gentle-twig

I ordered this thinking it might be all about the rose given the painting and then way rose seems to sit between peony and carnation in the center of the spectrum of florals listed in this blend. It’s not! Instead it’s all about the scarlet silk, musk, and carnation. And I’m not mad about it. The scarlet silk seems to my amateur nose be a combination of tart, jewel-toned fruits and a subtle dose of aldehydes. I’m reminded most of the bright salted plum of Koi no Yatsufuji from this year’s lupers, but I wouldn’t be surprised if red currant or pomegranate is involved here instead of or in addition to plum. Vision is slightly tarter and lacking any salt, but both share an addictive brightness that indeed suggests the luster of silk. I wore this to an early Christmas party last night and you could not TELL me I wasn’t a red bulb ornament reflecting the festive cheer the holiday gathering, mama! The scarlet silk is the most dominant note in the early stages of the scent, up to about the second hour. I lose it after that but it does return intermittently. The first other notes to appear are the clove and oakmoss, forging a kind of dense and velvety earthy tangle that offsets the smooth luster of the silk without ever coming close to overtaking it. Then the more important combination of skin musk and carnation appears. This is my first encounter with the lab’s skin musk. Here it has an airy quality that I’ve experienced with red musk (as in Kabuki) and is just doing exactly what I like musk to do, buoying the more opaque silk accord aloft. The carnation is easy to differentiate from the clove, softer with a slight melancholic coolness. Vision lasts FOREVER and gradually the soft carnation musk overtakes the shining silk accord. The “cream” part of “carnation cream” also makes itself known. There is a creamy quality to this floral musk that I don’t get in another skin musk, Neutral (I know I said I didn’t know skin musk! And I didn’t until I tested this frimp that came with Vision so I wasn’t lying, scout’s honor). But one could almost think the musk just had a slight creamy facet. The spiciness of the clove and carnation along with the cream and, finally, the pink rose petals does pull this into an almost gourmand place (think Middle Eastern or South Asian spiced rosewater dessert), but the subtle coolness of the carnation and oakmoss along with the peculiar dry airiness of the musk keeps this from going too gourmand for me. And every once in a while you can still sense that wonderful non-gourmand fruit sheen of the silk note. I don’t get neroli now that the scent has settled, although fresh out of the mailbox it was the first thing I smelled. It may be melding with the silk accord for me now. And the oakmoss and the clove fade from view pretty quickly, but I think they help to give this blend a smoldering quality that might not be obvious from the rest of this review. Complex, smoldering, beckoning. Spicy, tart, and airy. Eternal longevity and high throw. Not the winter rose I thought it would be, but I can’t stop wearing it this winter (And I bet it will layer great with any rose blend I do eventually spring for).

Starts out with gourmand peach and shrill white musk. The peach feels baked and lightly spiced, perhaps with a bit of vanilla. I am learning not to like white musk but here it is evocative, lending fae a kind of spectral otherness. I think the heliotrope is helping out. Together they are like a veil over the humdrum familiar peach, making it sparkling and strange. Next I get bergamot, which feels quite bitter in comparison with the other notes. A welcome respite for this sweetness-averse forumite. Again, I think the hazy shroud of musk and heliotrope is lending some special magic, even if it’s not necessarily a combination of notes I’m drawn to. The fruits feel veiled, frosted, otherworldly. I don’t get any oakmoss and I miss it ! Fae could be gorgeous on the right person, but it doesn’t feel very me. I could actually see it being a wonderful bridal scent LOL. But I want something more down to earth. The bitterness of bergamot reins in the sweetness but i just crave a little more gravity. I wonder if imp is my peach. I should also note that this is a very BPAL scent. There is something going on here that reminds me of lots of other things I have smelled from the lab, especially when I was new to BPAL and just sniffing around at random. There’s almost a quiet accord in here that reads as BPAL package out of the mail.

