Musc Ravageur, by Maurice Roucel for Frederic Malle - a misnomer?

I'm slipping quietly back into the scented writing world with a review of a fan favorite, "new classic," Musc Ravageur. Because go big or go home, right?

The perfumer, Maurice Roucel
I love this shot. 

I rarely quote PR material in my reviews. It's flowery enough, usually, and oddly enough has nothing to do with the crucial question: "But Jen, how does it smell?"

However, this entire review pivots around my own question: Is this scent correctly named?

So rather than use my brain to come up with a new review concept, which seems like a hassle, I'll stick to my guns and quote the Editions de Parfums Frederic Malle copy for ya:

Launched in 2000, this composition was a turning point in the history of amber orientals. A sensual perfume, powerful yet perfectly controlled, dramatic and mysterious. Composed by Maurice Roucel as an “act of seduction and generosity”, Musc Ravageur is an uncompromising Oriental, which runs against current fads. Its explosive departure of bergamot, tangerine and cinnamon is set against a backdrop of vanilla, musk and amber. A sexy, turbulent perfume, in a word: ravageur.

Another quote, which is particularly lazy writing: 

ravageur

, euse  

    adj    devastating  

I don't speak French, but by my assessment -and astute leaps of intellect- this perfume is supposed to be a "devastating musk." 

The skeptic in me wants to know, is it really? Devastating is a pretty tall order. You'd better knock me to my damn knees weeping if you're using that word, know what I'm saying?

Let's talk about those notes. Bergamot? Check. Tangerine? Crisp and juicy. Cinnamon? Just a dash. Not really an explosive departure, but again I'm not falling for that PR crap. Also present but curiously missing from the description is lavender. Trust me, it's there. 

Carrying on: vanilla, musk, and amber? Check, check, check, but don't expect VANILLA, all up in yer face. Nope. Think whispers and hints. No mention of the clove, but it's there, too, as is tonka. There are woods in the base as well, including some sandalwood. Soft woods. Hazy. Soft and hazy amber woods.

The musk (ahem, "musc") is also soft. Not in volume, but in its nature. It's not pulling, tugging, and growling. 

Rather, it purrs. 

If this perfume is about sex, it's the aftermath of comfortable but delicious sex with a familiar lover, lying together afterwards reading or, limbs entangled, hitting Netflix. 

If you want steamy carnal knowledge, I suggest you look elsewhere.

In other words, "Musc Ravageur" is a misnomer, but probably sells better than "Musc Lazy Cuddles*."

Think: Amber Oud. 

Therefore: I loved it at first sniff.  

Result: Full Bottle Worthy. 

Family: Oriental. Firmly unisex. Projection is minimal, this is a skinscent; length of wear is long for me. I get top notes and base at the same time, with the basenotes developing, getting foggier and softer over time. Cost is in the expensive range, but worth every scent. As with all musk-heavy perfumes, your mileage may vary: we all perceive them differently. Many people find this "screechy" or "too animalic." They're wrong. 

What's your favorite cuddly scent? Do you have a particularly CARNAL scent you adore?

*I also refer to it as "fluffy kitten bellies" because it's just that cozy-furry-cuddly. 

On barns, horses, hay, and rabbits: IV L’Heure Fougueuse (Cartier)

Today, my strangest perfume. One that I have attempted to "review" for ages, with little success. Much of that is due to the incredible reviews already shared in the fumosphere. The rest lies in my indecision about this scent.

In 2010, Cartier released IV L’Heure Fougueuse, part of their Les Heures de Parfum series. This scent, whose nose is the very talented Mathilde Laurent, is meant to represent "The Ardent Hour" or "The Impetuous Hour".

Notes: Magnolia, Bergamot, Horse Mane note, Vetiver, Yerba Mate, Musk notes, Lavender, Coumarin. Oakmoss.








There are many stories about a girl and her horse. This is an olfactory tale about the same. It opens with the strong impression of dried tea which eventually folds onto itself and turns to fresh, green hay. And then the most incredible thing happens, but blink and you might miss it! From afar, L’Heure Fougueuse still smells of hay and barns and fields, but if you nuzzle your skin the way a horse nuzzles for a carrot treat, you'll get the distinct impression of horse. It's a musky equine scent that rides close to your skin - almost leathery, certainly animalic, but soft as the hair on a horse's nose. This facet, called "horse mane accord" by the perfumer, is subtle and fleeting (at least on me), but so incredibly integral to the scent that it seems to take over most descriptions of this perfume.

Moments later, the scent unfolds again and becomes a story of Summer days. It's Magnolia, light wafts of jasmine, breaths of hay... It's green and it's golden and it's light and it's expansive. It's clouds blowing gently over a field.

via

L’Heure Fougueuse is a scent that's designed to connect with your subconscious. I'm convinced of it. I haven't met anyone who has tried it and has not come away with memories of some kind...

