Ropanski2020

Fragrances by Carbonnel have caused such a sensation in the perfume world that even those who declare themselves against them can hardly resist them permanently, the discourse associated with them is too captivating and inescapable.

In fact, it cannot be denied that the name Carbonnel stands for a certain standard in the contemporary perfume world. After all, some of the most successful niche fragrances of recent years have come from its pen. And I would be lying if I claimed to be unbiased in my assessment of this fragrance.

Tulua has a Mediterranean feel and is intended to olfactorily frame an extravagant attitude to life, La Dolce Vita. There is talk of a lot of hedonism, sun worship and sweet pleasures. One might be inclined to believe such illusions, rather than grant them a documented testimonial.

Fragrance profile:
If pure natural essential oils have been used here, they are buried beneath a largely synthetic base. And since the truthfulness of fragrance pyramids is not to be taken too seriously, a soft muskiness can be confidently added to this, which in the subtext proves to be powdery-dry, but also sublimely icy to metallic.

Viewed soberly, this is probably a fusion of various aroma compounds of the sweet (ethyl maltrol, slightly buttery), fruity (tropical aldehyde mix), ambery to dry woody (cedrol-like, some synthetic amber wood kit) variety.

The sparkling opening is immediately surrounded by various sweetish aromas with a slightly acidic character (fruity acidity). The sweetish base gradually envelops the wearer in a kind of creamy, fruity aura that fades away hermetically. Apart from the top note(s), none of this is probably of natural origin. It's difficult to properly compartmentalize this "somehow smells like" aerosol, as it's more impressions than concrete ideas about the raw materials used that are at play here.

I have no choice but to use some heavily processed industrial product from the food industry as a concrete association. Some kind of slush ice (from my childhood) comes to mind, but it could also be any brand of pudding or yoghurt with a fruit topping or a lollipop from a well-known Spanish confectionery manufacturer. Even a certain fairground reminiscence cannot be concealed with all the perforated sweetness.

Classification & rating:
If the quality of the fragrance were to be judged solely on the basis of its current resonance on the net, the verdict might be more benevolent. Only my passion for perfume prevents such a judgment. I see the puzzle that such fragrance profiles present me with disintegrating due to their dismal molecular level, where everything is lost in an almost indefinable complex of intersecting and overlapping compounds - all bound together in manifold ways and reactively enhanced.

It is at least contemporary (!), that cannot be denied, as fragrances such as "Erba Pura | XerJoff", "Erba Gold | XerJoff", "Accento | XerJoff", Kirkè Extrait de Parfum and others enjoy great popularity. In this respect, the brand should also be successful with this project. Nevertheless, Tulua gives me a feeling of superficiality, comparable to a nice but ultimately insubstantial liaison. The Mediterranean joie de vivre is completely lost to me here as a point of reference. Everything gets lost in this all-too-familiar Carbonnel'esque sweet-fruity melange - rigid and without any interesting arcs of tension.

Moreover, I do not recognize any further development in the Spaniard, although it is obviously too much for many to think of Carbonnel outside this, his sphere. As a perfume enthusiast, I would have been pleased to see such an escape from the comfort zone. Instead, an unimaginative fragrance focus prevails, which justifies criticism. No matter how highly you rate the quality, the added value of such recycling efforts, which are primarily aimed at appealing to a (still) inexperienced, younger audience, remains negligible. In fact, this is the whole problem in a nutshell. Nor can it be solved by simply pointing out the diversity of tastes!

Rather, it seems as if Carbonnel is no longer in a position to open up any worlds beyond the familiar material, merely varying here and there, spinning on, rarely laboriously, but quite skillfully, when it comes to creating recognition effects, beyond which one can no longer go. The creative marketing department takes care of the rest. In a way, Carbonnel completely immerses himself in this outward appearance without (presumably) blushing. His urge to conserve consists of an almost reactionary adherence to long overused formulas that reverberate repetitively. Perhaps the good man has the same job in his inbox all the time! The answer and the instructions to his own staff in Barcelona always seem to be the same. Which seems less surprising, as such commissioned work is subject to tough sales calculations.

Conclusion:
Tulua doesn't appeal to me and can at best be seen as a meaningful description of the current state of affairs and also a retort, so to speak, to the current market, where dreams are being turned into foams with a comparatively big name and presumably little effort. With the best will in the world, I can no longer see any real heart and soul in this. It just feels too repetitive here. Even the nice explanations of the distributors about the fragrance don't help.

