concentrated richness to the lemon without ever detracting from the citric focus. The result would almost feel photo-realistic, except this lemon has been shot through with walloping amounts of black smoke in a way that I haven’t previously encountered.

That smoke is definitely the second star of Black Gemstone’s opening on my skin. The frankincense is beautiful and perfectly balanced, never too muffled but also never really overpowering or aggressive. Strong tendrils seep out to weave and wrap themselves around you, leaving trails in the air behind you as you move. The smoke is sometimes sharp in its intensity, but, yet, oddly soft and delicate at the same time. There is no grey dustiness or chilliness here; this smoke is warm from the honey and lemons.

Photo by Daniel Fox. Source: petapixel.com. (Website link embedded within.)

While the lemon and frankincense waltz on center stage, other elements quietly weave in and out. The note list says myrrh “tar,” and it does feel a little like a blackened accord, thanks to the copious amounts of a sticky balsamic resin that turns the smoke slightly sweet. There is also an occasional touch of opoponax or sweet myrrh that adds a nutty warmth, but it is very fleeting. Much more noticeable is the resinous base. The labdanum doesn’t smell ambered or golden at this point, but reflects instead a darkness that impacts all the other notes. At times, it has a subtle tobacco tonality, but, most of the time, it merely adds a feeling of something leathery and thick.

Photo: My own.

From afar, Black Gemstone is a beautiful mix of smoky lemony and incense, drizzled with honey and cocooned amidst musky woods, all atop a very balsamic, leathery base. Up close, the mix is absolutely addictive, constantly drawing me in with its richness. It mesmerizes the analytical part of my mind, often because the notes are fused so thoroughly together that it’s hard to know where one starts and the other ends.

In fact, it’s extremely hard to tease out many of the notes in Black Gemstone because it’s a beautifully blended fragrance. I found it almost impossible to know the source for many of the things that I detected. Not only do the individual elements flow seamlessly one to the next, but so many of them complement and share common characteristics. Does the honey derive from the labdanum or the sweet myrrh? Is the subtle tobacco-like tonality that dances at the edges a result of the patchouli, the labdanum, or something else? Same question for the leather undertone. I have no answers at all.

Mark Rothko, "Untitled (Violet, Black, Orange, Yellow on White and Red)," 1949.

Mark Rothko, “Untitled” 1949.

The perfume is so incredibly blended that it never actually opened the exact same way twice on my skin on any of the 3 occasions when I wore it. On my usual testing arm, Black Gemstone always opened with a bouquet dominated by incense and some fluctuating level of lemon curd, but that was the only consistent aspect because all the other notes varied. On one occasion, the main duo was heavily dusted by spicy saffron from the very start, then trailed by honey and a jammy, fruited, almost raspberry-ish patchouli over a soft base of warm amber.

Source: wallpoper.com

Another time, Black Gemstone’s opening was drier, woodier, and much smokier. This time, the incense-lemon accord was cocooned in musky cedar with a touch of creamy beeswax from the sweet myrrh. The frankincense felt even stronger than usual, and the cedar was much more prominent than on any prior occasion. In contrast, the amber and the saffron were weaker, taking much longer to rise up from the base. The jammy patchouli was also less evident, but the woodier, red-brown, spicy patchouli flickered in and out from the start.

Source: publicdomainpictures.net

However, on my non-testing arm, it was a different story entirely. Black Gemstone opened with patchouli, saffron, camphor, lemon curd, musky woods, cedar, amber, tobacco tonalities and incense. The patchouli and saffron combination far outweighed the frankincense lemon curd. The perfume felt sweeter and richer, with more overt spices and a flickering touch of eucalyptus camphor right from the start. To my surprise, the patchouli felt simultaneously like the fruited, jammy kind and the more traditional, usual patchouli that I love with its red-brown spiciness, tobacco woodiness, and a touch of mentholated green. I can’t remember the last time I encountered a perfume where both versions of patchouli were present side-by-side at the same time. All I can say is that there is serious skill and technical wizardry involved in all of this.

In short, Black Gemstone is what I call a “prismatic” scent. It throws off different facets each time you wear it, the way light hitting a crystal chandelier will reflect different rays of colours. Prismatic scents can often seem linear in nature, because the seamless blending of notes reveals the different nuances very subtly. I believe Luca Turin calls these sorts of fragrances “circular” because the notes often come around hours later again in a full circle, and that happens here with Black Gemstone, as well. It makes it hard for me to give you the usual breakdown or analysis, especially once the perfume transitions into its second stage, because there is never one set story.