For me, those memories are of trail rides with friends, sneaking grass and carrots to horses through the bars of fences, and of stuffing rabbit cages with fresh hay and alfalfa. I smell farms and barns. I smell my beloved bunnies, now long gone over the Rainbow Bridge.

Unfortunately, I also smell a lot of mate (that tea-like note), which gives me a headache and makes me a bit woozy. Hence my love-hate relationship with the scent. I've worked off of a sample vial for ages, as on me a little goes a long way. I may spring for a small decant at some point, but have no need to budget the $250 for a bottle, since I can only wear this on rare occasions. But I wish I could wear it daily. It's quite beautiful, aside from the mate. And who can't appreciate an arrow shot straight to their childhood?

Other beautiful reviews of L’Heure Fougueuse:

• Suzanne at Eiderdown Press
• Denyse of Grain de Musc
• Victoria of Bois des Jasmin
• Krista at Scent of the Day
• Birgit at Olfactoria's Travels
• Patty at Perfume Posse

[source of image in header]

Perfume Review: Reverie au Jardin (Andy Tauer)

I met this little fella the other day, in a garden on the edge of a thick patch of woods. He had a faraway look in his eye, and I wondered what he was thinking. He was supposed to be tending his garden, but as you can see his thoughts seemed to have run away with him.


Watching how serene he was, how lovely and quiet his garden seemed, I began to daydream. What does this man's home look like? Where does he hang his tall, red hat every night? Is he partial to blue smocks, or does he have other favorites? Is there a Mrs. Gnome waiting with dinner ? Do little black boots sit next to his on the hearth?


As I imagined his life, I saw the details in my mind. Sensed them. I could feel the rough timber of his kitchen table. I could hear the crackle of the fire over which a pot of mushroom stew bubbled. I mentally ran my finger over the twig beams of the roof and felt the rough stone floor with my bare feet.

Then came the smells. I came to get a scents of the place, if you will. At first, everything just smelled sharp and green. Galbanum and fir mingle with a bit of lavender. Where was that lavender? Oh! Hanging in the corner of the room, drying! Once I wrapped my mind and nose around the place, the sharpness of those first scents retreats. I become aware of the rose petals in a little bowl, the recognizable scent wafting up from the cedar chair.

Absentmindedly, I poke a stick into the glowing embers under the soup. A spark flashes briefly. I smell the fires that were lit here before - a dash of incense lingering behind. The whole places is alive- such large smells for such a small home! But the smells aren't overwhelming. They are gentle. Peaceful. Soothing, but still wild. There are roots and mosses behind it all, mingled with something smooth cozy that just smells like home. And above it all, the lavender, now soft and pretty and not at all sharp.


A noise makes me start. I find myself again on the edge of the woods. As I try to shake off the daydream (it was a dream, wasn't it?) I realize the little man in the red cap is gone. I never even asked his name...

On John Mayer and lavender. Also a perfume review: Penhaligon's Lavandula.

That's a gorgeous picture, isn't it? The rolling hills of France. The purple highlights on the rooftops of homes dripping down the mountain. The nearly-clear blue sky. Those soft mounds of lavender...

That last bit is where you lose me. Sure, it's pretty, but all it makes me think of is the smell of lavender! What's wrong with that? Well, I dislike the smell of lavender, that's what.

I know, I know: how can anyone dislike lavender? It's easy! It makes me think of old potpourri. Limp sachets pushed to the back of a drawer. The masks I'm meant to wear over my eyes to chase away a migraine or sinus headache. Herb shops. ^[1]

I was thinking about lavender this morning as I drove the big kid to school. As I pondered, I realized I was singing along to a song (not so unusual for me, but why are the tone deaf the most enthusiastic singers?). Then it hit me: Lavender is the John Mayer of perfumery!

Think about it. Both John Mayer and lavender are universally known. Both are everywhere ^[2] - consider  lavender and a zillion perfumes, laundry detergents, soap, home scents; Mayer and just about every starlet he can get his paws on. Both can be annoying and overwhelming. Both are a little bitter at times. Both are, in my opinion, better when not solo (lavender and vanilla, Mayer and his guitar).

Here's the thing: I dislike the smell of fresh lavender. And dried lavender. I dislike the entire concept of John Mayer from his skeezy "dating" behavior to his prolific media-hounding. But I love quite a few perfumes that have lavender in them (no one is more shocked than I, trust me). And I think John Mayer can jam! He's a good singer and a talented guitar player and can really work a pop song. What can I say? Enigmas, both...

Which brings me to Penhaligon's Lavandula. I thought it was going to be a sweet little lavender soliflore. Soliherb? ^[3] Again, I ask: what do I know?!

Lavandula is not your Grandma's lavender. (I don't know what that means, either) This is apparent from the opening sniff, which is a bit peppery, actually. I know, right?

A bit of black pepper, a little herbal sage... Then this perfume rolls like those hills in the picture up yonder into something softly floral. Delish! And then, when you think the surprises are over, a sexy vanilla musky amber thing starts happening, and it sticks around for a few hours, much to my delight!



