strangemusic

Evanescent throw. Sweet smoke of incense, candied flower petals, womanly, sexual, not coy. Alternately crimson and purple, stars wound about and between. Hints of rich wine. Wet: I'm put in mind of a dessert I ate, long and long ago-- all I can remember of it is that chocolate was involved, and that the taste was so rich that I could not finish it. The taste of Gypsy Queen is more purplish than scarlet, with the smoky layer over the sugary florals, wine notes off-stage, round dollops of something orangey and smooth in the middle, like good truffles. Dry: More orange than royal, more incense than floral, dimmed stars and smoke. Candied crumbs in the dish, pieces of peel and drifts of crystal violets. Sadly, the fortune she told for me was of separation.

A glowing red and flickering scent: warm, lurid, seductive. I smell an astringent quality, one that's very forward. Not spicy, but warm, like accessible flame-- bright, nearly incandescent, throwing off plenty of sparks... this one's ready to ignite. On me, this is a warm, aromatic skin smell when wet, top notes of ozone and something vaguely floral I can't quite identify. On drydown-- OMG THIS SMELLS LIKE LIQUID FIRE. Golden, flaring, leaping spirit of flame embodied in liquid perfume form. Very live, a bit animalian, seriously aldehyde. On the second test, the same result... but at the very, very end, one clear, glowing line of sweet, pure floral loveliness. C&P from my LJ with a small edit/addition

This one doesn't exactly sit well with my nose-- it went straight up my right nostril and sat in the most inconvenient spot. Imagine the sensation you'd have, were someone picking your nose, and you'll have the best description I can give of the nasal effect. Another pale, withdrawn scent-- fitting enough, for these outer planets. As I inhale, the nasal equivalent of blancmange; then fruits-- a little strawberry, a bit of syrupy fruit cocktail, hefty doses of empty, lifeless, sub-zero ozone. Wet: broad swathes of that ozone, splayed over fruity syrup... and a great deal less of that non-consensual nose picking feeling. The scent spins counterclockwise, lazily and with not much interest in its surroundings... definitely no throw. It's as though this scent did not exist-- I have to put my nose right up to it in order to smell what's going on. I swear, this is the Michael Knight* of BPAL scents. Dry: at first, ozone and sweet water; then, ozone and hair spray. Aqua-Net™ hair spray. Put me right back in the girls' bathroom at my junior high, watching the girls spray their claws in place with the entirety of those wee stubby purse-sized cans of EXTRA HOLD Aqua-Net. * ...of Knight Rider fame, o' course C&P from my LJ

In the bottle: a slight pause, then a light pass of bracing, minty freshness, something like spearmint mixed with camphor... the effect is cold, distant, and tinged a hard, unforgiving blue. Electric blue. Underneath, the merest idea of muskiness, microns' worth; the mint quality is deepening, more like wintergreen, or perhaps... eucalyptus? Yes, I think this is eucalyptus. On my skin: almost nothing for nearly ten seconds after application, then clear, clean, vitrine mints, more than one-- a gentle mint, and the stronger eucalyptus, but faint, as though wafted over a great, open distance. Delicate nano-bursts of sheerest musk, or water, with a fruity edge, perhaps? The more this dries, the more attractive this smells; a film of dried lemon zest intensifies the rare frigidity of this oil. At the very end, like slightly sweetened mint with whiffs of citrus. I can't get over how light a scent this happens to be, like chiffon. C&P from me LJ, tra la

Lab description: A celebration of one of the first commercially produced perfumes of America's Old West. A rugged, warm blend of vanilla, balsam and sassafras layered over Virginia cedar. Clear and a little viscous, I smelled hot, dry dust, vanilla, a hint of sweet oranges?, and tobacco... slapped me back two-plus decades to my Grandma Marie's porch, her spit bottle, and her ever-present pack of Red Man chewing tobacco. Took me a while to come back to the present day... and imagine my shock when I looked up the description (on break at work) to find no tobacco in this one at all, or citrus. However, balsam does have a sweet, fresh, and earthy odor; some say it's close to vanilla. Knowing this, I'm not surprised I got orange peel/tobacco... and the tobacco and sweet vanilla are what came out first when I tested this. Not one hint of cedar came through, which, if it had, could have given this scent a base instead of all the swirling vanilla/balsam. Unless that dusty... oh, wait, that is the cedar. I'm not sure how to describe it, exactly... it's sort of sliding/pushing against the vanilla and balsam, mixing and moshing with it, blending but pushing it away. Dry: Just before the last bit of wet oil dried, the sassafras rushed up, all sweaty and "Am I late? Have we started yet OMG YOU STARTED WITHOUT ME" and POW. Sassafras scooped up the vanilla, scooped up the balsam, jiggled 'em around a bit and now I smell like nothing so much as a fresh, home-brewed root beer. I love root beer! But I do not wish to smell like root beer. Sadness and pouting!