Still, I’ll try to describe what happens in one of the tests, the one with which I began this review. After 15 minutes, Black Gemstone starts to shift, particularly in terms of the wooded accord. It grows far stronger, and feels simultaneously dry but creamy. Initially, it doesn’t smell of cedar at all. It’s not peppered or dusty the way some cedar can be. Nor does it smell of pencil shavings.

Cedar. Photo: Brett Stewart, with permission. Source: http://instagram.com/bstewart23

Instead, the wood is turning beautifully creamy in a way that feels very unusual for cedar. Perhaps it is from the sweet myrrh, which can often reflect a creamy beeswax tonality. Or, perhaps it is the teak which is responsible? I must confess, I have no idea what teak smells like, and Fragrantica only says it is a “fantasy note” that is polished, light and “blond.” I don’t know what that means. All I can say is that the wood here in Black Gemstone feels infused with frankincense, myrrh, the concentrated lemon curd, and that mysterious creaminess. Even better, there is a distinct earthiness and muskiness to it, though it is very hard to describe or explain.

Source: footage.shutterstock.com

The whole thing feels heavily oiled, smoky, sweet, darkened, and smooth. The honey that was drizzled all over fades after 20 minutes as a distinct, individual note, though a definite sweetness remains. Everything about Black Gemstone feels concentrated and rich, evoking the brightest yellow shot through with endless smoke and blackness. It is a ball of brightness in a dark forest where all the trees have been oiled to a smooth, polished finish. None of it smells like furniture polish, by the way. It’s more like a photo-realistic, tart lemon concentrate, reduced down to a thick treacle, then shot through with incense and dry, earthy, musky woods.

Black Gemstone continues to shift and evolve. About 30 minutes in, the cedar finally begins to smell more like its usual self. The first hints of saffron appear, but this isn’t the usual sort of saffron either. It’s not fiery, dusty, buttered, or even particularly spicy at first. Instead, it’s more like a woody saffron that has been refined to add mere warmth. Sometimes, it feels more like a subset of the labdanum, or a figment of my imagination. Yet, in other tests, the spice was noticeable from the start and smelled more like actual saffron.

I’m struggling to explain all this, and I know I’m being somewhat unclear, but I find Black Gemstone extremely hard to describe. There are two reasons why. First, on my skin, many of the notes in the perfume are quite subtle at times. Second, they’ve been highly refined to the point that they don’t always smell the way that I’m used to. Monsieur Lucas told me in one of his emails that he worked extremely hard with the quantities, to add just “tiny doses” and ensure that the many elements were all calibrated against each other. Yet, he also used extremely expensive, high-quality ingredients whose normally bold nature has been smoothed out. The overall effect of both things is to create notes that are simultaneously very refined and quite elusive at times, leading you to wonder just what you’re sniffing. On other occasions, however, the exact same note was less mysterious, like the time that the eucalyptus was evident from the start instead of being such a tantalizing whisper in the background.

Roughly 90 minutes into Black Gemstone’s development, the second stage arrives and it is essentially the same each time, in all my versions. The details and small nuances may vary from one test to another, but the broad brushstrokes are generally consistent. For the most part, Black Gemstone transitions into a markedly different perfume from that which appeared at the start.

Photo by Daniel Fox. Source: petapixel.com . http://petapixel.com/2013/05/25/photographer-captures-abstract-photos-showing-lava-up-close/

Now, Black Gemstone is not dominated by tart, concentrated lemon curd with incense, but by more golden elements led first by the amber and incense, then, hours later, by patchouli-amber. As the lemon slowly softens and fades away, the labdanum rises from the base, the incense turns up another notch, the myrrh becomes stronger, and the brown patchouli finally wakes up in the base. Saffron is sprinkled over everything, while little hints of beeswax dart about. The musky woods feel more amorphous than cedar-y, and seem creamier than ever. As a whole, Black Gemstone feels deeper, softer, and richer, though the sillage lessens a little. The visuals of yellow with black have changed to amber, gold, bronze, brown and cream.

Source: ebay.uk.

