FvSpee

1911 (111 years ago):

The perfume house "Brocard," founded by French émigrés in Russia and then one of the world market leaders, including for colognes, launches 'Severny'.

The word is Russian and means 'North'/'Northern'. As with so many truly very old fragrances, it is no longer possible to determine how the original Severny smelled. In this case, it is likely that no scent samples from the early years have survived, and if they did, they are no longer intact. Perhaps there are still old catalogs in some archives where the fragrance is described in words.

A part of the old Brocard portfolio has today, after several brand and legal changes, been taken over by the (cheap) perfume house Novaya Zarya. Thus, the beautiful floral cologne that was recently served here at the Colognisten-Café, still during peacetime, and also this - at least in its current formulation insignificant - little water.

A certain cool freshness seems to inhabit the scent, although the question is justified whether one is not falling prey to autosuggestion due to the name. An attempt at a critical analysis suggests something like a slightly sharp freshness in the style of tomato leaf or honeysuckle aromas. However, this freshness is anything but dominant. Characteristic of the scent is less the clinking Siberian winter than the muddy thaw period that follows: olfactory brown tones, earthy and nonspecific spicy, along with almost stuffy green notes that might briefly remind one of the Hermès gardens.

Overall, there is no firm impression; the fragrance seems confused and aimless.

(...)

I suspect that 'Serverny' was not a century-defining fragrance even in its original form. However, the bottle is of monumental significance. The current bottle presents the polar bear on the iceberg in a distorted, coarsened version. The similar but bolder and finer original version, however, came from none other than the world-famous Ukrainian-Polish painter and sculptor, artist and great cosmopolitan Kazimir Severinovich Malevich, born in Kyiv, lived and worked in Vitebsk (Belarus), Berlin, and Moscow, and died in 1935 in Leningrad.

(...)

EDIT:

The first and second versions of this review were longer and contained historical references.

Ninth visit to the café.

Regarding the (moderately likable) brand D:SOL MMXVI and its (very likable) perfumer Marie Le Fèbvre, I have already shared enough on the occasion of the two recently commented other fragrances from the mini-series, 'Herbes' and 'Tesoro'.

Now there's just this one left: Terram. First of all, thanks to Knopfnase, not only for bringing the brand to my attention but also for sending me a sample of Terram (after the original sample I ordered from the company somehow escaped; I’m curious to see where it will be found in ten years).

For me, Terram is stretched like a triangle: There’s a (coming from a very modern, elegant, completely de-hippified patchouli) bittersweet chocolate side, then a really, really well-executed forest-fresh resinous fir balsam side that really clears the nose beautifully, and thirdly, a very full-bodied, vividly colored pole that probably comes from the flowers and galbanum, but to me, it impresses more as dark berry-fruity.

That is the core, and as is usual with Marie Le Fèbvre, it is wonderfully finely composed: Friendly and cheerful, life-affirming and vital.

There are also other notes playing, some of which come into play occasionally (generally, Terram is rather linear): A peppery sharpness that only becomes noticeable to me after about an hour, damp woods, and dark honey, and towards the end, something like dried fruit.

As a result, the fragrance feels a bit too gourmand for me, although it is certainly not 'intended' that way. Therefore, among the three, 'Herbes' remains my favorite. However, anyone who likes dark forest scents and patchouli should take this one seriously as a test candidate: the fragrance is beautiful!

I recognize a somewhat distant but still clear kinship to Elite by Floris; there too, the original symbiosis of strong patchouli with fresh forest fir balsam. The Brit, however, is brighter due to the generous addition of citrus notes, which I personally prefer.

The perfumery work of Marc-Antoine Corticchiato is pleasantly well-structured. He is (on his own) responsible for the two brands "Parfum d'Empire" and "La Parfumerie Moderne," both essentially his own brands. Within these brands, no other perfumer has ever been involved, and outside of the brands, the Corsican-Moroccan master has only created two or three fragrances.

Friends of minimalist tidiness and cheerful Apollonian structures will find their hearts further opened when they see that both brands, Parfum d'Empire and La Parfumerie Moderne, impress with simple uniform bottles and calm label designs. And that all the names of the perfumes from both brands are pleasantly straightforward. They consist of one to three well-placed, classic words like 'Années Folles,' 'Fougère Bengale,' or 'Le Cri' and contain no confusing letter-number combinations or word chain monstrosities like 'Sexy Messy Just Rolled out of the Bed.'

I own two fragrances from this (by the way, quite attractive, as far as I am qualified to judge) perfumer, namely 'Belles Rives' (from LPM) and the award-winning 'Azemour les Orangers' (from PdE). Others, like 'Musc Tonkin,' I find highly intriguing, and I don't even know all of the author's works, which speaks to the fact that I appreciate his characteristic style.