...this smells traditionally perfume-y, (highly reminiscent of Elizabeth Arden's Red Door, as a matter of fact) but so much richer, haughtier, imperious. This is what perfume wants to be when it grows up-- it wants to smell like this and be dabbed on Empresses. I would wear this to any Serious Power Business Function and be utterly confident of knocking the suits dead; I'd wear it on a date and know that my hapless victim charming companion wouldn't be able to shake the thought of me all next day. Rich? Yes. Gilded? Hell yes-- bright, orangey-gold, but not heavy-- this is the most delicate filigree possible from Faberge's workshop. The bergamot and tangerine don't give foodiness, but a cushiony, gilt-edged path for the florals to emerge and shine; they take center stage (in fact, I think that top note is lily of the valley; the rose and jasmine swirl around it, more rose than jasmine), while the musk hits the back of the nose. Amber's the throne upon which everything sits, stabilizing the wilder excesses of the rose, jasmine, and lily of the valley, while a mildly sour tang at the back of the throat just brings this all together-- not 'the worm at the heart', but the smack of the imperial hand. Keeps the attention where it ought to be. In essence: Holy jeezum I love Moscow. 5ml bottle fo sho.

Envelop yourself in the soft, sensual embrace of gentle sandalwood warmed by cocoa vanilla and a veil of deep myrrh. This is the first "foody" scent I have ever tested in my life, aside from smelling like food I've actually prepared. I am very, very dubious about this. Upon uncapping, I get a snootful of the darkest, highest quality bittersweet chocolate on top, with something lightly sour/sweet underneath it... the 'taste' is of too much sugar, or too much of two differing kinds of sweetness, such that one's tongue becomes flat and sour-tasting. Only palate cleansing and water can help this. Wet: Sharply cocoa for about fifteen minutes, then the 'too-much' rushes up to horn in. Dry: Chocolate Play-Doh. Nay, I say. Nay. Originally posted to my LiveJournal 22 May 2006. From the description, I can now guess that the 'too-much' effect was generated by the myrrh/vanilla mixture, with heavy emphasis on the myrrh. I'd actually liked that sharp chocolate (reminded me of 70% dark choc), and could have gone with this scent, at least the imp, had the chocolate lasted longer.

Another I'd had some curiosity about. In the bottle, insanity. Seriously. This is the reek of non compos mentis-- fitting, since, well, Mad Hatter. I get needles and pins poking the insides of my nostrils, a sort of tea-ish smell, and something just wrong. Wet: I am overwhelmed by mint. Pennyroyal amps like a mofo. When I'm not smelling pennyroyal (and let me add that, all the while, Nirvana's "Pennyroyal Tea" is playing in my head), I'm smelling a funkywrongomg mix of fucked-up mess. Tea smell, sachet, just... WRONG. Dry: This? This is Jonathan Teatime's aftershave cologne. I want no part of it. Begone, Mad Hatter! Originally posted to my LiveJournal 22 May 2006

In the bottle: Fresh, fruity bubble gum. Something peppery and dusty is underneath that chewy lump of gum, though. Wet: Bulbous, juicy, almost liquid. That lotus was 'way back in a hidden bend of the river, popping its gum and talking to the demons while in class. The peppery note is almost as strong as the lotus, and there's a bit of dustiness as well. I'm not getting the amber at all. Pretty good throw on this one, especially in the first thirty minutes... a bit of a siren. I'd want to approach this just to find out what it was, even though my escape were not assured. Dry: The bubble-gummy juiciness of the lotus has died down, a bit, and diminished to something that is kind of... worrying. Over the next few hours, the scent goes back and forth between a less intense form of the initial impressions and... oh gods, no. Nonononono, no! Please, not scented toilet paper! PLEASE! A few hours later: The verdict is in... scented toilet paper. As I have no wish to smell like this, even for the slightest moment, this one's gotta go. Damn. Originally posted to my LiveJournal 22 May 2006.