Black Gemstone’s greatest characteristic for me at this point would be ambered velvet. If textures could be actual notes, then “velvet” should be part of the perfume’s pyramid, because it feels as much a part of Black Gemstone’s identity as the tendrils of black incense or the earthy, musky woods. There is a smooth richness to the scent that is wonderfully luxurious and feels almost like thickened, creamy brocade. Monsieur Lucas attributes a lot of it to the tonka, but I’m used to tonka that is either powdery, purely vanillic, creamy vanilla, or some combination of both. I’ve never experienced tonka as creamy velvet amber.

It all feels very elegant, polished, and chic, but there is also something soothing and serene about Black Gemstone. It’s as though you’re in a palatial room padded with thick velvet that drowns out all the frenetic noise around you. You lie on a bed made out of cedar and patchouli, on sheets of honeyed, fragrant beeswax, under a thick blanket of dark velvet shot through with ambered gold and saffron, as clouds of black incense circulate in the air all around you. It’s meditative, zen, and comforting all at once.

Source: wallpaperup.com

Black Gemstone continues to shift, but only by tiny, incremental degrees. The lemon fades away entirely at the 2.5 hour mark. An hour later, the cedar retreats to the background, and the woods turn more abstract. The tonka starts to stir more noticeably in the base, adding the faintest touch of powder to the scent and even more of the creaminess mentioned above. The myrrh and sweet myrrh work in tandem with the frankincense, adding more smoke to the scent, but the sharpness is offset by the surging tides of amber that roll over everything. Meanwhile, the brown-red patchouli grows stronger. I’m a complete “patch head,” so I’m over the moon at its prominence and spicy richness. Occasional touches of camphor and eucalyptus dart about, but the patchouli is primarily one more layer of golden warmth.

Source: wallpaperswa.com

At the end of 9 hours, Black Gemstone is a blend of sweet, spicy, nutty, vaguely honeyed, woody notes, lightly flecked with incense in a thick cocoon of velvet amber. The primary bouquet is centered on patchouli-amber, trailed by the incense. The patchouli occasionally has a powerful streak of eucalyptus. Sometime, there is a subtle booziness as well. Saffron, tonka and an amorphous, warm woodiness dart about in the background, adding to the richness of the scent. There is no real powder, no vanilla, just layer upon layer of goldenness upon a deep base that feels like the darkest resins have turned to satin.

At the start of the 12th hour, Black Gemstone is a warm blur of patchouli amber. If you smell up close and really focus, you can just barely single out the tonka, saffron, cedar, and eucalyptus, but they’re increasingly minor and muted. In its final moments, Black Gemstone is merely a silky whisper of golden warmth with a vaguely woody character.

All in all, Black Gemstone consistently lasted well over 14 hours on my perfume consuming skin. With 2 decent spritzes from my atomizer, amounting to one very good spray from an actual bottle, the perfume lasted just under 15 hours. Really, about 14.75. The sillage was initially large, hovering about 4 inches above the skin. That number dropped after 90 minutes to about 2 inches above the skin, then one inch at the 3.75 hour mark. There, Black Gemstone remained for ages, turning into a skin scent only at the end of the 8th hour.

Source: hqwide.com

The numbers were even better with 3 big spritzes, amounting to 2 sprays from a proper bottle. The longevity was just short of 17 hours. Black Gemstone initially wafted about 5 inches off my skin, but it left a definite trail behind me. On one occasion, I had dinner with my parents about an hour after applying Black Gemstone, and was told that they could smell the fragrance in two rooms that I had been either standing in or walking through. In all cases, however, and regardless of amount, Black Gemstone’s sillage averages out to about 2 inches above the skin when you consider the 14 to 16 hours as a whole.

As a point of comparison, that’s pretty much how most Profumum Roma scents are on my skin as well. In fact, Black Gemstone actually feels a lot like a Profumum scent with its heavy, concentrated nature and great longevity. Both brands put out fragrances that are extraits or pure parfums in concentration, so it’s not really a surprise. In the case of Black Gemstone, it has 24% concentration, just like its other siblings in the SHL 777 line.

