Terra

Many of you will know this: Summer arrives, the fabrics become skimpier, and the burning hot sunbeams on the skin lead to a peaceful, non-fatiguing sedation that often comes with a senselessly daft smile on the face. A bit like the opiate-like, blissful satisfaction after sex, only that the desire for it rises proportionally with the feeling, and it seems as if the people around you suddenly become much more attractive.

APOM is a fragrance that somehow reflects all of this. It has something of warm sunbeams on the skin and spreads a not dissimilar feeling. APOM is quite lush - just like the heat. A super juicy, thick, sun-colored orange blossom creates a unique vibe with the cedar that can certainly polarize but has recognizability. The base consists of a cosmetic-like cream amber and a diffuse, slightly powdery-dry fougère note.

At first glance, one might indeed simply describe APOM as a well-groomed cream scent or just as a sweet-floral fragrance. That alone could become boring if Kurkdjian weren't such a talented perfumer who adds just enough dirt and wickedness to make it sophisticated and never too obvious. After all, orange blossom is not only fittingly creamy for cosmetic amber but also somewhat indolic and has slightly dirty aspects on its own. The aforementioned, never too prominent fougère accord is dry, a bit herbal, somehow "clean-dirty," and brings the fougère-typical "well-groomed masculine charm" with it. This leaves little doubt that it is a men's fragrance, but it happens in the background. Modern, without shouting and fuss.

All of this seems fundamentally too warm, too lush, and not least too projecting for a summer fragrance, and I admit, at 30 degrees, I rarely reach for APOM. However, there are weather conditions and moods where no fragrance suits me better. Sometimes it’s those slightly sultry but mild summer evenings. Other times it’s the few super sunny but not too warm days of the year. And it’s usually more of a date or a meeting with friends than a too formal occasion.

My first comment on APOM pour Homme was dated December 19, 2015. Probably not the happiest time of year to test it. Since then, I have gone through several samples and initially bought a decant until I recently snagged a bottle. At times I found APOM too nice, which isn’t quite right. Sometimes it smelled creamy to me, sometimes even citrusy. It deceived and deceived me, and while I always thought it was good, it took a long time for my nose to understand how it smells and for my brain to realize that it is indeed A Part Of Me.

A fragrance named after Hira, the Mountain of Light, where Mohammed is said to have received his first revelation from the Archangel Gabriel. It is supposed to represent the alleged pinnacle and "diamond" of the already expensive and exclusive collection by Stéphane Humbert Lucas, which is made clear to the affluent clientele by the far highest price of well over €1000 per 100ml. Resins buried underground for centuries are transformed into fossil amber - amber. There are rumors about other fragrance ingredients. Oud, saltpeter, cinnamon, earthy notes, vanilla, and tonka are being discussed, but there are no clear statements. Many hints suggest a special quality and not least a uniquely beautiful scent - it is quite predictable that reviewers can hardly contain their praise. We are talking about the ultimate amber. The reference.

I already had a rough idea of the direction Ô Hira was going, and yes, it blows me away. Only one spray was necessary, as the sillage is too much in the first hours. However, olfactorily speaking, I was less surprised.

Ô Hira presents itself as a nice amber that settles less in the sweet-gourmand direction but rather in the woody-resinous orientation of this genre. In these realms, you can also find Ambre Fétiche or the wonderful Ryder.

At the beginning, I notice a rather prominent, schnapps-like cognac note. Barrel-aged might describe it best. This is, of course, based on a dark, viscous, slightly medicinal-bitter, woody-earthy amber note that is in focus. After a while, the resinous tones shift in a slightly rotten direction, which is probably sold online under the euphemism of "earthy notes." Fortunately, this is only briefly pronounced, and otherwise, a rather monotonous, woody-resinous scent remains. There is hardly any development or transparency. The fragrance becomes quieter, and vanilla tones join in, becoming sweet-soft as is usual in the base and quickly much quieter. On the skin, I now have the association of rotting wood and a vanilla-flavored whisky.

Now one might misunderstand me and think that I completely dislike the fragrance. Ô Hira does smell good. However, I see it more as a room fragrance and find it unappealing as a perfume. Moreover, I prefer the cheaper ambers of this rather resinous-woody direction much more.

It is just like so often with legends, references, and the unbeatable. Once demystified, everything appears only half as spectacular.

I am surprised that Royal White has not received more attention here, as it could actually win many friends with its skillful balance of modern-minimalistic and classic accents.

For now, it joins a kind of rare rose fragrances, where the dark, juicy, red flower is complemented, uplifted, and brightened by suitably juicy, red fruity notes.
The only other example that comes to mind is "Dom Rosa - Eau Sanguine," which, in contrast to Royal White, impresses with a wonderful, sparkling champagne opening. However, since a fresh sample of that turned sour for me very quickly and other fragrances from Les Liquides Imaginaires left a questionable impression, I associate the label somewhat with top note blenders and quality in need of improvement, which is why their rose interpretation disappeared from my wish list.