'Iskander' is titled on the manufacturer's website as "citrus chypre on the border between West and East," which should also explain the name of the fragrance. For the scent is probably not named after the Russian medium-range missile Iskander, which is aimed at Western Europe from the Kaliningrad region, but rather classically after the hero of antiquity, who is none other than a border crosser and (warlike) unifier of East and West, namely Iskander, who is none other than Alexander (the Great of Macedonia), whose name in Arabic and other Eastern languages is: Alexandria in Egypt is al-Iskandariyya, and Alexander/Iskander was a common hero of both Muslim and Christian knights during the Crusades.

What is specifically East-West about this fragrance may be explained by others, but I like it very much. One can understand it as complex yet completely balanced, a truly classic perfume developed from a traditionally citrusy cologne, but in a bitter-heavy direction.

Iskander begins quite forcefully, almost massive and opulent. It is elegant and balanced, but also a bit dull and abyssal, cool, yet paradoxically also sultry, and while the head says that the bitter-herb accords are of a citrus nature, the heart seems to sense something like heavy floral bouquets.

As it develops, Iskander becomes greener and herbier and at the same time cheerier (it clears up), without changing the lush, moist overall impression, and without the dominating bitter citrus disappearing. I agree with previous commentators like Mörderbiene and NikEy that at this stage a distinct (pleasant) salty note can also be felt, which cannot be easily explained from the fragrance pyramid.

Even in the drydown of the fragrance, the indestructible (now dark-crystalline) citrus remains present, now surrounded by all sorts of whimsical scent associations (for me, vanilla and sweet tobacco varieties). The base contains Tonkin musk, apparently a preferred ingredient of Corticchiato, after which a fragrance of his is also named.

For me, there is a striking resemblance between this very beautiful fragrance being reviewed and another (completely beautiful to me) work of Corticchiato, namely Azemour les Orangers. Both share the bitter citrus with unmistakably salty and herbal undertones, which is underpinned by an unorthodox, artistically quite daring, but completely casually fitting base; in Iskander, no flowers are indicated, but one feels as if there are some; in Azemour, plenty of floral notes are declared, but they are hardly felt.

Iskander comes to me a bit like the - still connected with earth and unrefined stone - rough diamond from which the author polished the perfectly shiny and radiant brilliant Azemour les Orangers five years later, or like a variation in minor for oboe or double bass, when the brighter Azemour is a piano or horn concerto in radiant H major on the same theme.

Both the perfume reviewed here almost seven years ago and the perfumer behind it are highly recommended for further exploration!

So, you virtuous folks and poor sinners! I don’t have much to say about this fragrance. If you’re only interested in the scent itself, you can save some time and scroll right to the end. Mainly, I’m using Era as an excuse for some infotainment nonsense.

For a while now, I’ve had the idea that if I ever started my own label, I would launch fourteen signature scents and name them after the seven cardinal virtues and the seven deadly sins. But, nothing new under the sun, and in a Stanislaw Lem-esque pseudo-plagiarism, Memoize had the same idea at the same time and executed it before me. One must acknowledge that without envy (!). However, as far as I can see, the execution has been rather bumpy. What a shame. A good idea wasted.

Memoize is a rather hip and relatively expensive (177 British pounds for the 100 ml bottle) London label founded by Holly Hitchinson with the goal of getting rich..., uh, sorry, with the aim of combining the ideas of wearability and practicality with a touch of nobility, elegance, and uniqueness while strictly adhering to responsibility for our planet through sustainability... Well, you know the drill. The work is done by a specially "curated team of highly experienced British perfumers," whose names are not disclosed. The Memoize fragrances are anonymous works.

In addition to some standalone scents that don’t fit into either of the two lines, there is a black line with the seven deadly sins and a white one with the, hmm, well, somewhat virtues, as only two of the classic Aristotelian-Christian seven cardinal virtues are included: caritas (charity) and temperantia (moderation). Prudentia, iustitia, fortitudo, spes, and fides have been replaced by the brand’s own virtues (which are also important) industria, patientia, humilitas, and humanitas.

Regarding the seven deadly sins (which theologically speaking are not really deadly sins but rather capital vices or root sins), the black series has adhered to the program established since Pope Gregory the Great (around 600 AD). The fragrances are named:

Superbia (Pride, Arrogance)
Avaritia (Greed, Avarice)
Luxuria (Lust, Desire)
Ira (Anger, Revenge)
Gula (Gluttony, Selfishness)
Invidia (Envy, Jealousy)
Tristitia (Sorrow).

