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Bergamot
Cardamom
Cinnamon
Humdraxpelum
Heart Notes 
Frankincense
Patchouli
Jasmine
Iris
Base Notes 
Gaiac wood
Castoreum
Labdanum
Cashmeran
Musk
Sandalwood
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37
A Giuseppe Di Stefano Fragrance
There are several Giuseppe Di Stefano fragrances. The comparison first came to my mind because I had recently been indulging in Jürgen Kesting's monumental four-volume work "The Great Singers".
Di Stefano was Sicilian. He embodied many of the clichés that might spontaneously come to mind. He left the Jesuit seminary after a short time. The Monsignor had long suspected this and prophesied: "With those eyes, you won't be staying with us long...".
The young tenor had no regard for singing technique; he dismissed all warnings that he was singing at the expense of his voice. Why change anything when everything sounded magnificent? Fortissimo! He eagerly pushed into the dramatic repertoire because he - as tenor colleague Mario del Monaco put it - "had a lyrical voice but the heart of a dramatic singer".
He relied entirely on the favor of the moment, on his impact on stage. Undoubtedly, this sometimes came at the cost of interpretative nuances. Perhaps he had ten years before the toll of his excess began to take effect and the damage to his voice became increasingly audible.
But in those ten years, he was captivating.
One swoons at my favorite Italian aria "Che gelida manina" from Giacomo Puccini's "La Bohème", recorded in 1950 with an unscathed voice (youtube.com/watch?v=yg8grGjeCRE), and sighs at the last available recording from 1974 (youtube.com/watch?v=Y097U_T8nDY - from 4:20 min.).
Red Hoba now, hence the designation as 'Giuseppe Di Stefano fragrance', simply blows me away (here: after a very short adjustment). It opens with a decent amount of smoke. A tiny bit of smoked ham. Alongside something fresh, possibly eucalyptus. And an accent of yet undefinable, concentrated fruit, like a sudden gust of air, quickly subsiding before the thickened fruit retreats underground again. For now.
A caramel sweetness takes over. The smoky impression has latched onto something sweet. I smell smoked toffee or fudge. Good idea - equally for the indulgence! If this caramel twist, and it surely is, can be traced back to guaiac wood, it would be its best appearance for me so far, thanks also to the fabulous companion. No H-cream! The ebb and flow of creamy, muted sweetness and the unceremonious, instead more rustic smoke is excellent. Within a few minutes, patchouli comes through as a rough corrective.
And some kind of fruit. Lush, ripe, sensual, erotic. Describing it technically, namely as old dried plum or dried apricot, would not do it justice. Slowly, within the first two hours, it gains weight and gradually pushes caramel like smoke aside. This mélange of caramel sweetness, smoke, patchouli roughness, and fruit is burning passion!
In its composition, it reminds me of one or another Slumberhouse, perhaps Kiste or Sova, which also combine smoke or similar with a stickily rich sweetness or fruit. Of course, the latter are undoubtedly more committed to coziness than to passion.
In the third hour, Red Hoba has become more bitter, less sweet. The smoke is stronger again. A sour-animal note (castoreum fits) brings a certain something into it and keeps the fragrance at a high level for several hours. Only in the fifth or sixth hour has this interim animal note largely faded. I now think of a mild fruity charmer, like some exist.
And by the afternoon, we finally pay for the powerful, sensuous opulence of the fruit the price - just as Di Stefano had to pay his for vocally reckless Italianità: After seven hours, there is a waxy-fruity aroma. As if those dried plums have long since passed their prime and have become slimy. By the way, they then look like the bog bodies at Schloss Gottorf near Schleswig, a top tip for a little spooky family outing. Just a side note.
The indicated wood simply has too much trouble to compete against it.
To another singer: The Spaniard Alfredo Kraus preserved his voice into old age by limiting himself to a relatively small number of suitable roles. "Che gelida manina" he (to my knowledge) never sang on the opera stage for this very reason. A concert recording (youtube.com/watch?v=PM430alrTZA) presents ... well ... certainly not the vitality of a youthful hothead, but we experience a 67-year-old tenor with an impressively intact voice. One might argue that a Giuseppe Di Stefano fragrance beginning is worth it if it eventually goes downhill. Hm. There is a recording with the younger Alfredo Kraus (from a cheesy opera film or something - please close your eyes! - youtube.com/watch?v=qYxlsL8Gxjk). Wasn't he also captivating?