On a personal level, I have to say that this has been one of the most difficult reviews I’ve written in a while. Despite the hundreds of words that I’ve written, I can’t shake the feeling that I haven’t actually described the perfume at all. I can summarize it up in a nutshell as a lemon-incense fragrance with dry woods that later turns into incense-patchouli-amber, but that doesn’t seem to convey the full extent of Black Gemstone’s complexity on my skin or its feel. Emphasizing the smoky incense and woodiness would be misleading, just as it would be if I focused on the golden warmth which later appears.

George Seurat, “The Seine and la Grande Jatte” – Springtime 1888, Royal Museums of Fine Arts of Belgium. Source: Wikipedia.

All of these things are just one piece of the puzzle, a puzzle that seems extremely simple on the outside. In fact, some of you may sniff Black Gemstone and wonder what on earth I’m talking about, because the details are often like tiny brushstrokes. For me, Black Gemstone feels like one of the paintings from the famous Pointillist painter, George Seurat, where you have to look extremely close in order to see that the seemingly simple image is actually created from thousands of tiny dots.

In the same way that my words feel inadequate, so is the imagery. I generally try to use photos as a symbolic, visual representations, and, yet, none of them seem to really capture the full picture. They certainly don’t convey some of the impressions in my head for how the perfume feels to me, or the men and women who represent its different facets. So, I’m giving in to frustration and going to subject you to a visual display that may explain some of it.

Symbolically, Black Gemstone sometimes translates in my head from this:

Drottningholm Palace, Sweden. Photo: CubeFarmEscape at http://cubefarmescape.com/2011/06/pick-a-palace-or-two/

to this:

Photo: Lorraine Eaton. Source: hamptonroads.com

But also this:

Photo: Mert & Marcus from their video for Madonna, “Girl gone wild.” Source: kontraplan.com

to this:

Source: imgfave.com. Artist or creator unknown.

At the same time, however, Black Gemstone can also feel like this:

Source: wallpaperup.com

leading to this:

Source: darkroom.baltimoresun.com

before ending up as this:

Photo: Hawkea. Source: hawkea.blogspot.com

And all of this is worn by him:

Model David Gandy via fashionbeans.com

and her:

Bianca Balti for Dolce & Gabbana. Source: stylesnooperdan

At least, that is how Black Gemstone appears in my head. I wish I could tell you how others see it, but I could not find any comparative reviews to show you. On Fragrantica, Black Gemstone’s entry page has no comments at this time. In fact, until yesterday, the perfume was not widely available outside of Harrods and Paris’ Printemps. Germany’s First in Fragrance just received Black Gemstone, along with the new 2014 releases. As noted at the start of this post, the complete SHL 777 line will be released in the U.S. at the start of May.

In Europe, Black Gemstone’s retail price is €235 for a 50 ml bottle of pure parfum. I don’t have the official American pricing rate, but, at today’s rate of exchange, that comes to roughly $325. However, I know from prior experiences with European exclusives that the eventual U.S. price is always much less than the conversion amount. So, I estimate the perfume will probably be in the $290 range, though that is purely a personal guess.

For me, Black Gemstone is worth every penny, and it is high on my wish list right next to the magnificent O Hira, the Incredible Hulk of ambers. The latter is far too expensive to be anything more than a dream for me, but Black Gemstone will be mine. The quality, luxuriousness, projection, and sillage are all there, but more importantly, the perfume moves me. As all these photos should demonstrate, it tells me lots of very different stories throughout its long tenure. It took me places, was intellectually interesting, and had multi-layered complexity that showed great technical skill by the perfumer. So much complexity, in fact, that Black Gemstone was often several perfumes in one on my skin.

Even within the same journey, I found Black Gemstone to be contemplative and meditative, but also darkly sultry and sexy, before ending up as comforting, relaxing warmth. I found all of it addictive, from start to finish, and compulsively sniffable. Is it the most objectively unique and original fragrance? No, because at the end of the day, it is still an incense-woody-amber scent. (In contrast, SHL 777’s new Qom Chilom is definitely unique with its notes of sour Morello cherries, black latex, smoke, almonds, oud, heliotrope, and more.) Still, Black Gemstone feels more approachable to me, and I love how polished it feels. Amber orientals aren’t a category that I would usually classify as “chic,” but Black Gemstone is definitely chic to me.

In short, if you’re looking for a very complex but elegant oriental fragrance, I strongly recommend that you give Black Gemstone a sniff. It’s a black beauty with a rich golden heart.

