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01/31/2024
Profumo
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Profumo
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39
Smoked hoarse
Roberto Greco strikes again!
'Oeillers', 'Porter sa Peau' and now 'Rauque' - each one not only more beautiful than the last, but also more interesting. Anyone whose faith in the innovative capacity and finesse of perfumery threatens to vanish in the face of the swelling tide of monotonous aroma chemical concoctions should take a sniff here (Rubini, Pekji and a few others are also worth a try) - a cure is not only possible, it's guaranteed!
At first I was a little skeptical about 'Rauque'. Corticchiato and Flores-Roux, who were responsible for the two predecessors, were among my favorite perfumers anyway, but Sheldrake was not one of them. Well, his work with Serge Lutens is certainly very good, but it doesn't suit me. I often find it too dense and too oily, I miss the space, the air between the individual facets. This, in turn, was reliably provided by my colleague Jacques Polge: aldehydic fluffiness, exquisite but sparing details, clear lines, in other words - elegance à la Chanel!
I didn't find Sheldrake's signature here, at least his Lutens signature, but I didn't find any others either.
So now 'Rauque', and I have to say: yes, there is something of my own, something that seems to be rooted in my own work - in Chanel's haute couture turned fragrance as well as in Serge Lutens' sometimes overloaded orientalism. However, 'Rauque' moves well away from these two poles, gaining its own profile and finding a fragrance language that I would place more among the early works of Malle or the old Carons than in the aforementioned houses.
'Rauque' reminds me of one Malle fragrance in particular, Ropion's wonderful 'Une Fleur de Cassie', whose central note, the cassia blossom, also known as 'sweet acacia' or 'Vachellia farnesiana' and belonging to the mimosa subgroup, is similarly prominent in 'Rauque'. However, the two perfumers stage the not overly sweet, slightly woody or rather hay-like scent of acacia in distinctly different ways. While Ropion develops the bouquet with rose and jasmine in a rather floral way and with a subtle indolic quality and ultimately lets it fade away on a finely polished base of sandalwood with a subtle hint of vanilla, Sheldrake brings a few more protagonists on board, so that 'Rauque' is initially dominated by the aroma of sweet acacia, but nowhere near as persistent as in the case of 'Une Fleur de Cassie'.
The typical wet-green aspects of the violet leaf soon join in, followed by the dark floral tone of the narcissus, whose fragrance trail likes to sail along with a frivolous stink, but fortunately does not pick up too much speed here, but rather introduces the transition to a base that maneuvers the fragrance peu à peau in a completely different direction: away from the floral-hay-green banter, towards the sonorous, almost endlessly humming dark-toned amber aroma, which dominates the course of the fragrance all in all at least as much as the initial acacia accord.
Although osmanthus, myrrh and mushrooms also play their part in the fragrance, they form more of a background chorus, whose fruity, resinous and earthy facets seem to dance on the unfolding ambrarome base before they are completely drowned out by it.
Ambrarome - wow, what a material!
I've never really stumbled across it before, at least not consciously. Ambermax, yes, I knew that, the sensual warm amber note on steroids, so to speak, or Ambrocenide, the popular fully synthetic sweet woody note that young men love to bathe in, not to mention Ambroxan, the mega-booster of modern perfumery.
But Ambrarome?
What I smell: balsamic-resinous amber, and not in short supply, but there is something else, something more. Animal notes are clearly evident, but also somehow the idea of dark, aromatic tobacco, smoky tea, old wood, now and again something salty - a real kaleidoscope!
If I hadn't already been working with real gray ambergris, this base could have been sold to me as a successful replacement for the mythical and rare whale substance. But no, Ambrarome is not a real substitute, rather an approximation, a kind of translation into the foreground, even voluminous, warmer, more sensual, more animalic than the original substance, which is comparatively more restrained, quieter and more enigmatic. Ambrarome does not come close to the sophistication of real ambergris, but it is more present and has significantly more power: a muscular ambergris in an amber coat, so to speak.
It is also interesting to note how old this fragrance base is: in 1926, the young Hubert Fraysse developed it together with his brother Georges for their own company Synarome as a replacement for the sinfully expensive gray ambergris, which is subject to natural fluctuations in both quality and quantity. Similar motives eventually led to the introduction of other bases such as Muscarome, Animalis and Cuir HF, fragrance building blocks that are still frequently used today.
The central component of Ambrarome is labdanum, or rather its extracted ethyl ester, which elicits leathery, smoky and spicy aspects from the resin of the rockrose. Synarome is silent about other components of the base, but gas chromatography tests have probably been able to detect civettone, as well as small amounts of indole and skatole Well, you can smell it. But, it smells good, and how! In contrast to Ambergris, whose animalic facet seems rather shimmering and barely tangible, it is quite tangible here, but tame. No comparison to Animalis hits like 'Kouros', 'Figment Man' or the first version of Dior's 'Leather Oud'.
However, as much as Ambrarome dominates the base, a fine leather note is still able to assert itself. A leather note that is more reminiscent of the good old birchwood-tarred Cuirs de Russie than of modern, clean, saffron-spicy Cuirs such as Barrois' 'B683'.
The references to fragrances from 'the good old days' are quite numerous. Yet 'Rauque' is far from being a mere nostalgic fragrance. Rather, it cleverly transposes an aura of the past into the present, using familiar means but in a new tonality. Martin Fuhs has achieved something similar with Grauton's 'Pour Homme', although I would label 'Rauque' less decidedly as 'Pour Homme' and would not assign it so clearly to a specific fragrance era. Rather, the fragrance sails much further back in time, with borrowings from the 20s, 30s and 40s, along with a clear twist towards the 70s.
The bottle in the colors Kalamata olive violet brown and olive oil green, which correspond perfectly with the fragrance, is also quite retro. The lettering and bottle design are skillfully inspired by the 60s/early 70s and art deco. That has style!
Keyword 'style', who could wear this fragrance? First of all: anyone, or rather everyone, where do we live: down with the gender barriers! But it would perhaps suit a 'Lauren Bacall' or a 'Georgette Dee' type particularly well - not slick, but rather charming beauties. Yes, and definitely with the obligatory cigarette and the 'voix rauque', the husky voice that gives some people that certain wickedly erotic je-ne-sais-quoi
Oh no, me - although I don't smoke (anymore) and am anything but this 'type' - of course it suits me best of all!
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