Opens with what reads to me as chamomile and candied citron—it’s almost like wearing the old luper Lenus Mars while baking my annual Christmas Stollen. The vanilla must be at play in this impressions The sweetness subsides as the blend gets brighter and spicier, but in a way that white pepper and ginger are spicy. Not warm and cozy but bracing. And always there is an herbal quality that reminds me of chamomile or, increasingly, grass. Then the whole thing is overtaken by a soapy white musk (Lenus Mars indeed). Honey begins to creep out., along with milk. Then it’s just a static milk and honey scent in me. I never get tea until about an hour in and then just a whisper. Interesting skin chemistry catastrophe my dears.

In quick succession: plum, orchid, musk, and jasmine. pale, crisp, green. The plum is less juicy than other BLAL scents, almost unripe. Gradually the heady daffodil emerges but then disappears all too quickly. I agree that the floral and fruity aspects of this scent are difficult to parse and I think it’s because of the orchid—a note I’m not too familiar with but something is definitely bridging the stiff plum and hazy florals. Sadly I can’t shake the association with women’s shampoo. I expected something feminine but I don’t think I can really rock this. As it warms up the plum becomes a juicier, brighter more familiar take on the note. After half an hour it is much more wearable for me but still not what I was hoping for. It’s a lovely, slightly green plum supported by a subtle cloud of florals and musk. But it’s not even my favorite plum fragrance out of this round of samples (that would be Drider Crossing Guard), nor is it my favorite Japanese-inspired sample (Aizen-Myoo). So it will be a pass for me.

This is a really gorgeous interpretation of such a silly (yet touching) inspiration. It opens with a lean and gleaming plum. I agree with others who are suggesting there might be sandalwood in here. It’s not that I get sandalwood specifically, but there is something making this very juicy opening feel somehow beautifully austere. The tea, fig, and nutmeg emerge later and are a little hard to tease apart for me. I’m not getting the lab’s malty sweet black tea note, despite the scent description. Again I think others are correct in identifying the tea as white, and there is both an earthiness an astringency to it that helps meld and lift the scent. At times it borders on too astringent for me. But generally this tea-fig-nutmeg bouquet is warmer, broader, gentler, and earthier than the opening. Not at all gourmand despite the edible components. The plum sticks around but is very much a supporting player to these warmer, earthier notes. I don’t think I get the pepper, oddly, unless it is contributing to the “gleaming” quality of the opening. The experience is really like seeing a Drider’s legs gleaming in the darkness, only to have her emerge into the light and see a friend. I’m not sure if I will upgrade to a FB of this, but I will keep my sample and see how it grows on me. It’s very very beautiful and I adore the opening; the earthier later phase is just not quite something I see as very “me,” and that irritating astringency may just be a total dealbreaker, but I may fall in love with it yet.

Opens with soft, almost powdery fig, with something brighter and juicier, accompanied by a woody note that is oddly suggesting peanut butter to my nose. That’s what I get in the first phase of this, and it doesn’t really work for me at all. The peanut butter wood slowly goes more chocolatey and I can at least see what it’s going for, but there is still a kind of split quality with a bright juicy note that won’t meld with the rest of the scent for me. The brightness is similar to the wine note in Nosferatu, and indeed the whole smell feels like Nosferatu gone a little awry. After about 10 minutes I finally see what this is going for, and it is indeed sinister! A fig darkened by earthy notes, with that bright juicy top note now faded to a subtly threatening sheen. I am reminded of the dark plum and bright almost metallic abalone shimmer of the beautiful Koi No Yatsufuji from this year’s lupers, but with an all-in-all more botanical vibe. This phase is wonderfully evocative, but not necessarily something I would choose to wear. In fact, I think I would like Strangler Fig much better as an atmosphere spray. Eventually, the fig itself comes to dominate the scent—surprising, given its gentle nature. Surprised but not upset by the lack of greenness here—not sure if that’s because of my nose or skin or the age of the imp.