This is one I'd wanted to try, but hadn't put in my actual order-- so I was very, very excited to see it was one of my frimps. And this one smelled ... off, but in a good way. There's something spiky and sharp in this, buoyed by a delicious, dim, quite pale lavender-coloured (yes, coloured) odor... no, wait. The sharp smell and the quite pale lavender-coloured smell are at war with each other. Also a very slight sourness, that of something shut up. Wet: Mmmmmmmm...... Oh, yummy. The QPLC odor turns to this glorious floral delight, threaded with a clear brightness and still fending off the sharp edge of what I could now figure as lime. Charming yet corrupted? Oh yes. The day I tried this, I hadn't looked at the description-- in fact, I couldn't guess the floral note at all, but I was entranced. Dry: Apparently, lilac does good things on me, especially when supported by musk. The two together are so very complementary-- the musk sustains the lilac and prevents it from getting too sweet, yet enhances its throw (not so much as to be overpowering, though... that wouldn't be gentlemanly at all, would it?) The scents play off each other, lime and musk, citron and lilac, lilac and lime, citron and musk... the noble impulses fending off The Beast and vice versa, no one quite managing to succeed. I only wish it lasted longer, but I'd have no trouble at all re-applying this during the day. Big bottle of this... Originally posted to my LiveJournal 22 May 2006; slightly edited. I wear this when I want to feel deliciously, corruptedly, Machiavellian and butch-ly... it's the war between lilac and lime that make this scent, for me. Hideous, soulless core, indeed.

This one is really, really well blended. The following is what I got both on uncapping the bottle, and wet on my wrists: Spice. Flowers. The heat of the souk after midday. Fruit-- oranges? Winds from the desert. Seriously, that's what went through my mind. Dry, I have more spice-- probably from the carnation, a sweetness from what's probably the cassia, and just an overwhelming warmth. And then-- whoa! I've had this on for about thirty minutes, and the throw's just !popped!, with an indefinable undercurrent of something. It's a good something, and I'll bet it's the musk warming and mixing with the spices-- smells like cinnamon bark, nutmeg, a hint of clove. Maybe a very, very slight hint of... hmmm... I want to say, dried ginger, and the near-undefinable taste of a good, spicy, New Zealand Gala apple. The musk is buoying them up, without being overpowering. Exotic, inviting. After an hour: my skin likes this one. There's a lingering, spicy, melange of warmth, with a layer of sweetness. I'll bet this one would !pop! out again were I exerting myself by dancing, or other joyous activity... I'd totally wear this one whilst gallivanting. It'd also, I'm thinking, be a good room scent. Originally posted to my LiveJournal 16 May 2006.

What do these-- blush roses, tea roses, fresh roses, a florist's rose cooler, garden roses under the hot sun, half-blown roses, well-dried roses, old roses, dewy roses, roses after rain, heirloom roses, and the aforementioned roses of the description-- have in common? The inside of this bottle. When I uncapped it to take a sniff, I was damn near blown away by all of the roses vying for my attention. They're unruly, demanding, rampant, sweet-- I could 'taste' them at the middle and back of my nasal passage, as well as the middle-third hollow of my tongue-- and slightly astringent to the nose, with a sharp freshness and vitality I attribute to that "itty bitty bit of green grass." Wet: Oh my oh my. It's difficult to pick out any one note, but the 'moister', dewier roses are dominating, with a hell of a throw. The wind today sent killer wafts of rich scent to my nose... and my hands were nowhere near my face. Dry, the more mature roses come out to play, with a slightly spicy undertone; the smell is sweeter now, and grows even more so, taking on the wine note over the next five hours even as the throw diminishes. What I was left with at the end is something I can only describe as a secret rose, hidden at the far reaches of the garden, worth seeking out at the close of the day. Very sensual... as though, upon kissing one's beloved between her breasts, one caught a tendril of the perfume she'd dabbed there hours before. The above was originally posted to my LiveJournal on 16 May 2006. After more than a month, all I can say is this: the more I wear Two, Five & Seven, the more I adore it. I get a slightly different intensity from each of the varied roses each time, yet a consistent sweet, winy, intimate finish. Buying a 5ml of this on description alone was one of the best impulse purchases of my life.