abberlaine

Fresh on, Malkuth smells like the apples that fell from the tree and rotted at its roots. I also smell a sprinkle of cinnamon blended in and a warm, rich undertone that speaks of power (there, that makes me think of a god) -- but it's the rotten apples at the forefront. A few times, I thought I might have smelled something vaguely eucalyptus-like. Like... it brought to mind a magnetic force holding open the aformentioned compost heap. A few hours later, it dries down to apple-scented incense smoke. I don't like Malkuth, I'm afraid, but I'm glad to have tried it.

Description-wise they sound very different, but Smut reminds me very strongly of a less sweet Scherazade Oh! I meant that they smell very different to my nose.

Fresh on, Tiger Lily dumps an armload of green lilies on my wrist that's accompanied by a burst of sharp, astringent honey. Almost immediately, the honey mellows out into... well, it's not drippy/foody like Osun's honey, pollen brown like Al-Araaf's honey, or shimmery sweet like O's honey. Rather, Tiger Lily is warm, plain, non-descript honey politely sharing the stage with the lilies all the way through. I'd like it better if there were less lilies and more honey, actually, and I was disappointed that its personality didn't shine through. Still, don't get me wrong -- it's a very nice blend. I'm happy to have my imp around.

Really? I'm under the impression that Smut and Scherezade are totally different scents. Smut's chocolate smoke, splashes of booze and sugared musk. Scherezade's a belly dancer's perfume of strong red musk and distinct, earthy spices. To my nose, Elegba's the more versatile day version of Red Lantern. Red Lantern is heavier, more complex, and ressembles a tapestry. Elegba's the centerpiece of that tapestry -- it's the caramel-tinged coconut and booze scent that appears at the forefront of Red Lantern.

Fresh on wet, Alice is absolutely lovely -- sweet, creamy rose (carnation?) water. Within minutes, the scent morphs into something vaguely perfume-y topped off with spices off of the kitchen rack. My skin drinks stuff right up! It's barely there. I'm tempted to recite what I remember from the Alice monologue I prepared when I was twelve or thirteen for my Speech & Drama monologue, because this sccent really does evol Carroll's Alice -- the disagreeable, eager, impetuously curious and self-important little girl. I'd give this to a little girl, yes, but not because it's fairly mild and nice -- I'd be doing it to hook her into nerdism and snark while she's young. No cutie-bootie, "You'll be wearing Britney Spears's fragrance next!" over here! I wore Alice on a bus ride down to the Mahaneh Yehuda market in Jerusalem, and the whole way there, it continud to morph -- sometimes smelling of creamy milk and rose water; sometimes of a gentle, toned-down perfume; sometimes of something lightly milk and honey-ish, and always very nice. It's not a favorite, but I do like Alice. :-)

Ugh! Jesus! Never again! I think Shroud just managed to top Burial as my least favorite BPAL. In the imp, it smells faintly of nutty mushrooms. Fresh on the skin, Shroud explodes into the smell of tupentine and rot. It's not even evocative -- it's just bad. Dry, it smells a little bit better. The flowers and the herbs come out a little bit and sweeten the blend. It's... a hazy vision of stumbling upon an embalming house deep in the woods. I can smell the odors wafting from the embalmers at work. Still, it's not a pleasant smell in the least. Get it away from me!

"Bleakness" and "solitude" really are good descriptors for Sleepy Moon. I imagine riding on a horse in the dead of the winter; the sound his hooves breaking through the frozen snow; a crisp, light brown ginko leaf ready to crumble in your hands; smelling straw-thin, long-dead vegetation through a stuffed nose. The opium poppy brushes a lazy, hazy dryness over the entire scent. The lavender got a bit of a bitter edge to it; to me, it suggests a dull discomfort and unpleasantness that's borne. I can pick out the chamomile, too; it's not chamomile tea or fresh chamomile, but rather, it brings to mind the weak, delicate petals of a dried chamomile flower. Only the ylang ylang seems to have any juice to it -- although tired, cold and uncomfortable, our warrior passively accepts the circumstances of his journey and continues on. The very first time I tried this, it brought to mind a Chinese apothecary, and several times I've thought to wear to bed on a rainy morning.

When I close my eyes and breathe in Ra, I think of the sun rising along a stretch of tundra, the low-lying dwarf shrubs and sedges set momentarily aflame. It's got that thick, warm anointing oil feel I've encountered in several blends now, and falls on the sweeter end of bitter. I don't get the explicit greens, freshness, or spice that a lot of other people are talking about. Mainly, I get... an amber? A resin? Heliotrope? Something from that gang. It's a very well-blended, thick, low-lying scent. I'm glad I got to try it, and it was indeed evocative, but it's not something I'd wear.