From an aged imp: Opens with a dew note reminiscent of the lab’s rain note in The Storm (not a great reference point, but the only thing comparable in my collection)—I’ve always been puzzled by this note, which doesn’t really smell watery to me at all but instead vaguely fruity and ozonic. It dissipates quickly and I’m left with verbena, ginger, and amber. The verbena is much softer than an actual citrus note might be, with a geranium nuance. The ginger is not in your face, but heightens the brightness of the verbena. There might be some grass in there, too, disguised among the bright ginger and somewhat green verbena. And this is all a top a soft, golden amber. Sadly, I’m not getting sage. The overall composition reminds me a lot of Brisingamen, both are big ambers paired with unexpected botanical accords. Mag Mell is broad, hazy, and bright, where Brisingamen is more defined, round, and slightly bitter. This is not for me, but more intriguing than I had imagined. The rarest of things, an amber “freshie.”

From an old frimp— Opens with dry, dark chocolate and a tinge of heady florals. The florals are not to my taste but they dissipate within the first hour and I enjoy the chocolate despite not being a fan of gourmands typically. Tezcatlipoca soon develops a smoky edge, thanks to the incense and leather. I can sense all the notes here but they don’t stick out distinctively at first in my skin. They are all supporting players to the chocolate, giving it a dusty, smoky, earthy quality. Gradually patchouli replaces chocolate as the main player but the vibe is the same. I never would have sought this one out, but I don’t dislike it as much as I thought I would. The lab’s leather notes are usually a miss for me, but the leather here fits pretty seamlessly among the other notes. I won’t be buying a bottle but I’m glad to have tried something to put me at ease with regard to a couple of profiles I usually avoid. For others, I imagine the frank earthiness of this could be a turn off. There is something reminiscent of stale cigarette smoke going on here. I don’t mind these parts of the scent but be warned that it is probably darker, huskier, dirtier than you might be anticipating.

A very smooth and round amber and apple blossom scent. Apple notes can be rough for me, but this one is nice. Nice is really the operative word here all around. The ambers are difficult to pick apart. Definitely sweet and bright ambers, not a lot of labdanum in these. I can detect the Myrtle and carnation if I really try, but they are very much supporting players, suggesting a barely there but very welcome (to me) bitter/herbal/spicy apple skin when paired w the apple blossom and those big globular ambers. If those notes were amped up, or if the ambers were more labdanum-forward, think it could have been an unexpected hit! As it is, it’s not really for me. Too sweet and smooth. But I am charmed by its autumnal romance. And impressed that an apple fragrance can smell this refined!

When I first got this, the pine was a lot for me. I wasn’t sure how to feel. Almost two years later, it has aged wonderfully. Warm, structured, evocative of the pine groves of my youth in the Midwest. There is enough overlap in the scent of these ingredients that it has a kind of kaleidoscopic effect, you might mistake the frankincense for pine or beeswax before becoming aware of the genuine article. A very grounding and comforting wear without being boring or indolent. Halfway between a pottery barn candle and a comme des garçons perfume in the best way.

It’s really making me laugh that this is getting 2 reviews 10 minutes apart on this day. My imp is ancient so it’s not even because the lab is frimping this like crazy. There’s something in the air. Anyway: Kabuki opens with (in quick succession) joyous cherries and blossoms, something waxy — sandalwood? — and what must be anise but to me is taking the blend in a more solemn herbal/woody direction than to the candy store. A gentle, airy musk soon becomes the star, opening the scent up without losing the bittersweet aspects of anise and cherry. At this point the scent is no longer woody at all, but there is still a kind of herbal brightness hiding deep in this scent. I like it but something about it just screams head shop to me in a way that would really limit its wearability for me. This reminds me a lot of Kyoto, which I also recently sampled. I was initially going to say that Kabuki was a kind of grown up Kyoto, but because of the head shop quality here they both end up feel a little bit teenage to me, just different kinds of teenagers. I’m glad to be wearing this because I’ve never smelled the lab’s red musk note. I think it is contributing to the head shop (and even, dare I say, urinal cake) vibes, but I also enjoy it. It’s a light musk without being dryer sheets or straight galaxolide. I think I could really love it in a different blend, it’s really the combination of musk and bittersweet gourmand notes that is making this a slight miss for me.