Disclosure: Perfume sample courtesy of Stéphane Humbert Lucas. That did not influence this review. I do not do paid reviews, and my opinions are my own.

DETAILS:

Cost & Availability: Black Gemstone is an Extrait or pure parfum that is only available in a 50 ml bottle and costs €235. The 777 line will be at Luckyscent and Osswald NYC by the end of April. [Update 5/2/14 — Osswald has received the entire 777 line. It sells Black Gemstone for $309.] Outside the U.S.: Currently, the SHL 777 website is under construction, and doesn’t have an e-store. The best online resource is First in Fragrance which just received the complete SHL 777 line, including the new 2014 releases. It offers a sample of Black Gemstone for €14. In London, you can find the entire collection at Harrod’s Black Room, while in Paris, they are exclusive to Printemps under the name 777. Zurich’s Osswald also carries the line, but I don’t think they have an e-store any more. The Swiss perfumery, Theodora, also has SHL 777, but no e-store. In Cannes, France, the store Taizo is said to carry the 777 line, but I didn’t see the perfumes on their website the last time I checked. In the Middle East, Souq.com has about 6 of the earlier fragrances which it sells for AED 1,500. In the UAE, the SHL 777 line is available at Harvey Nichols and at Bloomingdales in the Dubai Mall. In Russia, SHL 777 is sold at Lenoma. Ukraine’s Sana Hunt Luxury store also carries the line, but they don’t have an e-store. Samples: None of the U.S. sample sites currently carry this fragrance, so Luckyscent and Osswald NYC will be your best option once the SHL 777 line is released. Osswald has changed its Sample Program such that individual pricing now depends on the cost of the particular perfume in question. They range from $3 a vial, up to $9 a vial for fragrances that cost over $300. The program is limited to U.S. customers and has free shipping, but there is also a 3-sample minimum, I believe. If you have questions, you can call Osswald at (212) 625-3111 to enquire further.

By Kilian Sacred Wood

Posted on April 27, 2014 by Kafkaesque

The joys of Mysore sandalwood are ostensibly and supposedly replicated in Sacred Wood, the latest fragrance from By Kilian. Not in my opinion. Not even remotely.

Source: lamasatonline.net

Sacred Wood was created by Calice Becker, and I think the story behind its creation is essential to understanding the limitations of the scent. As Luckyscent explains, Calice Becker originally intended the scent to be nothing more than a base for other fragrances. Kilian Hennessy loved it so much that he decided it should be a solo scent, all by itself, and with nothing else added. Sacred Wood is therefore meant to be a simple soliflore designed to recreate the smell of Mysore sandalwood via other means. To quote from Luckyscent:

No longer available to perfumers since it was over-harvested, Mysore sandalwood (Santalum album) is one of the ingredients they miss the most. Calice Becker had long been working on a blend that would reproduce its complexity: the warm, rosy, smoky, creamy, spicy facets that make the legendary wood such an irreplaceable material.

Though originally intended as a base, the composition worked so beautifully on its own, and within the theme of the collection, that Kilian Hennessy snapped it up for the last episode of his Asian Tales. Sacred Wood conjures the mystical scent with amazing accuracy: like its model, it is so rich and facetted it is a fragrance in and of itself. Its silky, sensuous scent is amazingly long-lasting, though never overwhelming. It is the answer to the prayers of all sandalwood lovers.

Personally, I think Luckyscent is completely delusional if they think Sacred Wood conjures up the mystical beauty of Mysore sandalwood with any accuracy. Regardless, they provide the following list of notes for the scent:

Steaming milk accord, sandalwood, carrot, cumin, elemi, cedar wood.

Source: graphicsbeam.com

Sacred Wood opens on my skin with green Australian sandalwood and sandalwood synthetics. The wood is green — very green — with grassiness and a miniscule touch of medicinal, herbal sourness underneath. It’s infused with the steamed milk accord which smells very authentic. Raw carrots and a touch of dry cedar lurk at the edges.

There is a distinct whiff of synthetics underlying the scent. Elena Vosnaki of The Perfume Shrine recently had a wonderful article on Fragrantica called “Synthetic Pathways to Sandalwood Notes,” regarding the various sandalwood substitutes on the market. I encourage you to read the piece in full if you’re interested, but I’ll quote some relevant sections here:

Several synthetics rose to the task of replicating [Mysore], often at a quite elevated cost despite their man-made aspect, and many times entering into venerable “modern classics.”