Sniffing the imp, I get the rich, warm, languid caramel and booze scent from Red Lantern. It's a notch less knock-you-back and get-you-high, but still, it's very, very good. Oh, this is great on the skin. Caramel-y rum, coconut that's been toasted until it's brown, and the slightly bitter tobacco drying the whole thing out. Because of the tobacco note, a guy could totally wear this. Spring break, anyone? I was expecting something creamy, juicy, and sun-tanny from Elegba. Instead, I picture a languorous rich man smoking cigars and eating caramellized rum desserts at hot beach resort. Red Lantern presents a whole tapestry in comparison to Elegba, and for that, I prefer Red Lantern. On the other hand, I like that Elegba is less rich and heavy than Red Lantern. It's like the day version, if you will. Thumbs up!

I'm wearing J'Adore right now. :-) I find that a lot of the perfumes that are described as "traditional perfumes" in the reviews have that... single tone, fume-y feel of many department store perfumes, including J'Adore. You could always try layering one of those with something else from the general catalogue (a straight-up floral/fruity floral?). I get a lot of mandarin, myself. How about Belle Epoque, folks? I've never tried it myself, but it sounds like it'd be a good start.

The oil is a thick, bright orange -- cool! Wet, I get hit with very, very strong pepper and vetivert. A few minutes later, the spice diversifies and the vetivert fades back down. The only other blend with Dragon's Blood I've ever tried was Dragon's Hide, and that had a very strong orange liqueur/cherry component, which I'm not getting here. Still, like Dragon's Hide, Serpent's Kiss has the feel of something that a grown-up basement geek would wear to impress the ladies.

This isn't half-bad, so long as I don't think about salamandria's "melons that are so overripe they're rotten" description. Nosferatu is most evocative -- It smells like it's just finished raining on an unpleasantly cold and misty day. I can picture sitting in a castle and drinking the weakest wine, both in the very depths of the basement and in the very highest tower. The thing is, everything I've just mentioned is presented as ghostly and unreal. The vampire fantasies that this evokes are spectacularly clear. If I can't swap this one away, I'm going to keep it and wear it to sleep.

Yum! Google reveals Narra to be a type of wood native to the Philippines, Borneo, Burma, New Guinea, Malay Archipelago, and Hawaii. The banana's strong, both in the imp and on the skin. It blooms into a thick, fruity, standing under a banana palm in a tropical resort with a warm breeze blowing the scent towards you. The juicy blossoms and the warm, figgy palms work nicely against the bananas. It dries down to some sort of a spa-grade banana and florals treatment mixed with smooth palm and nara. The latter go a litle bit bitter as the oil dries, but it's not especially unpleasant. If any of you like to treat your hair with hot oil, try scenting your blend with a little bit of this stuff. It's pleasantly sweet, but a little too thick and heavy for me. Still, thumbs up!

Rose? There's rose in this? Hymn's got the feel of both a fresh, wet cologne and a thin anointing oil. I smell the incense right off the bat, but it's sweet and more wet and dry. There's a touch of orange oil, too. As it dries down, it becomes more faint and warmer. It's an "oil from the past," as would say my grandmother. I feel like a born again virgin!

Mm! Shango is a dark oil. I've had reactions to fruit where they've smelled like they're whole and untouched, mushed into a compote, squished into a fruit bar, or squeezed into a weak juice. Shango smells like a rich, dark, wine-thick potion. To me, Shango is chocolatl interpreted with fruit. The pomegranate's the easiest note to pick out. I barely, if at all, noticed the banana. Coming from a person who generally doesn't like fruity scents, this is very nice. One can easily imagine this scent emanating from a strong, powerful and muscular African god (think along the lines of Sandman).

God, this is good. Sometimes, it smells like I've held my wrist over a hot cup of jasmine tea, and other times, it becomes more honey-ish and smells exactly like it's described: warm, damp white blossoms. I'm concerned about how expensive this could wind up being -- the oil's very thin, and a good wand dip slathered on the wrist fades to a skin scent in five minutes flat. I don't mind that it doesn't have much throw, but I'd have to slather my body with oil to get any effect.