This one seems to be pretty polarizing. Luckily, I am in the camp of admirers. This was my first BPAL bottle (or at least among the bottles in my first rider) a decade ago smdh one of my first perfumes of any kind. It’s so special to me, but in part because it’s so special period. It’s pretty linear on me, just a perfectly balanced mix of wine (bright, reminiscent of red currants), herbs (basil is definitely in the mix), and mossy earth. Additionally, there is the pervasive suggestion of dust, maybe part of the soil accord but standing somewhat apart to my nose. It should be too sweet, too discordant, too sharp. It is none of these things. It is greater than the sum of its parts: grounding, elegiac, and just beautiful. For me it is not at all creepy or unsettling. Although it may recall a crypt, but in so doing it reminds us that a crypt is a vampire’s home. I recently ordered an imp to see if my more experienced nose still could appreciate this one, and I will likely be purchasing a second bottle given how much I’ve enjoyed it.

In the bottle: Sharp, bright, and green. The green note is crisp, not ragged or weedy. The overall effect is like a refined classic cologne—not aquatic or soapy, but clean, fresh and invigorating. Wet on skin: Bright citrus with a dry, crisp dead leaf accord. Other dead leaf scents have smelled like lettuce or green pepper to me, but this falls more comfortably into a vintage perfume mode—galbanum? Indeed, a somehow very classic chord is struck by the yellow gleam and green snap of the opening. Unfortunately, this classic-for-a-reason opening is briefly and slightly marred by an ozonic note (I have also seen others say this of some of the dead leaf scents). The ozone surprised me, but if you keep the tea fantasy in mind it does paint a steamy, liquid picture. Luckily, bergamot is by far the star and I keep coming back for more. Dry on skin: A wonderful bittersweet tea note emerges, a deep and rich assam, and the effect is suddenly of sitting in the shade on a bright fall day looking out onto the sunlit world. I was wondering how this was ever going to go autumnal, but it has. Far in the background, the dead leaves crinkle and crunch, and the citrus still twinkles. This is an interesting composition for the fact of the tea note being so prominent when it is, in a way, the most subtle note of the bunch. Even as it dominates the scent it feels like the gentlest whisper. I suppose that’s what gives the impression of “looking out” to me. The foreground is occupied but so smoothly, darkly transparent, allowing us to see the bright background gleaming merrily away into the distance. Eventually, the brightness dissipates leaving a dark, slightly green fragrance lingering for hours. How many hours? I’m unsure because I have not been able to resist reapplication. I would especially recommend this to fans of chypres. It shares their the sense of expansiveness produced by the contrast between bright top and earthy base notes. But there is no moss here, and the dark tea is a much smoother alternative. Overall this is a very cheerful, breezy, blend. Comforting without necessarily feeling “cozy.” This really strikes a new note for me as far as the lab goes and I’m pretty thrilled.

Wow I really hit it out of the park with this blind buy! I suspected this would be the BPAL ambergris for me—I love the note in general, and the fact that it is a kind of white whale that many perfumers try to emulate, but the BPAL version, while interesting, can often become overwhelming and cloying on my skin. Here there is real synergy between all the notes—it’s definitely salty and citrus bright, but soft. It does go a little “detergent” but I’m not really bothered by it. And it’s more interesting than a simple soapy marine-citrus accord. The champaca does its smooth ethereal thing and there is something warm, resinous, slightly spicy (I hesitate to use this word: think fenugreek or celery seed, not cinnamon) that begins in the background and slowly takes over. I haven’t really paid much attention to timing yet but it doesn’t last as long as some of my other BPALs and is fairly demure in terms of throw—I’m fine with both! It’s definitely present, just a shy and transparent cloud, a shimmering apparition.

Very difficult to describe for me. But a cool/floral vanilla is definitely the focus. The dew note veers ozonic and camphorous, threatening but failing to turn to detergent. The golden silk accord definitely involves a classic amber accord because the labdanum is noticeable (but by no means dominant) on me. The moss is subtle. And I wonder if there is patchouli in the mix—it might make sense in a “silk” accord as patchouli was used to deter bugs from eating silk along the Silk Road. For me, a shade dappled canvas of vanilla. Somehow smooth and polished.