Royal White, on the other hand, starts differently and less spectacularly. At first, I thought I was dealing with a rather noble, consciously purely synthetic fragrance and believed I was primarily smelling a kind of musk. I find it difficult to describe this note. If I try, I think of clean, sharp but at the same time musky, cottony as comparisons.

Quickly, a dark rose emerges from this opening. It is quite prominent and scent-defining, juicy and dark, but the overall impression always feels bright. The wonderfully red-fruity note that accompanies the rose certainly helps to lighten the impression. This impression fits well with rhubarb, but not with the sour-green variant. It rather reminds me of the fruity note from "Eau de Rhubarbe Écarlate." Here, as in Hermès, a red-jam-like fruit nuance appears, but in Royal White, it is a significantly less sweet and not so dominant accent that fits excellently with this dark, juicy rose. However, the bright, sharp-cottony musk impression from the opening and the dominant, but previously contrasting, soapy-woody notes in the base contribute permanently to a very bright, but never directly fresh impression.

As it develops, the formerly prominent rose becomes a small accent, and everything takes on an increasingly noble-soapy note. Vetiver and oak moss were already stylistically defining and have given this rather modern theme an almost serious tailored suit, making it appear more masculine. In the base, this characteristic becomes clearer; the fragrance primarily has a soapy-woody quality, but also always carries something noble-synthetic and modern-minimalistic.

Royal White is an extremely harmoniously balanced perfume with a wonderfully linear progression. Even though some noses may think, upon reading the pyramid with rose or fruit, that it must be a women's fragrance, I perceive the very unplayful nature of Royal White with its skillfully staged clean-woody touch as quite masculine. There is much to recommend it, but to be interesting as a candidate for purchase, it seems a bit too much like a modern Hollywood gentleman. It shows no vice, is just the right amount of polite, and gets up in the morning already well-groomed. I think I don’t see that in myself, yet perfumes with such an aura are often the highly coveted "Pantydroppers." However, Royal White has characteristic, but hardly olfactory overlaps with those and is therefore not, as is often the case with such fragrances, associated with well-groomed boredom, but remains a unique and very aesthetic scent despite all its elegance.

By the way, this is available here at a rather attractive price; a test is worth it.

Hardly a new Tauer is released without the perfume community being in an uproar like teenagers at the release of a Justin Bieber album. I could never understand the immense excitement, as the scents often struck me as intriguing and aesthetic, but somehow never quite complete. I know I risk being stoned for this remark: I have always had the impression, like with all these self-made perfumers, that they have never learned the craft of perfumery in a classical way.

I had to test Au Coeur du Désert for several reasons. First of all, such an incredible hype naturally piques my curiosity. For months, it has stubbornly held the 4th place among unisex fragrances with an unbelievably high overall rating, at times clearly over 9 points. Additionally, the less concentrated version “No. 02 - L'Air du Désert Marocain” is a scent I tested years ago with somewhat inconclusive results. I liked it, but I found it more musty than dry, too vanilla-like in the base. I had the idea that a smoother version, as often described here, might appeal to me.

One thing I can say upfront: I have worn Au Coeur du Désert multiple times and always found it wonderful. However, I would think carefully about the occasion, as the sillage is atomic even with cautious dosing. Moreover, it is repeatedly claimed that the similarity to “No. 02 - L'Air du Désert Marocain” is so great that one wouldn't need the extrait. I must strongly disagree with that. I obtained a sample of No. 2 again, testing it independently and alongside Au Coeur du Désert. Naturally, I wanted to know if I now liked No. 2 just as much or even better, and if I really had to pay the extra for the extrait. But the characters are fundamentally different, not only in that the perfume can withstand a decontamination shower.

Therefore, I want to use my comment not only to describe Au Coeur du Désert but also to contrast it a bit with No. 02 - L'Air du Désert Marocain.

The opening of Au Coeur du Désert strikes me as unbalanced. Here, one can clearly perceive a citrus note that shifts between lemon and bitter orange, which joins the amber. It smells a bit like a citrus fruit seeping in a dusty, old wooden box from which barely definable resins ooze.



L'Air du Désert Marocain, on the other hand, starts almost like a cologne. Emphasizing freshness, I suspect due to more than just; as indicated in the pyramid; petitgrain, which actually smells relatively green-citrusy. Soon, a noticeable spiciness joins in, which I could not have blindly attributed to coriander and cumin. I have yet to notice any amber.

While No. 2 presents itself as a comparatively cheerful-summery, fresh (and incredibly subtle next to the extrait) scent, in Au Coeur du Désert, there are hardly any fresh accents to be heard anymore. It has become strangely soft-creamy, but also deeply dusty-dry and serious.

While this serious impression increases in the extrait, becoming ever darker, No. 2 now reminds me of chamomile tea. There is still no desert in sight, nor is anything dry. No, a lovely chamomile tea. Over time, a slightly powdery note emerges, leading me to even associate it with classic fougères. Did No. 2 perhaps resonate so well because of this? A new, niche scent that can also please those who usually prefer something more classic?

Yet I can also detect a faint hint of this chamomile-like note in the extrait, but here I have never associated it with any fougère, as it is simply much darker, more serious, warmer, and indeed rounder, but also rougher.

