Une voix noire Serge Lutens 2012
2
Melancholia
The universe exists in a dichotomous fashion; all things have their place, and their opposite. Man and woman, light and dark, happiness and melancholia. It is only to be expected, then, that perfume would also be bound by this universal truth. We have fragrances that are bright and joyous and evoke only the happiest of memories. We also have fragrances that are dark and forlorn, perhaps due to their composition, or perhaps due to the memories we have associated with them. The fragrance I'll be delving into today, occupies the latter niche.
Une Voix Noire (or "The Dark Voice") is a fragrance from the house of Serge Lutens, and one that I've grown very fond of, despite it's heartbreaking characteristics. It was inspired by Billie Holiday, and the gardenia everpresent behind her ear. Billie Holiday was, and still is, a legend in the realm of jazz music, and it is, thus, only fitting that the perfume itself be built around that theme.
Une Voix Noire is a gardenia soliflore, but hardly in the way one would imagine. There is much added to it, from a delectably fruity rum, to a smoky tobacco, which turn it from a young, white gardenia, to one that's been tempered by the passing of the years, and has the richness of full life, on the cusp of death.
It opens on my skin with a beautiful fruity rum, almost as if there are muddled strawberries in the bottom of a drink I've been served, with the faintest whiff of smoky tobacco. However, within moments, the fruit fades, and the smoke intensifies, leaving the impression of an upscale cocktail, and a cuban cigar, luxurious, but perhaps unapproachable.
Moments later, the gardenia appears, almost as if catching a waft left by Ms. Holiday's own. Far from the effervescent brightness of the immature flowers, it's petals are wilted, stained from the smoke of the tobacco, and dipped in the rum of better days, carrying the promise of a journey, and delivering layer upon layer to be unraveled and understood.
It continues in this manner for a while, the rum receding, and the tobacco becoming softer and less smokey, allowing that aged gardenia to shine in all it's glory, the florals only lightly brushed with the faintest whisper of that smoke as an unmistakable vanillic undertone begins to appear. There is a touch of indole here, and perhaps an animalic facet there, but they are subtle and fleeting. And, with the passing of time, they fade, leaving behind a gauzy whisper, that smells faintly of flowers, and tastes of heartbreak.
Une Voix Noire is truly the distilled essence of Billie Holiday. It is undeniably heartbreaking, hiding it's tears behind a veil of warmth and fleeting brightness. She sings the blues, and those blues are here. Each dab a reminder of Lady Day, and what troubled her so. Each waft a fresh pang of sadness.
Une Voix Noire is not for everyone. In fact, I don't recommend many bother trying it at all. This I'd reserve solely for the darkest of days, when there's nothing to be said of joy, and only the faintest whisper of light can be seen. It is when I'm consumed by the most intense deapair, that I reach for Une Voix Noire, sitting upon her plum velvet throne, and allow it to consume me.
Beautiful, but soul shattering all the same.
Une Voix Noire (or "The Dark Voice") is a fragrance from the house of Serge Lutens, and one that I've grown very fond of, despite it's heartbreaking characteristics. It was inspired by Billie Holiday, and the gardenia everpresent behind her ear. Billie Holiday was, and still is, a legend in the realm of jazz music, and it is, thus, only fitting that the perfume itself be built around that theme.
Une Voix Noire is a gardenia soliflore, but hardly in the way one would imagine. There is much added to it, from a delectably fruity rum, to a smoky tobacco, which turn it from a young, white gardenia, to one that's been tempered by the passing of the years, and has the richness of full life, on the cusp of death.
It opens on my skin with a beautiful fruity rum, almost as if there are muddled strawberries in the bottom of a drink I've been served, with the faintest whiff of smoky tobacco. However, within moments, the fruit fades, and the smoke intensifies, leaving the impression of an upscale cocktail, and a cuban cigar, luxurious, but perhaps unapproachable.
Moments later, the gardenia appears, almost as if catching a waft left by Ms. Holiday's own. Far from the effervescent brightness of the immature flowers, it's petals are wilted, stained from the smoke of the tobacco, and dipped in the rum of better days, carrying the promise of a journey, and delivering layer upon layer to be unraveled and understood.
It continues in this manner for a while, the rum receding, and the tobacco becoming softer and less smokey, allowing that aged gardenia to shine in all it's glory, the florals only lightly brushed with the faintest whisper of that smoke as an unmistakable vanillic undertone begins to appear. There is a touch of indole here, and perhaps an animalic facet there, but they are subtle and fleeting. And, with the passing of time, they fade, leaving behind a gauzy whisper, that smells faintly of flowers, and tastes of heartbreak.
Une Voix Noire is truly the distilled essence of Billie Holiday. It is undeniably heartbreaking, hiding it's tears behind a veil of warmth and fleeting brightness. She sings the blues, and those blues are here. Each dab a reminder of Lady Day, and what troubled her so. Each waft a fresh pang of sadness.
Une Voix Noire is not for everyone. In fact, I don't recommend many bother trying it at all. This I'd reserve solely for the darkest of days, when there's nothing to be said of joy, and only the faintest whisper of light can be seen. It is when I'm consumed by the most intense deapair, that I reach for Une Voix Noire, sitting upon her plum velvet throne, and allow it to consume me.
Beautiful, but soul shattering all the same.
Grizzlyscent