In any case, product descriptions have something idealistic and pompous about them, they tend to be colorful exaggerations and extravagant. They aim to throw out the quiver and wait and see; it's no different here. Whether a nice story has been spun together in the background, so to speak at the "Spezi regulars' table", is of secondary importance, because it doesn't rise above the level of a teleshopping issue anyway, where everything is adorned in superlatives and seems exaltedly charged. This certainly applies across fragrances and brands (!) and should therefore not be to the disadvantage of the brand owner. But it is also true that anyone who raves about a "touch of Italian summer nights" and claims that "fundamental values and ethical principles" have been incorporated into the end product and then calls something - sorry! - trivial thing as a "fantastic result" and then offers it for sale - sorry! - will only have the laughs of Citizen Citizen Kane on his side in case of doubt.

What remains is the realization of a personal dream project, for which the client is to be congratulated. In Carbonnel, a renowned perfumer has been brought on board who delivers in a familiar manner. That may be a good thing, but I am increasingly realizing that my path back into the mainstream niche is blocked. I can no longer get anything out of fragrances of this kind.

Not all that glitters is perfume gold. And to be honest, at the moment, the artisan sky is in a state of real gloom anyway. Brands come, brands go, scents stay (the same); you learn that quickly!

The Jinx brand has recently become known for its astonishingly busy release policy. This time, Arthur is trying his hand at a mukhallat composition, i.e. a traditional Far Eastern fragrance line usually consisting of oud, rose and musk, a wonderful combination if an expert is at work.

I already had great doubts beforehand as to whether such an undertaking would bear fruit. My doubts were not dispelled by the lavishly decorated fragrance pyramid, but rather confirmed: the result is an alkaline nightmare with a range of synthetic musk-civet surrogates, completely overused in the base and abnormally persistent (lasting >20 hours). Moreover, very monothematic - from beginning to end.

J-D'Orient smells like acidified rose soap that has recently passed its expiration date. In general, the synthetic component in the base is decidedly too overpowering. Only a handful of the many ingredients can be detected; everything seems to have been rolled flat. There is a slightly sweet note in the background (presumably tobacco and benzoin), which is supposed to draw some sharpness from the aldehydes. A hint of acetic acid and tart lime in the top note further color the already slightly sweaty to pungent fragrance. Well done!

I am by no means a connoisseur and am rarely inclined to rush to judgment as to whether this or that interpretation is right or wrong, but I will take the liberty of commenting here and there on whether I consider it a success. For example, I find the description oriental-ambient unfavorable in view of what is presented.

J-D'Orient strikes me as a slightly tilted, French vintage chypre from the previous century. More Occident than Orient. You can like that, but you can probably experience it far more cheaply elsewhere. Fans of this style may forgive me, but with such a soapy aldehyde monster with scratchy all-in synthetics and some sparkling top note twittering, I take flight without being asked.

Arthur would do well to curb or at least rethink his flood of releases. It's one thing to mix joyfully and happily and live out your creativity, it's another to release immediately. It doesn't help that there's a direct hit every now and then.

His mixed-media releases are not convincing (to me), always seem coarse and not at all well-produced, J-D'Orient is representative of this. The comparatively high ratings for the fragrance so far are quite astonishing. But tastes differ, as we all know, and to err is human.

Thanks to @Seejungfrau for the intensive testing opportunity.

The desire to discover is truly a very natural, if infernal, phenomenon when it threatens to turn into greed. New discoveries quickly turn into crystallization points of recognition, the demand seems to be covered anew, at least for a certain time, so it seems. After all, the abundance of publications and newly placed brands is a constant challenge. The fascination of the extraordinary remains deceptive: what is worthwhile and what should be carefully excluded?

Finding your way through this maze can sometimes be a hellish ordeal, as the majority of brands only communicate via the digital grapevine. Taking established artisan brands such as Ensar as a role model, they mix in good faith and increasingly emphasize the origin and quality of the selected raw materials. All of this is intended to demonstrate an additional quality standard. So much for the theory.

Jinx will be celebrating its third anniversary next spring. Originally launched as a Kickstarter project at the end of 2021, it is likely to be described as a firmly established indie brand by the time Collection II is released this year at the latest. This initially reveals little about the actual quality of the output, but rather about the staying power it takes to survive in this highly competitive market. Like many of his Artisan colleagues, the owner is first and foremost a fragrance lover, not a food chemist or cosmetics laboratory technician. His creations are not free of synthetic additives, but are kept as natural as possible unless otherwise stated on the product sheet. Whether the prices charged reflect the quality of the craftsmanship is up to each individual to decide.

