Hyperion Rubini 2024

Few fragrance houses excite me as much as the small northern Italian brand Rubini. But beware, the creations of this label are anything but pleasing. Complex, at times unwieldy, they present unusual accords that defy all common fragrance categories. Anyone trying to place them within the familiar coordinate system of terms like Chypre/Fougère/Oriental is likely to fail. But that’s exactly what makes them special: characterful independence.
That you have to work for them.

Now one might ask why we should work for fragrances when they simply need to smell good. And fortunately, many do, very many in fact!
As an example: just sniffing Chanel's ‘Bois des Îles’ and the fragrance world should be in order. What more do you need? You want to kneel down.
But the Rubinis are not made that way. Early olfactory orgasms? Excluded. Instead, they cause wrinkled noses. Stiff and buttoned up, they are stingy with their charms, keeping themselves covered. Sometimes leading you down the wrong paths, revealing their true nature only gradually.

The last two, ‘Nuvolari’ and ‘Odenaturae’, were more accessible - this one is definitely not. Alongside ‘Tambour Sacré’, ‘Hyperion’ is perhaps even the most challenging, in any case the least pleasing fragrance from the house. Not that it lacks charming aspects; it certainly has those! Still, even I, who greatly appreciate the works of Andrea Rubini and Cristiano Canali, was initially puzzled.

Seriously: a frankincense fragrance with plastic-like undertones, biting spiciness, latent threatening animalism, along with diffuse aquatic notes - really? Haven't we had this before?
‘Copal Azur’, ‘Bleu Turqoise’, ‘Squid’, and now this questionable combination of cool, sacred smoke, salty spray, and all sorts of driftwood?
Well, why not, as the aforementioned are quite tame compared to the olfactory challenge named ‘Hyperion’.

The key note that unfolds immediately is still the most harmless: frankincense. In combination with bitter-fruity yuzu, peppery notes, and complex juniper spice, an opening develops that reminds me in its richness of contrast of another Canali fragrance, ‘Tiger’ by Zoologist. There, yuzu successfully provides the necessary counterpart instead of kumquat (as once the peach did in ‘Mitsouko’). But what follows is - at least for my nose - a task named ambergris.
When the fragrance was presented at a trade fair in early 2024, the amber was still missing, as the desired tincture had not yet arrived at that time. Now that it has been incorporated into the composition, I am quite sure it has significantly altered the result.
For better or worse? Who knows. Amber is tricky. It can smell good, but it doesn’t have to. Its scent profile is completely disparate. Antoine Lie has showcased it appropriately in recent years for Les Indémodables and Eris Parfums. Its multifaceted scent kaleidoscope can be well traced here: from dry wood to warm skin, from salty watery notes to unfathomably deep animalism, from earthy aromas to shimmering ozonics. The Frenchman managed to harmoniously complement this diffuse play of notes, even with daring accents like cocoa (‘Mxxx.’) or immortelle (‘Ambre Suprême’). The Italian Canali, on the other hand, takes a different approach. Instead of framing the various accents, he lets them exist. Not out of inability, but because he wants to.
And here comes Hyperion into play, son of Uranus (Heaven) and Gaia (Earth), Titan of Light. His name means “guardian from above” or “he who goes upward,” following the Greek syllables ‘hyper’ and ‘iôn’. Messrs. Rubini and Canali recommend this long-throning gentleman as a spiritual companion, should one wish to “search for oneself, to discover the infinite within” while floating through the vastness of space.

Aha.

Hyperion as a kind of Virgil, who once led Dante into the underworld, now intending to take us by the hand in a fragrant way to Heaven.
Well, every perfume needs its story today, preferably a ‘fancy’ one.
Granted.

For me, the fragrance is almost like a rougher ‘Squid’, albeit without the sea reference, which is largely missing here. The aquatic component, although present, is rather dry, or better: desiccated, like spray on sun-warmed rock. And instead of synthetic ambrox sound, the real amber club, including erotic grime. Dark sensual radiance, instead of polished artificiality.
But there is also this plastic touch, which, in my perception, comes off as less chemical, somehow ‘rougher’. Sweet accents hold back, even if an amber-patchouli accord gently bathes the evening sky of the fragrance in fine red. No vanilla and benzoin in sight - and I like that!
With the help of a framework of cool smoke and amber, fruitily spicy-woody accented, this fragrance is meant to lift us into Hyperion's fragrant heaven.

Does that work?
Well, as so often, a heartfelt: Maybe.

Those who can embrace it may be able to understand Rubini's ambition to have envisioned the scents of the universe, “(...) the feeling of emptiness, of absolute peace, and the infinite echo of an unfathomable cosmos.”
Those who cannot will still experience a somewhat successful smoky-amber fragrance, as there have been many, thus lacking a unique selling point.
I myself place myself somewhere in between. The ambitions seem a bit forced to me, but that this work is their most ambitious yet, I somehow believe the Rubinis.

Meanwhile, the creators could have played it safe and pulled entirely different registers of the fragrance organ: ambroxan and woody amber, the overused warhorses of modern perfumery, for example. Success would have been guaranteed, as would the nose-wrinkling of connoisseurs.
However, the feedback is likely to be mixed: on one hand, recognition for the olfactory craftsmanship (it is, after all, a Canali fragrance and the man knows his stuff!) and the courage to consistently pursue their own sometimes unwieldy, offbeat, perhaps somewhat academic path. On the other hand, head-shaking, even rejection due to the lack of pleasingness and frilly appeal.

It’s a bit like comparing Puccini with Schönberg. Of course, the melt, the familiar catchiness is missing, which I gladly forgo in favor of the magnetism that the music of the 12-tone composer can exert on me.
I experienced something similar with ‘Hyperion’. The longer I sniffed the fragrance, which initially seemed rather unappealing to me, the deeper I delved into scent spheres that could hardly be more stimulating.

Hats off to Rubini and please keep it up!