REVIEW: 'M/MINK' by Byredo

I call my miniature schnauzer 'The Mink'.  She's a lovely gunmetal grey colour.  Clipping rather than stripping has removed all the coarseness from her coat so she's soft, velvety and very cuddly.  Regular bathing means that she rarely exudes that 'doggy' smell.

Byredo's M/MINK is an animal of an entirely different nature.

As I first inhaled this bizarre exercise in scent-as-art, an old Depeche Mode lyric popped into my head.  From 1986's Stripped: "You're breathing in fumes I taste when we kiss." M/MINK is the thick, smoggy air above a futuristic cityscape, all burning oil drums,  crumbling zombies and scuttling rodents.

M/MINK is a mechanical animal.  Commissioned by Paris-based art and design duo M/M (Mathias Augustyniak and Michael Amzalag), the original brief was a block of calligrapher's ink.  And there's certainly a dense, inky darkness.  But there's also a shrill metallic scrape in the the opening.  Then the low call of a dirty animal in distress. It's PETA's worst nightmare as scent.

And it's brilliant.

The expectations of bloggers and reviewers are so often dashed by high-concept scents. It's the major criticism levelled at Etat Libre d'Orange.  Great idea - decidedly ordinary fragrance.  Byredo's own Fantastic Man, created in association with the Dutch style magazine is a case in point.  Well, M/MINK is a rat right up your drainpipe.  You couldn't ask for more creativity and originality.  Whether or not it's a wearable fragrance is another matter entirely.

I need a reassuring cuddle from my dog.

          [By ANDREW]

ANGER MANAGEMENT

Deep breaths, deep breaths, deep breaths...

There are many things in this world to get angry about.  Poverty, hunger, injustice etc, etc, etc.  But I just tested a fragrance that made my blood boil in a way that a photograph of a maltreated donkey in Spain has never quite managed.

A major, major release.  A huge campaign - print and TV.  A pretty good, seductive campaign.  Every stupid man from Newcastle to New Jersey will be buying this scent.

They would do far better to buy a can of Lynx.  Any of the trashy varieties.  They're all far superior to this cruel, ridiculous joke.  This scent embodies everything that's wrong with the fragrance industry today.  It's nasty, cynical and ultimately pointless.  It's an insulting afterthought to the marketing.

OK - I know, I know...  I'm off to get a life.

           [By ANDREW]

REVIEW: 'Un Jardin Sur le Toit' by Hermès

Oh dear...  My reverence for Mr Jean Claude Ellena has been seriously shaken by his latest creation for Hermès - Un Jardin Sur le Toit.

I'll happily admit to being a JCE fanboy.  It's not that I believe he can do no wrong.  I just find myself loving or at the very least appreciating all of his work.  His artistry.  His light, joyful touch.  His whispered evocation of mood or geography.

Either he's taken his eye off the ball or the commercial imperatives of Hermès have focus-grouped him into submission on this one.  Ellena's scents are often deceptively simple - just when you think you've understood the road they're on, they swerve into a different territory and you realise there was a whole lot more to the journey all along.  I'm afraid Un Jardin Sur le Toit is just simple.

It opens with an almost offending smack of fake apples - the kind of apple that flavours cheap confectionery.  The kind of scent that you know should be apple, but isn't at all.  As that slowly exits, the rose takes over.  Not a pretty, dew-soaked or photorealistic rose but a nanna's handwash tea rose.

And that's about it.  No sign of the promised earthiness.  No Ellena subtlety that I could find.  And I tried.  It dries down to an almost-pleasant, vegetal musk but remains too contaminated by that horrid rose to enjoy.

Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear...

          [By ANDREW]

REVIEW: 'Nuit de Tubereuse' by L'Artisan Parfumeur

My fragrance-loving friend Darren recently discovered the delights of Robert Piguet's Fracas and told me excitedly that he was going to buy a bottle without delay.  The exchange went something like this:
Me:  "It's gorgeous, isn't it?  But you realise it's considered one of those feminines that a man just can't wear?"
Darren:  "I'm wearing Chanel No. 5 today."
Me:  "Fair enough."

I thought about my own tuberose struggle.  I have a beautiful little black and gold compact of Fracas solid perfume and whenever I slip it from its veleveteen pouch to look at, I'm powerless to prevent myself from anointing my wrists and neck with its amazing, juicy, fleshy, loud floral joyfulness.  It's that old debate again...  I certainly subscribe to the school of "if you love it, wear it" when it comes to the battle between masculinity and femininity in scent, but there's something so immediately, so self-consciously feminine in tuberose scents and in Fracas in particular that it simply roars "WOMAN" - like a top-heavy Russ Meyer vixen in twin-set and pearls.

So I was particularly excited when I read that Bertrand Duchaufour's Nuit de Tubereuse for L'Artisan Parfumeur might actually be that most elusive of scents - a tuberose-led creation that really has some masculine leanings.  And it almost is...

I sniffed it, I loved it and I had to have it.  The tuberose is right there, not hidden behind its other facets of subtle tropical fruitiness and dusky, smokiness, but it doesn't drip and ooze its feminine nectar in the vein of Fracas, Carnal Flower et al.

It is indeed tuberose behind the veil of night.  There's some dry, dusty earth, some woods, the light spice of cardamom.  It's tuberose in a smart, well cut grey suit.  I wear it often.