That’s all well and good theologically, except that in the classics, tristitia is usually referred to as acedia (sloth, laziness, spiritual apathy). And, what’s even stranger is that for Anger and Revenge (ira), that is, this fragrance here, the word is misspelled. The fragrance is called Era with an E. However, that word doesn’t exist, except in pre-classical Latin, where it means "mistress." The promotional text, however, indicates that anger is meant. Personally, I suspect Memoize took the liberty because the British buying public would otherwise associate the scent with the "Irish Republican Army" and would have called the police instead of pulling out their credit cards.

I find it ethically somewhat problematic that in the advertising slogans, these vices and sins have been (of course) twisted into something positive, along the lines of "Arrogance is great, Anger is enchanting, Greed is cool." For this angry fragrance, it says, for example: "The essence of passion, provocation, and power. Lose control of your emotions with this powerful fragrance...". Well. That could have been phrased even less elegantly by Rumpelstiltskin.

I find the fragrance itself neither wrathful nor provocative, but rather a bit boring, although it is certainly not bad. At first, you have to struggle through an irritating hairspray synthetic. Once that settles, a dry, simply oudy wood hammer emerges, dancing a waltz with a smacking, ripe fruity leather counterpart. Floyd’s raspberry associations are understandable, and with that (wood, leather, raspberry), we are, of course, right in familiar, if not to say worn-out, territories.

I don’t notice the floral splendor indicated in the heart note; it may be that in combination with the saffron, it contributes to the overly soft, almost slimy vibes that I perceive as fruit velvet. Eventually, everything fades into a rather pleasant, dry-sweet general base.

All in all, I perceive this fragrance neither as particularly sinful nor virtuous; rather, it comes to my mind:

In perfume and scent matters
the middle way brings death.

"A reminder of the golden and glorious times in the Sollér Valley in Mallorca. When oranges were traded like gemstones and life was cultivated and splendid. Delicious hesperidic notes are balanced against a refined aromatic leather note. Abundance and elegance meet. A fragrance with the magic of those times. For our time.".

Thus the usage poetry of the Berlin label D:SOL 2016, which launched three perfumes related to Mallorca, regarding 'Tesoro' (treasure). I’d say: Sure.

The majority of the ten statement authors so far perceive a leather-orange combination here, or at least a 'light leather'. My experience is somewhat different.

The opening of the fragrance comes across to me as primarily herbal-bitter. I find myself thinking more of wormwood and the like than of oranges. Only after a few minutes do actual hesperidic signals reach my olfactory center, still herbal, still bitter (well, grapefruit, bitter orange, and bergamot are also indicated as three sharp and bitter varieties). Interestingly, I simultaneously perceive the leather and vetiver notes that are only mentioned in the base, especially vetiver (to which I have a certain sensitivity). The overall impression here is rather dark and harsh; the musk is somewhat softer, without brightening.

After an hour, the scent impression has changed; it is now very, very smooth, a bit fruity (like from blackcurrant); I think of a minimalist, reduced, and subtly peppered version of Opium pour homme EdT (a fragrance I love). After two hours, the smoothness remains but has become silky soft.

After three or four hours, I think Tesoro would already be fading, yet in protected spots like the forearm (under the shirt sleeve), even after six and eight hours, a nice, fine, but somewhat nonspecific herb-spicy base with a slight sweetness can still be detected up close.

All in all, Tesoro leaves me rather puzzled. All ten previous statements agree that it is not a bad fragrance, but also not a great one (all ratings are between 7 and 8). I concur, and I also adopt Yatagan's remark that it is an unusually composed fragrance in this form. However, although it is quite beautiful at times, it ultimately feels too convoluted and directionless.

The definitely worthwhile orange-leather concept also seems to me not to be really fruitfully implemented. It is essentially an ancient concept, as evidenced by the many (but today mostly forgotten) 'Peau d'Espagne' and 'Pelle-di-Spagna' fragrances. I own an extremely inexpensive and classic representative of this tradition (Colonia Pelle di Spagna by Wally from Italy) and a highly refined, expensive French reinterpretation of the concept (Eau de Memo by Memo Paris), to which "subtly hesperidic light leather" really fits perfectly.

On this fundamentally not greatly optimizable formula, although I find the fragrance particularly clear, fine, and minimalist in the mid-phase (the handwriting of Marie Le Fébvres), I believe too much fiddling has been done. Vetiver bothers me here; those who like this fragrance note, in my opinion, would be better served with Marie's "Vetiver Reunion" in doubt.

Also, a thank you to Knopfnase for bringing this little series to my attention!