Nowadays many of those synthetics are used in combination with or attendance of the harvests of Mysore-identical sandalwood trees being farmed on Australian soil. These are trees of the India native species and not of the different, native Australian sandalwood (Santalum spicatum, such as the one used in Le Labo’s Santal 33 which is a different species with a different, sharper and lightly smoky scent profile, nor of the New Caledonia sandalwood variety (steadily gaining in popularity). […][¶]

Among synthetic sandalwood notes, Polysantol, a former Firmenich trademark, is quite popular thanks to its intense diffusion and realistic replication. Otherwise known as santol pentenol due to its structure, it enters many a fragrance composition thanks to its part herbal, part lived-in warmth. Beta santalol or technically (-)-(1’S,2’R,4’R)-(Z)-beta-santalol is also a nature identical typical sandalwood note. […][¶]

Ebanol [(1S,2’S,3’R)-Ebanol], a Givaudan trademark, is noted for its potency. Symrise proposes its Fleursandol which has a very strong, animalic-laced sandalwood note with floral elements surfacing. […][¶]

Ebanol via Givaudan

Javanol via Givaudan.

Javanol, Ebanol, Sandela, Santaliff (IFF santal mysore core), and Santalore are extremely powerful and true to sandalwood synthetics. In fact this might explain the curious effect one experiences when handling them: it was enough to smell a 10% dilution to anesthetize my nose for several hours later, a state I was taken out of by squeezing fresh lemon juice. A perfumer must be cautious and restrained when using them in order not to end up making the wearer of the finished fragrance tired and anosmic to them. Extreme dilution (even lower than 0.5%) is recommended, as alongside Iso-E Super (woody cedar) and methyl ionone (violets) those notes cause rapid nose fatigue.

At least one of those synthetics is present in Sacred Wood, and noticeable in varying degrees from the perfume’s very start to its dying moments on my skin. And no, it does not authentically recreate the smell of Mysore sandalwood. There is a comment to the Fragrantica article where “Eeyore III” quotes Luca Turin on why chemical synthetics fail to properly reproduce the scent of actual Mysore wood:

The reason synthetics don’t smell (that much) like sandalwood has been explained, chemically, by Luca Turin: “(Z)-(-)-beta-santalol, the molecule present to about 25 per cent in natural sandalwood oil and largely responsible for its gorgeous smell, is, synthetically speaking, a real back-breaker. The best total synthesis to date is an eleven-step affair, and any research chemist who tried to talk his production colleagues into making this would be quickly shouted down.“– L. Turin,The Secret of Scent p.77.

What I smell in Sacred Wood is green — all the way through. And greenness is not what I associate with Mysore sandalwood. It is redness. Dark, rich, red spiciness, with slightly smoky creaminess. I grew up in a time when Mysore was in almost every Oriental perfume, while shops sold Mysore beads, Mysore boxes, Mysore sculptures, and everything else in sight. I know what Mysore smells and looks like. And not one iota of that smell is evident in Sacred Wood.

Mysore sandalwood. Source: Fragrantica

Before you mention the new Australian plantation with its Indian Mysore trees, let me say that I’ve smelled that, too. I was sent a small bottle of the oil by the company as part of what was meant to be a coordinated multi-blog review or Basenotes article to praise its merits. I could not do so, and wrote bluntly that it did not smell at all like Mysore to me, so my comment was not used.

My bottle of the Australian plantation oil. Photo: my own.

To me, that Australian plantation wood was green. Green, green, green with sour buttermilk and grassy undertones, along with an occasional medicinal touch. The trees may ostensibly be Mysore, but they’re incredibly young. I think it’s going to take another 60 years, at a minimum, for them to age enough to take on a true Mysore aroma. They are not there yet, not even remotely. I wouldn’t be surprised if Sacred Wood contains some oil from that lone Australian plantation, because I have mentioned the word “green,” yet?

I will admit with all honesty that I’m the wrong person to be writing a review of Sacred Wood. I am a die-hard Mysore sandalwood snob, and I cannot stand the Australian varieties — whether the Santalum album from that plantation, or the Australian Santalum spicatum cousin. I dislike both green sandalwood, and the generic beigeness of the Australian variety. I don’t think the latter even deserves the name “sandalwood” at all.