Where's the typical bitter bite of lavender? The medicinal edge? The dusty potpourri?

I don't miss it, I'll tell you that. Just like I don't miss John Mayer when he's not singing. However, I admit Penhaligon's Lavandula is as soothing as some of Mayer's ballads. (and kinda sexy, like his tattoos! ahem.)

House: Penhaligon's
Fragrance: Lavandula
Perfumer: ?
Released: 2004
Notes: Basil, Canella and Black Pepper, Lavender, Clary Sage and Lily of the Valley, Tonka bean, Musk, Vanilla and Amber
Sample: Swap

Final Word: Pretty, like John Mayer










[1] I enjoy herb shops. They often have amazing things to discover! But why must they all smell sooooo strongly of dusty, dry lavender?!
[2] OK, I don't fer sure know John Mayer can be found in herb shops, but he's everywhere else.
[3] It's an herb. Which is a plant. With flowers. A floral plant herb. :)

Perfume Review: New Haarlem (Bond No. 9)

I can't "do" mornings without my coffee. It's crucial. The aroma as it brews, the warmth and weight of my favorite mug, the ritual of making and drinking it... All of these things reassure me and make me feel like my day has officially begun on a good note.

via

I had no idea until recently that there was such a thing as a coffee note in perfumery. Sure, I've smelled coffee candles and such, but they didn't move me. I'd rather fire up a pot and experience the real deal.

To say I was skeptical about coffee in perfume is an understatement. What I didn't want: an artificial smell, plastic tones, randomness, and pandering. In other words, if you're going to put coffee in a perfume, it had better smell good and be artistic- it must make sense.

Enter Bond No. 9 and their popular New Haarlem.

Northbound with the A-train to cabaret-jazz club-central... a scent so brazen it was barely captured in a bottle. Molten, liquified swank with androgynous appeal, to wear after midnight in -and on- hot-spots.

I wasn't too sure what to expect from New Haarlem, but what I did know is that many folks raved! Detractors mostly seemed put off by the concept of smelling like food or drink, or by the price. ^[1]

I obtained a sample, spritzed, and waited...

via

...of course, I didn't have to wait long! This scent starts with an eye-opening blast of black coffee with a double-shot of espresso. It's sharp and it's bracing. And it's good!

Just as a piping hot cuppa cools, so does the opening intensity of New Haarlem. Bond No. 9 isn't done, though. Not by a long shot.

friggin' adorable. via

Next up is a shot of something green and a dose of a lovely lavender. The combination takes the coffee note to an almost licorice-like place that some people seem to read as "burnt" or "caramelized". The green and lavender aspects cut the sharpness and  freshen the scent.

The green notes fade after about ten minutes and a slightly vanilla tone replaces it. ^[2]

Smells like a coffee break with this guy.

It's at this point where I'm no longer sipping my first mugful of coffee in the morning. Now I'm sitting next to an older jazz musician on his break, chatting over takeout coffee in styrofoam containers. I can smell his cologne, a nice fougere with lavender, vanilla and a bit of patchouli. New Haarlem, by the way, is marketed as "unisex" and I would agree: it's neither feminine nor masculine... just good.

Just like the best jazz clubs, New Haarlem's music never stops. This perfume goes and goes and goes and goes, always with a distinct coffee note. I can get at least 24 hours out of one little spray, with significant throw and sillage. Great for me, because I adore this perfume, but if you don't like it it's bad news! ^[3]

In fact, if I had to complain about New Haarlem it would be about the longevity. I love this perfume, but it's so intense and persistent that it's there for the day - and I like to switch scents midday. Still, as complaints go, that's fairly minor.
 

 

Fragrance: New Haarlem
House: Bond No. 9
Perfumer: Maurice Roucel
Notes:  patchouli, lavender, vanilla, coffee, cedar and bergamot
Released: 2003

Sample: provided by Bond No. 9 PR

Final Word: It's like enjoying the perfect cup of coffee all day long!

via

Other Bond No. 9 New Haarlem reviews:

Bois de Jasmin: New Haarlem by Bond no. 9: Fragrance Review ::
Now Smell This: Bond no. 9 New Haarlem ~ fragrance review
One Thousand Scents: Big Money: Bond No. 9 Wall Street and New HaarlemEiderdownpress: Bond No. 9 New Haarlem
Basenotes reviews
Fragrantica: reviews

Makeupalley reviews 

 

[1] Bond No. 9 scents run for about $215 for 100ml; $150 for 50ml; and $45 for a 7ml "bon-bon".
[2] There are moments in New Haarlem's development where -and Perfumista's please don't shoot me for this!- I'm reminded of Jicky (Guerlain). It's the vanilla + lavender + patchouli blend.
[3] By the way, it's so tenacious it takes a good deal of scrubbing to remove. Try washing the skin with Tide (yes, really).