The loyal clientele obviously proves him right. The loyalty can be seen not least in the various Patreon memberships. One man's joy is another man's sorrow: the ordinary fragrance enthusiast often lacks access to his limited fragrance concepts, which are invariably reserved for the aforementioned members. And so they are often left behind and are left empty-handed even with regular releases in the company's own webshop, as the occasional (sometimes very limited) releases are too coveted. This was also the case with this one, which sold out in record time. The pretty slogan: "Perfume is for everyone" seems a little short-sighted at best.

Fragrance profile
The opening is rough and dry to brittle, characterized by strong aromas throughout. Some would say musty and woody. Swathes of pulverized cocoa and crushed coffee diffuse in the background, which then grow in amplitude over time. The eponymous oud is quite strong, warm to slightly peppery (nutmeg) and also exudes a slightly oily scent (terpene), but at the same time provides a certain brightening of the fragrance profile, which is almost claustrophobic (gloomy), especially in the first two hours, as if you were sitting in a locked wooden chest. Everything is underpinned by a spicy copaiva balsam infusion that hardens like a smoky stain. The iris initially seems a little overdrawn, showing its earthy, slightly powdery side in the first few minutes and, in combination with the selected eaglewood, is reminiscent of the first-class Indian Papyrus. The clove gradually comes to the fore, adding both spicy and fresh accents and coloring the fragrance profile accordingly. The texture of the wood breaks up noticeably, a scent of conifers (minimal) and sawdust escapes, which is cleverly blended with clove and the gourmand combination of vanilla and cocoa. Certain reminiscences of The History of Indonesian Oud inevitably come to mind here, but the Jinx remains far more complex - not only in its composition - than the "only-Oud Release" by Russian Adam.

What should be mentioned no less is the sharp focus on the weaknesses: although the gourmand connection (cocoa, vanilla) is able to smooth out the harsh intention in a meaningful way, it is ultimately a little too pointed for me. This causes the actual idea to falter somewhat without completely slipping away. Far more debatable is a - admittedly only quite - sublimely pronounced, synthetic-scented fragrance note in the background (profile: sticky, fresh and bright), as I already perceived in high doses in Roxo, possibly caused by the animalic by-catch (white ambergris, castoreum) and/or by the interaction of individual other notes (palo santo, sandalwood). Since the owner of the trademark usually discloses its synthetic additives directly (see above), such a circumstance would surprise me. This may be less problematic as a result, as I don't find the note disturbing here, but this fact should not go unmentioned.

Conclusion
Far from his usual "mixed media" releases, which I have enjoyed less so far, the owner of the brand has achieved a remarkable feat here. The fragrance creates a captivating atmosphere of antique wooden furniture, captivates with its elegant, rusticity and warmth - a play of contrasts - where temporal and spatial horizons blur and everything becomes increasingly unraveled. Although you are not a witness to this era, you are given the opportunity to look at it from the outside, as it were. An aesthetic pleasure that is not so much worn as directly felt, where appearance and reality ultimately become indistinguishable, presenting themselves as olfactory overhangs and fragments of the past. The basic tenor is kept pithy, the pictorial concern realized true to form: a branch of the East India Company - cargo received from the Spice Islands and stowed away in the attic; antique chest with sturdy fittings and darkened wood that once saw tongues of flame and yet survived, kept in a rustic style, immersed in sombre colouring.

for me, Tigerwood Antique is an olfactory postscript to the meaningful aesthetics of great and above all courageous perfume narratives: astonishingly rich and persistent (lasting +14 hours; fragrance concentration: 41%), yet less coarse - in its implementation - but rather finely chiseled and well-made, simply of superior craftsmanship. Here, skill is accompanied by being. As a concept - despite or perhaps because of its complex concreteness - it is surprisingly wearable, but as a mere perfume it is probably too bulky and too dense for the majority of people here. A fragrance for connoisseurs!

"What good is a glorious idea if it dies in the factory?"

There is often a lot of leeway between imagination, passion and the will to implement, but this can rarely be completely filled with creativity.

Working with raw materials means taking a fascinating look at the possibilities of one's own creativity, but it is by no means a sure-fire success. The still young brand Nebiru Parfvms is attempting to make its voice heard in the slipstream of a newly emerged and steadily growing "Artisanal Oud Community".

For some, the diversity of the ingredients seems suspect, for others the prospect of their fusion. In general, the fragrance pyramid is as much an attempt as an offer to open the door to one's own imagination. As always, it's all about trying.

To the fragrance profile
A rich, candied conglomeration of spices - the opening is reminiscent of a roasted liquorice dish, which paints a kaleidoscopic spectacle of diverse notes in detail, without anything in particular coming to the fore.