Ooh. I'm torn on Vechernyanya. Wet, it's leather-water and something strong, spicy, and sharp (the opium?). It quickly develops into a warm, strong-smelling cologne. Brought to mind is the skin of a man who's well-built, has strong-opinions, profuse body hair, and is a practitioner natural healing. Swap, swap! As it dries, it gets a hell of a lot sweeter and fainter. Now, it's gone from full-fledged hippie to something that might be worn to an artisan's market. There's a bit of a licorice-like tang. Soon, it develops this skin musk property that I really, really like -- I suspect it'd contribute to a killer make-out session. On one hand, it's comfortable enough that I can work it, but on the other hand, I'm having trouble feeling at home with a "hippie" scent.

Oya starts off smelling like cherry bubble gum (not as bad as you'd think), and eventually dries down to spicy plum incense. If this is what Hellion and Queen of Spades smell like, let me at them!

I had such high hopes for The Hanging Gardens after reading Macha's reviews, but alas, it turned out to be one of my least favorite BPALs. You know those pressed fruit bars? It smelled like that.

Ooh, today's a good day! The first time I tried Machu Pichu, I got a weak fruit bar squished over florals. Today, I had a much better experience: Wet to drying, I get unripe plantains, apple, cool honeydew melons, a wet breeze (?), and nondescript white flowers. It's on the light side and has the feel of both fresh dryer sheets and clear fruit juice. A few hours later, it's a wonderfully subtle and fresh melon over the honey sweetness of the sweetness. If the amber's playing a part, it's a supporting role. I'll be sad when this fades. If it behaves this more often, I just might fall in love!

Wow. Osun is sticky-sweet honey -- more along the lines of O than of Tiger Lily and Al-Araaf. Wet, it flirts with cloying territory, but never quite crosses over. Instead, it dries down to very enjoyable, wet, shuddering drop of honey. The herbs come out as the oil dries and give it a drier, more perfumy feel. There's a faint citrus tang that surfaces every few minutes, too. I really, really like this. It's sweet and delicious, and it blends with my skin beautifully. Two thumbs up and a big bottle!

When I first tried Smut, I couldn't wait to swap it off. The word "swarthy" came to mind, all right: a heavy brume of caca-brown incense smoke; cheap chocolate liqueur straight out of the bottle; the feeling of trying to get comfortable on dirty-from-sex sheets in someone's narrow dorm room. It smelled of sex, yes, but it wasn't my idea of sexy. I took it out of storage this afternoon and gave it a fresh shot, and I've got this to say: What a great freakin’ scent! The booze notes have become sweeter, thinner, full-bodied and delicious. Brandy? Bourbon? ... and come to think of it, the cheap, straight-up, creme-thick chocolate liqueur is nowhere to be found. There's a real splash of something strong, golden and sweet that you can smell right out of the bottle, and I'm really disappointed that it seems to disappear within a quarter of an hour. There's a pleasant wisp of the "fumes" that rise up in your throat and make you cough if you're not used to drinking alcohol -- that's gone within the first fifteen seconds. The incense smoke is also gone. Instead, the sugar-sweetened musks are much more apparent. I recognize the red musk from Scherezarde. Sometimes, I'll get a strong whiff of the creamy cacao from Centzon Totochtin. Two thumbs up and two toes up! It's great!

If you're up to tracking a bottle down (on the swap forums, LiveJournal, or eBay), I bet that Luperci'll be right up your alley.

Word-for-word. My grandmother gave me a beautiful compliment on Bathsheba this morning: "I think this is the best one out of all the ones you've showed me. It's not like today's perfumes. It's like the perfume from way back... from fifty years ago. Today's perfumes are flimsy and cheap. This is the kind of perfume you'd buy from a desert stand -- original, pure. My mother wore perfume like that. We ate good food, dyed our hair with mud [i think she was talking about henna], and wore good perfume." I rather like it when it's wet -- the musk is prominent with the carnation-water and the plums peeking out from the sides. It's dry like sandalwood, warm, and sweet without leaving musky territory. She's not a child, but she's not a full-fledged woman. It's the gentle scent wafting out of her chamber. As it dries, the plum (soft and powdery) comes to center stage and sweetens the blend a little more than I'm happy with. On the whole, though, this is a beautiful work. Thumbs up!

Yggdrasil is all tree-chopping, unshaven, one hundred percent man's man. It's easy to describe: all dry wood and unsweet herbs. I prefer my men prettier (Ave Maria Gratia Plena -- when it blossoms -- is more to my taste), but if you're looking for a unique-yet-traditional men's scent, give this a try.