I wish for a Red Hoba version of Alfredo Kraus. Without bog bodies.
Many thanks to Ergoproxy for the sample!
Di Stefano was Sicilian. He embodied many of the clichés that might spontaneously come to mind. He left the Jesuit seminary after a short time. The Monsignor had long suspected this and prophesied: "With those eyes, you won't be staying with us long...".
The young tenor had no regard for singing technique; he dismissed all warnings that he was singing at the expense of his voice. Why change anything when everything sounded magnificent? Fortissimo! He eagerly pushed into the dramatic repertoire because he - as tenor colleague Mario del Monaco put it - "had a lyrical voice but the heart of a dramatic singer".
He relied entirely on the favor of the moment, on his impact on stage. Undoubtedly, this sometimes came at the cost of interpretative nuances. Perhaps he had ten years before the toll of his excess began to take effect and the damage to his voice became increasingly audible.
But in those ten years, he was captivating.
One swoons at my favorite Italian aria "Che gelida manina" from Giacomo Puccini's "La Bohème", recorded in 1950 with an unscathed voice (youtube.com/watch?v=yg8grGjeCRE), and sighs at the last available recording from 1974 (youtube.com/watch?v=Y097U_T8nDY - from 4:20 min.).
Red Hoba now, hence the designation as 'Giuseppe Di Stefano fragrance', simply blows me away (here: after a very short adjustment). It opens with a decent amount of smoke. A tiny bit of smoked ham. Alongside something fresh, possibly eucalyptus. And an accent of yet undefinable, concentrated fruit, like a sudden gust of air, quickly subsiding before the thickened fruit retreats underground again. For now.
A caramel sweetness takes over. The smoky impression has latched onto something sweet. I smell smoked toffee or fudge. Good idea - equally for the indulgence! If this caramel twist, and it surely is, can be traced back to guaiac wood, it would be its best appearance for me so far, thanks also to the fabulous companion. No H-cream! The ebb and flow of creamy, muted sweetness and the unceremonious, instead more rustic smoke is excellent. Within a few minutes, patchouli comes through as a rough corrective.
And some kind of fruit. Lush, ripe, sensual, erotic. Describing it technically, namely as old dried plum or dried apricot, would not do it justice. Slowly, within the first two hours, it gains weight and gradually pushes caramel like smoke aside. This mélange of caramel sweetness, smoke, patchouli roughness, and fruit is burning passion!
In its composition, it reminds me of one or another Slumberhouse, perhaps Kiste or Sova, which also combine smoke or similar with a stickily rich sweetness or fruit. Of course, the latter are undoubtedly more committed to coziness than to passion.
In the third hour, Red Hoba has become more bitter, less sweet. The smoke is stronger again. A sour-animal note (castoreum fits) brings a certain something into it and keeps the fragrance at a high level for several hours. Only in the fifth or sixth hour has this interim animal note largely faded. I now think of a mild fruity charmer, like some exist.
And by the afternoon, we finally pay for the powerful, sensuous opulence of the fruit the price - just as Di Stefano had to pay his for vocally reckless Italianità: After seven hours, there is a waxy-fruity aroma. As if those dried plums have long since passed their prime and have become slimy. By the way, they then look like the bog bodies at Schloss Gottorf near Schleswig, a top tip for a little spooky family outing. Just a side note.
The indicated wood simply has too much trouble to compete against it.
To another singer: The Spaniard Alfredo Kraus preserved his voice into old age by limiting himself to a relatively small number of suitable roles. "Che gelida manina" he (to my knowledge) never sang on the opera stage for this very reason. A concert recording (youtube.com/watch?v=PM430alrTZA) presents ... well ... certainly not the vitality of a youthful hothead, but we experience a 67-year-old tenor with an impressively intact voice. One might argue that a Giuseppe Di Stefano fragrance beginning is worth it if it eventually goes downhill. Hm. There is a recording with the younger Alfredo Kraus (from a cheesy opera film or something - please close your eyes! - youtube.com/watch?v=qYxlsL8Gxjk). Wasn't he also captivating?
I wish for a Red Hoba version of Alfredo Kraus. Without bog bodies.
Many thanks to Ergoproxy for the sample!
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