doomsday_disco

A scent of endurance, of refusal to yield, of journeys undertaken without certainty of return. Dry leaves torn loose from their branches, wind-scorched grasses, weathered bark, soil turned dark by heavy raindrops, and distant woodsmoke. Jean-Baptiste-Camille Corot

Crimson musk, sacramental wine, iron oxide, saffron threads, stained linen, and frankincense. Oskar Kokoschka

The perfect accompaniment for our Halloween fragrances. A lovely autumnal layering scent.

In the vein (GET IT?) of Boo, Suck It, and Spooky, this is a gushing font of sweet bloody black cherry cream and crushed dried blackberries.

It is a big, airy room, the whole floor nearly, with windows that look all ways, and air and sunshine galore. It was nursery first and then playground and gymnasium, I should judge; for the windows are barred for little children, and there are rings and things in the walls. Radiant emptiness: a breezy citrus-touched aldehyde with a hint of sunny amber and dusty heliotrope, and the metallic tang of sun-warmed iron bars.

Every leaf tells a story.

A Vixen experiment with rose and champaca.

The Lovebirds wanted to be spooky this year, and we didn’t have the heart to tell them that no one will be fooled. Fuzzy foamed milk with peppermint cream, green currants, and sugared green apple.

A rare, complex, and challenging serpent, the Sang-de-Boeuf is born from fire, pressure, and chance and treasures masterpieces of beauty that reveal themselves under heat and duress. Its scales are a deep, passionate red draped in lacquered shadows: glazed black cherries, Kyphi smoke, plum wine, and red sandalwood.

Myrrh and Black Berries.

Narcissus, white-gold and intoxicating, unfurls laconic petals over a jeweled heart of ripe plum, dark and dripping with amethyst-bright labdanum. Red musk coils around it like a silken ribbon, smoldering and decadent.

Classic 90’s goth glamour: oman frankincense, champaca orchid, black narcissus, opoponax, honeyed black amber, wild plum, tuberose, 13-year aged patchouli root, blood musk, and smoky bourbon vanilla husk.

Incense Smoke & Winter Herbs.

A wolfish grey transformed by the moon’s cold silver gleam.

Graham Cracker & Buttercream.

Iridescent rainbow flakies and pink galaxy glitter floating in a bubblegum pink jelly.

Happy Halloween, all! Brian here — Doc Constantine to some — making my occasional guest appearance narrating BPAL scent copy. The Porcelain Bat came into our lives last year, the morning we staggered home from New York Comic Con. Samantha and I were running on fumes—suitcases still in the car, clothes sticky from the long drive, brains mushy from lack of sleep. All we wanted was showers, silence, and unconsciousness. Instead, at the crack of dawn, we encountered a fluffy ball of chaos. Sam was the first to notice. She was upstairs when she heard a shuffle in the bathroom. At first, she thought it was a mouse, but when she leaned closer, she froze. Pressed against the frosted glass of our under-sink cabinet was the very distinct, unmistakable silhouette of a bat. One wing splayed, tiny body smushed, like it had been waiting all week for us. Her scream shook the walls: “BRIAN! THERE’S A FUCKING BAT IN THE BATHROOM!” I was so exhausted that her words barely made sense. “I know all those words,” I muttered, “but not in that order.” By the time my brain caught up, Sam had cracked the door open. The bat had managed to get out from under the sink and was boinging around the bathroom like a rubber Halloween toy brought to life. It zipped around the bathroom, frantic, wings flicking against tile and towel racks. For a creature that small, it felt huge—its wingspan may have been a mere handful of inches, but to us, shrieking bat-startled banshees, it was a twenty-foot beast. Everyone’s goth AF until a bat is flying straight at your face in your own house. Sam called every bat rescue service in Delco and all neighboring counties, but no one could give us an assist until at least ten hours later. We didn’t have that kind of time, not with the bathroom locked down and our bladders on strike. So we started preparing. I pulled on every piece of protective gear I owned: chainsaw helmet, gloves, goggles. If I could’ve found hockey pads, I would’ve worn those, too. Sam looked me over and frowned. “BUT YOUR NECK ISN’T COVERED!” I glared at her. “Don’t.” “WHAT IF IT’S A VAMPIRE BAT?” The joke is funny in hindsight, but in that moment I wasn’t laughing. I peeked through the old-fashioned keyhole, heart hammering, but saw nothing. Was it perched on the towels? Hanging from the door? Clinging to the ceiling like some tiny gargoyle? There was no way to know. So finally I muttered, “Fuck it,” shoved open the door, and went in with a plastic storage bin and a scrap of cardboard. Luck was on our side, and the little guy had ended up in the bathtub. The porcelain sides were too slick for him to climb: a tiny prisoner in the big white basin. Carefully, gently, we lowered the bin over him. He rustled his wings but didn’t fight. We slid the cardboard underneath, lifted him up, and carried him outside. Out on the porch, we set the box (opened, so he could make his way out on his terms) on a shady table and let him rest. Our tiny intruder, the Porcelain Bat, had survived his ordeal. And so had we. The sweet little guardian of our bathroom sink. The warm, unsettling thrum of musky fur and leathery wings smushed against frosted orris root and vanilla plaster dust.

Vanilla and Tobacco Flower.

Boldog ujevet! Bubblegum musk, fermented plum, and strawberry brandy in a white candyfloss-dusted fairy ring of ruby-capped mushrooms and marshmallow cream.

Every leaf tells a story.

A scent inspired by the debris left over from frantic last-minute costuming sessions. Torn scraps of velvety black voodoo lily mingled with dried rose petals and a flash of red peppercorn.

Dead Leaves and Mulling Spices.

Pumpkin candyfloss with strawberry cream and red currant.

Yipe! Atmo is similar to the perfume oil -- bold black cherry at first that gives way to the cream and dried (non-juicy!) blackberry note. Of course, the cherry sticks around longer with the atmo than it does in the perfume, but the end result is the same with that dried blackberry-infused cream with just a hint of cherry by the end of the day. As a cherry ho that used up all of her decant of the perfume oil years ago, I'm really glad I have a bottle of this, and I am kicking myself for missing out on the Yipe! Hair Gloss that was a happy accident that sold on Etsy. If you're a fan of the Lab's black cherry note, you need this one in your life!

I thought maybe I hit a book scent saturation point, especially when it comes to leathery book scents, but this is the best one of those I've smelled in a really long time. I get strong, yet smooth, well-worn leather, the warmth of the macadamia nuts, and the teak, which isn't too sharp on me in this and which makes the scent more sophisticated. I think it may be the same teak found in Carved Wooden Bawdy House. I am not getting a ton of smoke from this, and for that, I am glad, as I don't always jive with the Lab's smoke notes. I also am not getting much beeswax from this, even though I love that note, although I wouldn't be surprised if it were helping to further smooth things over and sweeten things up in the background. I mostly just got a decant of this because of its popularity at Dragon Con, but this is right up there with Picture Books in Winter and Jólabókaflóð as far as warm, sweet leathery book scents go. I'm going to have to spend some more time with my decant, but I'm definitely debating a bottle. This is one of the standouts from this year's Weenie collection.