Batavia - this was the name given in the 17th century to the headquarters of the Dutch East India Company on the northwest coast of the island of Java, nowadays more commonly known as Jakarta, the capital and (still) seat of government of the Republic of Indonesia.
To name a fragrance in this way is quite remarkable for a small Indonesian label based in the Yogyakarta region, even though the name dates back to well before the colonial era.
Batavia Oud originally stemmed from the idea of releasing a natural hair serum. Ultimately, the idea was discarded, and the focus shifted to creating a perfume that olfactorily encapsulated the woody DNA of the serum; the still young perfume brand UCCA had found its signature. The shift from a natural care product to a perfume is not only of historical interest: at the fracture points of such a transformation, the limits and possibilities of a newly founded brand become visible - resulting in an impressive testament to a different kind of perfumery art, as would soon become evident.
At first glance, it is astonishing how the perfumer (Jaka Umbaran) seeks to artfully break open an almost archaic (wood) crust to let the brew flow out spectrally. Let’s not kid ourselves: Batavia Oud smells of wood; of slightly infested, freshly split wood, but also of old, wet, weathered, already dead and/or processed wood. As a kind of monoculture, matured on long-sedimented wood cuts, there is little room for other intermediate tones. Trained noses might recognize only inclusions, firmly embedded or anchored in the wood, like fittings, so to speak, as connecting elements that complement the primitive grain.
Cinnamon and leather are added, but only as contouring assistants in the interplay of wood notes, emphasizing their maturation process. The sandalwood is highly concentrated and vaporizes spicy-warm, enhanced by the Ceylon cinnamon infusion, it almost takes on a nutty to coconut-like gourmand quality. Everything is both embedded in and marked by the dryness of cedar, which unfolds heavy oil-like nuances over time, although it remains unclear to what extent the used (plantation) oud acts as a mediator or contributor. At least the notes complement each other excellently, merging into one another - that should suffice, but it also doesn’t say much about the quality of the selected oud varieties, which should be noted for completeness.
It is fundamentally difficult to convey a picture of a brand-typical DNA to the uninitiated, even harder to encourage them to break out of their comfort zone to convince them to give it a try, as there are other (more exciting) paths to explore. Jaka Umbaran has a sense for the special and does not attempt to share the eternally the same. She is too eager to illustrate reduced spheres of the natural with a tendency towards unabashed roughness, only to let them fade away soothingly. Staying on well-trodden paths is almost foreign to her (excluding the
Cologne du Bois).
Batavia Oud wears the naturalness of its original idea well, even without purchased "organic seal nonsense." The bottle somehow exudes the sharp-edged finesse of derailed artisan art in an extraordinary way, being rough to the point of being abrasive, flanked by synthetic restraint. All of this contributes to artfully blending an unfamiliar level that is as wild and unblemished as it is reduced and significant at the same time.
There is something grounding and calming about it, something (touchingly) archaic that lies hidden beneath the leather bottle cap. Something that wants to be understood but not loved - it is simply: Batavia.
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