Source: blinds-wallpaper.net

In fact, I sometimes think that all perfumers should stop using the word entirely and substitute “beige woods” unless they are spending a king’s ransom on the actual stuff. Neela Vermeire has done so for her perfumes, with the spectacular Trayee having the greatest amount, and so has Laurent Mazzone for LM Parfums‘ Hard Leather. Chanel‘s beautiful Bois des Iles supposedly has no sandalwood in it at all, but Jacques Polges has successfully recreated the smell through some miracle, so he gets a total pass from me and much worship for his wizardry. All the rest of the perfume houses should bloody well call the wood something else entirely. Yes, it is that much of a sore point for me.

Sacred Wood did not put me in a good mood, as you may have noticed. I tried to like it, I really did. I simply couldn’t get past the greenness, or the synthetic twang in the base. At one point, I told myself to approach it like a non-sandalwood fragrance, and to see the good in Sacred Wood. So, the rest of this review will be me trying my best, lying to myself, and pretending to be someone else.

Source: seriouseats.com

Sacred Wood’s opening is interesting, I suppose. The steamed milk accord is truly authentic in feel, though it occasionally flashes as “sour milk” on my skin, in a way that replicates badly boiled milk a little too closely for my liking. The cold carrots remind me a little of how iris can be; I’m not crazy about that aspect, either. The cumin doesn’t appear in a distinct way at all, and the elemi initially doesn’t translate either as something lemony or as the wood’s more common smoky, dry, peppered features.

For the most part, Sacred Wood’s opening on my skin is merely a blend of boiled milk, green Australian wood, and cold carrots with a synthetic twinge. It’s a very strong bouquet initially, but thin in body, light in weight, and sheer. It lacks oomph or much character, if you ask me, and I’m saying that in my pretend role as someone who supposedly doesn’t know or care about Mysore sandalwood.

Sacred Wood changes at the end of the first hour. The elemi’s smoky, peppered sides rise to the surface, the perfume turns smokier, the milky accord starts to fade away, and the carrots vanish. The sour undertone to the fragrance remains, though it waxes and wanes in its visibility over the next few hours. Oddly, the sweetness and spiciness of the “sandalwood” also vary. Sometimes, the wood seems to have turned sweet and spicy, to go with that new touch of smokiness. The majority of the time, however, it’s either sour, the grassiness reappears, or the perfume just continues on its simple trajectory of green “sandalwood” with elemi smoke.

Source: Micks Images. http://www.micksimages.com/Smoke-II(2399572).htm

One thing to be said for Sacred Wood is that its greenness turns creamy. Roughly 2.5 hours into the perfume’s development, it lies just an inch above the skin as a very creamy, smooth, slightly smoky sandalwood and elemi fragrance. The synthetics retreat fully to the sidelines, and… well, that’s about it. For hours. And hours. Creamy green woods with elemi. At the end of the 7th hour, the elemi starts to fade away, and the first touch of the sandalwood synthetics returns. By the start of the 9th hour, Sacred Wood is green santal with synthetics. And it remains that way until it finally dies away 12.75 hours from the start.

Source: polychemcoatings.com

I was bored out of my mind, and spent a good deal of that time fantasizing about anything else I could put on my skin. Even as someone pretending not to have issues with Australian “sandalwood,” Sacred Wood doesn’t come across as anything particularly interesting. It is a bloody one-note trajectory that starts as boiled milk green sandalwood, turns into lightly smoked green sandalwood, and then ends as green-beige sandalwood. I always say that there is nothing wrong with linearity if you like the scent in question, but I obviously don’t. And, come on, this is a simple base accord that Kilian Hennessey would like to charge you $245 for the supposed privilege of wearing. I realise there are cheaper refill or travel options, but no thanks. To any of it.

Yes, I’m being peevish, and yes, perhaps that’s unfair. But, dammit, I’ve been a die-hard Mysore sandalwood lover for over 30 years, and it’s really hard to wrap my head around a scent like this one. It’s not even trying to fix the problem or to compensate for the limitations by adding more elements to create an end result that is closer to the real thing. That’s the real kicker for me. Plenty of perfumers do that, like Serge Lutens in some of his santal creations where additional spices or accords are brought in to bridge the gap between the Australian wood and the synthetics. Not here. It’s a simple, occasionally creamy, green wood base that somehow Kilian Hennessy thinks is sufficient all by itself. It’s not. And I feel the same way about it as I do when L’Oreal tries to pass off the disgusting modern “Opium” as the real thing. It’s adding insult to injury.

