Eterno Simone Andreoli 2016

When Enrico Caruso died in August 1921 from a neglected pleurisy, he left a gaping hole in the ensemble of the New York Metropolitan Opera. To put it bluntly, two people were needed to carry on the legacy of the tenor, who is considered unmatched in his field and - perhaps uniquely among singers - became proverbial among laypeople. The two colleagues who essentially shared Caruso's repertoire at the MET were Giovanni Martinelli and Beniamino Gigli.

Gigli was a controversial figure. He could, as Jürgen Kesting put it, “sing like a seraph and flatter the audience like an artist-courtesan.” Privately, he is described as unscrupulous, not to mention his open affinity for Italian fascism. On the other hand, MET colleague Lauritz Melchior reported that Gigli was “so much fun and so nice.” Regardless, today we are here to discuss a peculiarity of his singing. But more on that later. Let's start with the scent:

The top notes are rather meek. The only noteworthy contribution comes from the pepper, and even that is merely supportive. I can hardly detect any citrus, aside from a more noticeable addition of, let's say, corresponding leaf. What little there is can gladly adorn itself with the title “Bergamot.”

But basically, it gets straight to the point: Opoponax. And labdanum. On the paper strip, the resinous O (and thus a striking resemblance to Interlude Man) comes through much faster, clearer, and more persistently than on the skin. There, eterno takes its time. Strangely enough, it seems that a sort of base is being built up first; it smells sharp-woody-resinous, perhaps even a bit leathery. Unfortunately, I have never smelled nagarmotha pure, so I wonder if it is responsible for the portion of darkness?

The mentioned similarity to Interlude Man thus reveals itself primarily with some distance. Directly on the skin, the bitterness prevails. I quite like all of this, as I also appreciate the “divider” Interlude Man.

Unfortunately, a floral-vanilla note after about two hours adds just a tad too much sweetness to the fragrance. I find myself back with Mr. Gigli: His sole aim was to emotionally seduce the audience. Richard Aldrich once criticized Gigli's opera performances for “the constant tendency to sing only for the auditorium and never to pay attention to...those [the fellow performers] he should be addressing.” As he aged, he increasingly infused his performance with artificial expressiveness, such as the notorious sobs in the aria of Canio (“Laugh, Bajazzo!”) from Ruggero Leoncavallo's one-act opera “Pagliacci.” The rather effective sob had been introduced by Caruso, though he maintained more composure.

The heliotrope is for me likewise a Gigli sob: A touch too much sweetness in the middle, which detracts from the profile. Overall, eterno seems to lose itself a bit - a possibly strictly subjective feeling. In the afternoon, I smell a vanillic amber note. A hint of acidity in the background, it almost seems fruity to me; I have no idea what it is. It smells like dried fig and even brushes against the dark-rosy. The (depending on perspective) characterful or exhausting opoponax has become a co-player.

In contrast, I would say pine resin is indeed present. If leather is involved, a tiny bitter birch tar trace might be meant. I'm not sure about that. I even ponder whether the leather is actually an oily rose. Then the spontaneous thought of rose-but-somehow-not from above would make sense - still, I would consider such a placement unfortunate at this point.

Conclusion: Despite all the grumbling, I quite like eterno; after all, such fragrances are fundamentally exactly my thing. I just prefer the more straightforward Interlude Man. Others will say the opposite because eterno seems rounder and milder and ultimately more varied in the long run. Just like Gigli's style, of course, is a matter of taste, for the man could sing - no question about it.