After a long time, No. 2 also darkens a bit, the powderiness intensifies, and a distinctly leathery impression emerges. This is surely due to birch tar, which is supposed to be so dominant here. Gradually, a light-sandy image forms, the scent becomes dry and somewhat balsamic.

The extrait is actually much drier. So dry that one might fear dehydration just from smelling it. However, since a warm-soft amber is much more dominant, this dry impression seems far less dusty than in No. 2. For me, it is more homogeneous and coherent, yet still clearly darker, more serious, and stronger. The desert at night!

Years ago, I wrote that No. 2 becomes too trivial-vanilla for me, especially in the base, and I received, to put it mildly, loud criticism. Yet I simply cannot revise my judgment. I only understand the enthusiasm for this scent to a limited extent. I like it quite well, but I find it too nice and at times almost a bit trivial. Moreover, it seems to me to be rather dusty in a dirty sense at times, rather than the desired sandy-dry. Perhaps that is what seems particularly passionate to some and what smells less perfect to me than with many trained perfumers.

The dusty note of the extrait is even much more pronounced, but perhaps it no longer irritates me because of that. This may sound paradoxical, but due to the sharper contours, it feels more like a consciously perfumed dustiness and does not give me the impression that I want to shower after a long hike. The significantly clearer, fuller ambratic notes also contribute to creating a skillful contrast that makes this dustiness feel less like shaking out a doormat and more like dry, warm, sandy earth.

Only the skin-close base, which appears in No. 2 after many hours, is very similar to the extrait. L'Air du Désert Marocain still appears a bit more vanilla and brighter here, but the similarity is indeed noticeable at this stage.

Au Coeur du Désert has incredibly impressed me and was one of the few scents that made it onto my absolute hit and must-have list. However, after wearing it multiple times, I experienced what seems to be the case for many users. It simply did not work. An intriguing smell, but unsuitable as a perfume. I miss the connection with me, with my skin. The scent always feels imposed and masked. It is fun to test it, it is fun to wear it every few months, but it does not work for me as a perfume. Perhaps the regular No. 2 does that better, I don't know. But fundamentally, I have had this problem with every Tauer so far and also with many other scents from niche labels created by untrained perfumers. Often great ideas, artistically and elegantly arranged. Yet it often feels to me as if the absolutely harmonious connection of the notes is missing, as if the transitions between the accords are somewhat bumpy.

I still rate Au Coeur du Désert very highly because it is captivating. It is more like a beloved with whom you spend a few grand nights. But one (at least I) does not want a serious relationship with it ;).

So I am already being made aware through advertising texts at ALZD that there are previously unknown, strong masochistic tendencies slumbering within me? Because wearing Attaquer Le Soleil brings me pure well-being. Anyone reading Kovex's comment will recognize that my scent impressions certainly align with some philosophical digressions of the Marquis de Sade. The opening; as one might suspect from the limited fragrance notes; is of course dark-resinous and slightly smoky, but is primarily defined by a distinct, fruity nuance that smells to me like elementary school children. So basically like sugar with fruit flavors. I have no idea why small children smell like that to me from a distance. Do they eat that much sweet stuff? As unusual as it sounds, I can best describe this abstract fruitiness like this. It is not something you can attribute to a fruit, it is somehow artificial, but also very natural; because it is almost human-like.

For the resin that can be smelled here also has a minimal fecal, slightly animalistic component. This is only very diffuse and I hardly believe that Attaquer Le Soleil will be a distinctly animalistic scent for anyone. But it is a highly interesting nuance that also lends the opening the necessary seriousness.

The fruitiness diminishes over time, but always remains a part of the overall impression.
Attaquer Le Soleil becomes significantly smokier and darkens further. It is not campfire smoke, not leather smoke, and not incense. It is a deep, crackling resinous smokiness. An incredibly beautiful, unique smokiness.

"Purity has found its perfume" is one of the other promises from ALZD. And that actually fits, because I hardly know a resin or smoke scent that appears as transparent as "Attaquer Le Soleil." I still don't quite believe that only labdanum was used for the scent. However, the fact that the scent appears incredibly transparent despite its deep resinousness speaks for itself. Nothing is too much and not a hint of vanilla, amber, or the like makes the scent feel mushy. It is pure, clear, and yet completely corrupted. A delight.

Only the abstract fruitiness still poses some difficulties for me; I keep bumping into it. Somehow it tells a story, even creates an interesting contrast. But still, I find it hard to warm up to this note. That is probably the main reason why the scent currently receives "only" 9 points and is not yet a concrete candidate for purchase. However, I will continue to test and I consider it quite possible that it will click and everything will fit. Because even now, on the third test, I find it increasingly beautiful.

Edit: The more I wear it, the more fun it brings me. This rarely happens to me and I see it as a sign that this scent currently suits me very well. Usually, I am bothered by some facets with frequent use. Here, initially difficult impressions become increasingly harmonious over time and the overall picture is just wonderful. An absolutely magnificent scent.