Rauque Roberto Greco 2023

Roberto Greco strikes again!

‘Oeillers’, ‘Porter sa Peau’ and now ‘Rauque’ - each one more beautiful and interesting than the last. If your faith in the innovative capacity and finesse of perfumery is threatened by the swelling tide of monotonous, screeching aroma-chemical brews, then take a sniff here (Rubini, Pekji, and a few others are also worth exploring) - healing is not only possible, but guaranteed!

I was initially a bit skeptical about ‘Rauque’. Corticchiato and Flores-Roux, who created the two predecessors, are among my favorite perfumers, but Sheldrake has not been one of them until now. Sure, his work with Serge Lutens is certainly very good, but it doesn’t resonate with me. I often find it too dense and oily, lacking the space and air between the individual facets. On the other hand, colleague Jacques Polge reliably brings that: aldehydic fluffiness, exquisite yet sparing details, clear lines, in other words - elegance à la Chanel!
I didn’t find Sheldrake’s signature here, at least not his Lutens-esque one, nor any other.

Now, ‘Rauque’, and I must say: Yes, there is something unique, something that seems to root in its own creation - in the fragrant haute couture of Chanel as well as in the sometimes overloaded orientalism of Serge Lutens. However, ‘Rauque’ distances itself quite a bit from these two poles, gaining its own profile and finding a fragrance language that I would rather associate with the early works of Malle or the old Carons than with the mentioned houses.

‘Rauque’ particularly reminds me of a Malle scent, Ropion’s wonderful ‘Une Fleur de Cassie’, whose central note, the cassia flower, also known as ‘Sweet Acacia’ or ‘Vachellia farnesiana’ and belonging to the subfamily of mimosa plants, blooms similarly prominently in ‘Rauque’. However, the two perfumers stage the not overly sweet, slightly woody, or rather hay-like scent of the acacia in distinctly different ways. While Ropion works the bouquet with rose and jasmine in a rather floral manner, with an underlying indolic note, ultimately allowing it to fade on a finely polished base of sandalwood with a subtle hint of vanilla, Sheldrake brings several more protagonists on board, so that while ‘Rauque’ is initially dominated by the aroma of the sweet acacia, it does not linger nearly as long as in the case of ‘Une Fleur de Cassie’.
Before long, the typical moist-green aspects of violet leaf join in, followed by the dark-floral tone of the daffodil, whose scent trail often sails in with a frivolous stink, but fortunately here does not gain too much momentum, rather initiating the transition to a base that maneuvers the scent peu à peu in a completely different direction: away from the floral-hay-green banter, towards the sonorous, almost endlessly humming dark-toned amber aroma, which ultimately dominates the scent progression at least as much as the initial acacia accord.
Osmanthus, myrrh, and mushrooms also play their part in the scent event, but they form more of a background chorus, whose fruity, resinous, and earthy facets seem to dance on the unfolding amber aroma base before they completely sink into it.

Amber aroma - wow, what a material!
I’ve never really stumbled upon it before, at least not consciously. Ambermax, yes, I knew that, the sensually warm amber on steroids, or ambrocenide, the popular fully synthetic sweet woodiness that young men love to bathe in, not to mention ambroxan, the mega-booster of modern perfumery.
But amber aroma?

What I smell: balsamic-resinous amber, and not in small amounts, but there is something else, even more. Animalistic notes peek through clearly, but also somehow the idea of dark, aromatic tobacco, smoky tea, old wood, occasionally something salty - a true kaleidoscope!
Had I not already been dealing with real gray amber (ambergris) for a long time, one could have sold me this base as a successful substitute for the equally mythical and rare whale substance. But no, amber aroma is not a real substitute, rather an approximation, a kind of translation into the foreground, yes voluminous, warmer, more sensual, more animalistic than the original substance, which acts comparatively more reserved, quieter, and more backgrounded. While amber aroma does not reach the refinement of real amber, it is more present and has significantly more power: a muscular amber in an amber cloak, so to speak.

Interestingly, this scent base is quite old: in 1926, the young Hubert Fraysse developed it together with his brother Georges for their own company Synarome as a substitute for the sinfully expensive gray amber, which fluctuated in quality and quantity. Similar motives eventually led to the introduction of other bases such as Muscarome, Animalis, and Cuir HF, which are still frequently used fragrance building blocks today.
A central component of amber aroma is labdanum, or its extracted ethyl ester, which extracts leathery, smoky, and spicy aspects from the resin of the cistus. While Synarome remains silent about other components of the base, gas chromatography attempts have apparently 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 animalistic facet seems rather flickering, barely tangible, here it is quite substantial, yet tame. No comparison to animalistic heavyweights like ‘Kouros’, ‘Figment Man’ or the first version of Dior’s ‘Leather Oud’.

As much as amber aroma dominates the base, a fine leather note still manages to assert itself. A leather note that rather reminds one of the good old birch tar Cuirs de Russie than of modern, clean, saffron-spiced Cuirs like Barrois’ ‘B683’.

The references to scents of ‘the good old days’ are quite numerous. Yet ‘Rauque’ is far from being a mere nostalgia scent. Rather, it skillfully understands how to transpose an aura of the past into the present, using familiar means, but in a new tonality. Similar success has been achieved by Martin Fuhs with Grauton’s ‘Pour Homme’, although I would label ‘Rauque’ less definitively than ‘Pour Homme’ and would not assign it so clearly to a specific fragrance era. Rather, the scent sails much further back into the annals, borrowing from the 20s, 30s, and 40s, with a clear twist towards the 70s.

Quite retro is, fittingly, the bottle in the perfectly corresponding colors of Kalamata olive violet-brown and olive oil green. The lettering and bottle design skillfully draw from the resources of the 60s/early 70s, as well as Art Deco. It has style!

Speaking of ‘style’, who could wear this scent? First of all: everyone, where do we live: down with gender barriers! But it might suit a type like ‘Lauren Bacall’ or a type like ‘Georgette Dee’ - no slick beauties, rather characterful ones. Yes, and definitely with the obligatory cigarette and the accompanying ‘voix rauque’, the hoarse voice that gives some that certain sultry-erotic je ne sais quoi.

Oh well, me - even though I don’t (any longer) smoke and don’t fit this ‘type’ at all - it suits me best of all!