The overall impression is of a fusion of Occident and Orient, where the expansive oriental Christmas market opens its doors. A hint of rose saffron extract and a sweetish shimmer of magnolia as well as various balsamic volatiles diffuse as a captivating melange in a largely unhurried manner, but also with little development throughout, as it does not allow for any rashes. The fragrance profile tends to be sweet and spicy, developing a creamy consistency as it progresses and becoming somewhat dry and woody towards the end.

The spread-out oud carpet has generous recesses in its texture, covers only dimly and hardly grounds, the woven profiles are as colorless as they are low-contrast, unfortunately. Critically, it can be apostrophized: diverse (in theory) but inexpressive (in practice).

The previous comments already suggest that I am not really convinced by the result. I suspect that the concentration level was chosen too low, otherwise the fair price would probably not have been sustainable. Despite all the criticism, the selection of resources appears to be of high quality, but the result is conceivably indifferent.

What remains is a densely veneered corpus that is far too pleasing at its core. Freed from any contours, there is no rebellion (in the base) that seeks to add something full of character to the fragrance profile, a kind of corrective. After all, who would want to deny that the most exciting creations from the artisan forges of our time often radiate a certain imperfection, for which they are universally appreciated?

Perhaps it is above all the "balanced imperfection" that has brought Emerald so much positive feedback in the recent past. I am not surprised by this, as such fragrances - whether natural or synthetically blended - capture the olfactory zeitgeist to a certain extent and can even be wonderfully integrated into its cross-section. It's less to my taste, but it doesn't have to be.

On the other hand, I am surprised by the occasional comparisons to established brands from the "artisanal oud" scene that can be read here, or how much passion is put into trying to assign an equivalent quality characteristic to the still very young brand.

As nice and worthy of support as it may seem to place a new, oud-oriented brand in our latitudes (without a web store), which takes well-known greats from abroad as a model, I would like to see a more level-headed approach at this point (for the future). After all, it cannot be fair to any brand in the early stages of its development to make such comparisons. Instead, it should be given the necessary time to position itself on the market.

I find it difficult to predict where the further development of this brand will lead. Nevertheless, success is granted to the brain behind Nebiru Parfvms from North Rhine-Westphalia.

Allowing oneself to be permanently captured, because the desire is more powerful than the (critical) mind that precedes it, may be wonderfully naive, but also boundlessly fatal - in terms of costs.

So many buyers are not mistaken, one might think just 10 minutes after its release. It didn't take longer than that for the sell-out to be officially announced. I had originally sworn off the good Adam several times. Nevertheless, I was one of those who blindly grabbed it at the start of sales, even though previous releases no longer fully convinced me.

About the fragrance profile:
Cutting green (camphor), dark like petroleum, with a leathery-sour facet. What initially has a petrol-like effect, in combination with a kind of incense-like resinous spice, approaches the image of singed electrical cables or black-colored rubber abrasions (on freshly tarred roads).

The topos - less jungle-esque than one might expect, not even tropical, but rather a smoky-balsamic ejection that becomes noticeably milder as it progresses. You have to like it, but for me it's somehow a little too pointed or pungent (industrial) in the middle section.

To me, it seems like a mix of Siberian Summer and Green Oud that has been significantly neutered in terms of animalicism, but is all the more balsamic and smoky. The Areej DNA is unmistakable, which should tend to pick up the fan, although detecting (the notes) is difficult and the leveling at the back is almost clipping to very clumsy.

The oud has a top-fermented, malty, slightly fermented quality, but hardly makes a significant appearance, at most in the dry down (tendency: middle-of-the-road), and here, too, the result is hardly convincing; in the last third, a sublimely sweet fine line is applied over the base, which gives the oud little room for maneuver. Overall, there is clearly not enough (concise) oud for me, which is disappointing considering the chosen name and the background story to the fragrance.

It seems to me that too much reference was made in advance to the age and region of origin of the eagle wood, so to speak, as the primary quality criterion. At least the quality claim has been revived in the bottle design; the result is really beautiful to look at! Despite all the criticism, this should be mentioned positively.

What remains is a gutted iteration of familiar staples whose former appeal lay in the unabashed robustness of their fragrance presentation(s), but whose evaporation of the base once again reveals an unnecessary capacity for compromise. Finalized by a kind of smoothing, at right angles to the rather wildly polished balsamic-smoky facet, the penetrating power and detail of the remaining notes suffers here, both of which are lost in an admittedly striking fragrance mash. Something that - sooner or later - opens the door to a high-quality niche for the brand. A pity, but a logical consequence of the brand's recent noticeable change in direction. Nevertheless, these lines are based on the principle of indulgence. Because the fragrance is by no means bad.