At least one blogger out there seems to understand. Robin at Now Smell This says in her review of Sacred Wood, “if you’re an old-school sandalwood fiend looking for a fix, it might not hit the same spot.” No, it bloody well doesn’t. Parsing her review carefully, and noticing her statements in the comment section, I suspect she feels the same way as I do about Sacred Wood, but she’s simply tactful and diplomatic in a way that I can’t be. She writes:

Sacred Wood opens on citrus-y, spicy wood; it’s not a dead ringer for my long-time love, Diptyque Tam Dao, but it reminded me of Tam Dao right away: the opening has that same sheer but wood-focused feeling, at the other end of the spectrum from the more ornately decorated sandalwood trio from Serge Lutens (Santal Blanc, Santal de Mysore and Santal Majuscule). As the citrus burns off, Sacred Wood moves to the middle: it gets spicier and more milky-creamy, but at the same time, the woods get softer and more indistinct.

It’s closest to the ‘olfactory impression of an authentic Sandalwood from Mysore’ in the middle stages. Eventually, it’s a mild woodsy blend, reasonably sandalwood-y but without the richness of old-school sandalwood fragrances. If you’ve never smelled an old-school sandalwood fragrance, that won’t matter to you, but if you have one on hand, you’ll notice how comparatively thin the base of Sacred Wood is. I wore Sacred Wood next to a drop of Santal Blanc and a drop of Chanel Bois des Iles extrait,2 and the Sacred Wood, smells, well, modern. Obviously, you may or may not prefer it that way. […][¶]

Verdict: I was expecting a sandalwood-bomb, and Sacred Wood isn’t exactly that. It’s a lovely quiet woods scent, though, very wearable, and not at all dull[.]

We shall have to agree to disagree on everything, but how Sacred Wood doesn’t measure up to actual “old-school sandalwood fragrances,” and how “thin” its base is in comparison. I suppose her feelings can be understood, given how much better her experience and version of Sacred Wood was to mine. Green-beige woods and synthetic sandalwood in a dead flat-line are most certainly dull, in my opinion.

The best thing that can be said for Sacred Wood is that it’s smooth and I suppose it’s wearable, especially if you have never experienced Mysore sandalwood. That may be why it has some very enthusiastic reviews on Fragrantica. You can read them if you’re interested. I’m having great difficulty in not writing, “Meh” to everything, or banging my head against a wall. So, it’s probably best that I end this here and now. I shall seek comfort in the arms of Crabtree & Evelyn‘s vintage, discontinued Extrait de Mysore Sandalwood, and mourn.

DETAILS:

Cost & Availability: Sacred Wood is an eau de parfum that costs $245, £177, or €185 for a 1.7oz/50 ml bottle that comes in a black, wooden box. A cheaper “refill” option is available for $145, along with a travel set of 4 x 0.25 minis for $155. In the U.S.: you can purchase Sacred Wood in any of the 3 options from Luckyscent, the Kilian website, and department stores like Bergdorf Goodman or Saks. Outside the U.S.: you can purchase Sacred Wood from the International Kilian website for €185 for the proper bottle, €80 for the refill, €105 for the 4 travel sprays, or €65 for a single travel decant in a silver container. In the U.K., you can find it at Harvey Nichols in the regular bottle and the refill option for £177 or £70, respectively. In Paris, the Kilian line is carried at Printemps. In the UAE, you can find Sacred Wood at the Paris Gallery. Elsewhere, you can find the Kilian line at Harvey Nichols stores around the world, from Dubai to Hong Kong. As for other locations, By Kilian’s Facebook page lists the following retailers and/or locations: “HARVEY NICHOLS (UK, Honk Kong, UAE, Saudi Arabia, Koweit, Turkey), Le BON MARCHE (France), TSUM (Russia), ARTICOLI (Russia) and HOLT RENFREW (Canada).” Samples: Surrender to Chance sells Sacred Wood starting at $3.99 for a 1/2 ml vial.