          [By ANDREW]

(Photograph features the wonderful Californian drag star Tammie Brown.)

REVIEW: 'Jules' by Christian Dior

I only became aware of this wonderful old 'powerhouse' scent fairly recently.  It was launched in 1980, clearly fell out of favour and was discontinued  - then reformulated and repackaged and became available in limited supply.

Jules (in its original formulation) is a voice that shouts loudly in the masculine vs. feminine scent debate.  It's from an age when men were supposedly men and their fragrances could unabashedly broadcast that fact.  It's from a time before reedy, weedy, watery, soapy, 'sporty' scents found their way into the male bathroom cabinet and consciousness.

In character, Jules is not dissimilar to Equipage by Hermès.  It shares that rich woody and leathery heartiness; that poised formality and politeness vs. devil-may-care strength and brutality.

But Jules dares to take a step further.  It's even darker and richer.  It's animalic in the best possible way - not overly 'skanky' but sleek and powerful, like a big cat with its muscles rippling just below a shimmering pelt.  It's warm with life; tough and confident.  It purrs.

And yes, it has great sillage and lasting power - a little goes a long way and the initial crack of the whip settles handsomely into a second skin of decidedly refined yet feral masculinity.

Mark Jacob's Bang was roundly panned when it appeared last year, criticised for its woody, peppery simplicity.  But I was pleased that a modern, mainstream men's release was in some small way harking back to those big, butch scents of old - those tough masculines such as Jules, the likes of which I doubt will grace department store counters again.

          [By ANDREW]

Heresy

One still sees young ladies scuttling around the perfume halls of Liberty or Selfridges with Perfumes: The Guide propped open in one hand, the other wrist clutched to nose, frowning, smiling, or mentally justifying a £200 purchase.  Luca Turin, the enormously gifted Emperor of Scent, along with his default Empress, have done more for fragrance appreciation in recent years than any writer, blogger or even perfumer could.

Turin's humour, good taste and wonderfully imperious grandstanding not only make for an enormously entertaining read, his expertise and insights are incredibly educational.  Actually, never mind his imperious dictates, Turin has seemingly been placed at the head of the Church of scent appreciation.  His words are gospel.

So, it is with trepidation that anybody disagrees, especially when his five star reviews are so illuminating, explaining the greatness of certain scents in such a beautiful, artful manner or introducing the enthusiast to some unexperienced wonder (like Parfum de Nicolaï's amazing New York).  But on one particular review I must disagree, trepidatiously but wholeheartedly.

Turin gives Estée Lauder's Beyond Paradise Men five stars.  He says that it "works like music more than fragrance... All other masculines (and most feminines) seem loud, course and bare by comparison."  WHAT?

I may have nowhere near the skill and experience of Monsieur Turin but are we really smelling the same scent here?!  Beyond Paradise Men is simply awful.  It's one of those bog-standard aquatic monstrosities, cynical and bland, designed to be as inoffensive to sheep-minded consumers as possible.  It's so basic and boring: the best I can say about it is the bottle's OK and that the ghastly melon / cucumber accord doesn't shout as loudly as it might.

Perhaps I shan't go to scent heaven, or indeed beyond perfume paradise for saying so, but Turin demeans the rest of his wonderful writing and analyses with this bizarre hyperbole.

Now I'm off to say five Hail Jickys and two L'Air du Temps, just in case.

          [By ANDREW]

The Emperor's New (Old) Pebbles - Armani Privé

Hot on the heels of JCE's Hermesscences range, big old Giorgio presented some supposedly special scents in lavish packaging (hard wood refillable bottles and resin pebble stoppers) that could possibly apologise for the monstrous (but monstrously popular) Acqua di Giò and all that Beyoncé-fronted stuff.

Of course, that was ages ago and the range has swelled considerably since the first four offerings appeared in late '04.  But I've only just lived with enough of them for long enough to form an opinion...

Pierre de Lune could and should be so much better.  It's taught me that a good, whopping dose of iris isn't enough to guarantee quality.  Violets and a strangely medicinal dry-down make this a competent mainstream rather than a £165 per 50ml refined delight.  Shame.

I own Ambre Soie - it was a generous gift.  It certainly packs a punch.  All the requisite oriental notes are assembled beautifully - ginger, clove, cinnamon, patchouli - but it's bitter rather than sweet.  It has a strange MSG quality; an aftertaste, if you will.  It's like Lady Gaga - looks good but it's not really goodlooking.

The weird thing about Cuir Amethyste is that it actually smells purple.  That's a nice, little psychological trick.  Violets, crushed blackcurrants and unworn suede slingbacks.  It's very good.

But the crown remains with Bois d'Encens.  Deep, dark, endangered woods slaughtered for your delectation on the smoke-obscured altar of high fashion.  Delicious.  I love incense fragrances but I have absolutely no understanding of Catholic excess.  I've not so much as fingered as a cassock.  That's probably why I'm able to enjoy them

There are now loads more in the Armani Privé range to explore, I know.  And they're all supposed to be great fragrances because they're expensive.  Armani brought a tasteful understatement to Italian fashion and I suppose these scent offerings are there to do the same for his glitzy fragrance range.  But remember that this was the culture that gave us both Florence and Donatella Versace.  Beauty is so often a matter of taste.

          [By ANDREW]