Helas

Bordello is nauseatingly sweet; the olfactory equivalent of drinking grenadine mixed with blackcurrant syrup, sweetened plum juice, and a shot of booze. The fruits have a harsh, chemical quality, and smell more like artificial candy versions of themselves than like fresh-plucked fruit. The booze amps the whole mess up into headache territory. This reminds me of the cloying chemical sprays my fellow students would douse themselves with when I was in highschool - or maybe those fruit-flavoured glittery lipbalms that were all the rage back in the nineties. These are not my fondest memories of adolescence. I can't help but think Juicy Couture aficionados would love to get their hands on this one. Unfortunately, not for me. Two out of five stars.

This one was on my wishlist, because it shares a name with my favourite Chrono Trigger character. I was delighted to see it included in my order as a gift imp! In the vial and during the wet stage, the sandalwood is dominant and I have trouble distinguishing anything else. On the drydown, however, the galangal - an odd, bittersweet, almost fruity note, somewhere between pineapple and ginger to my nose - rise and beats the sandalwood into submission. The cedar and frankincense are definitely present but in the background, giving the blend a dry smoky quality. Magus reminds me a lot of Tzadikim Nistarim, but that blend was too sweet and oily to my nose; Magus is drier and has just the right amount of woods to offset the sweetness of the galangal. This blend does have something magical to my nose, but lacks the vaguely medieval and European connotations of wizardry. I can't see Merlin or Gandalf in here. Instead, I think of the witch of Endor, who summoned the ghost of Samuel in the Bible; ancient Mesopotamian temples half-buried by the desert sand; fertility rites practiced in the name of Baal. This is a dry, sunburnt, prehistoric magic. Rich and evocative. Four out of five stars.

Tenochtitlan is one of my stealth favourites. When I smelled it for the first time, I thought it was pleasant but forgettable. Now, two months later, I'm already scraping the bottom of my imp while most of my early favourites are still almost full. It's not the most mysterious or sophisticated scent, but it is unique, cute and addictive, and a crowd-pleaser to boot. The dominant note on my skin is the prickly pear. Now I'm not a fan of the scent of pear as a perfume in general and the pear-containing BPAL blends that I've tried so far do nothing for me, but the pear note in Tenochtitlan is unique - tart and juicy with a definite tropical feel to it. The sage brings a dry, dusty herbal note to the blend that keeps the pear from becoming too candy-like, and the amber infuses it with a dose of sunshine and a feeling of antiquity. I'm not familiar with the other ingredients, but I definitely get a sense of overgrown tropical greenery, although it remains in the background. It has a similar atmosphere to Machu Picchu (which makes sense) but with a stronger fruit note, while Machu Picchu emphasizes the greenery. I love them both but believe that Tenochtitlan may come out slightly on top for me at this time. Four out of five stars.

I'm surprised by how much I actually like this one! It's a cheerful, grilled banana scent (definitely fresh banana, not the candy kind) with toasted coconut and a boozy undertone. I would feel terribly self-conscious wearing this one at work or on the bus, but I can definitely see it being a fun silly perfume to wear to a beach party or a barbecue. I would never wear this one enough to justify a bottle purchase and I'm not too sore about it being discontinued, but I am glad that I have a small amount available, and looking forward to inducing sudden and mysterious cravings for banana splits in my fellow men. Three out of five stars.

Al-Azif is a dry, dusty resinous blend that summons images of ancient, cobwebbed magical libraries in my mind. I can smell frankincense and amber and perhaps a touch of clove, with a strong dusty undertone that reminds me of the parchment note in Dee. Like most resinous blends that lack a grounding wood or earth note, it comes across as very sweet and almost syrupy. In fact, it reminds me a bit of a baking cabinet in the vial, although it steers away from foody territory once applied. It smells neither sinister nor sinuous, which was a bit of a disappointment for me initially, but I have come to the realization that its sweet, tantalizing incense is in fact perfect for Lovecraft's Necronomicon, which lures the unwary with its innocent appearance and then drives them mad with its eldritch metaphysical insights. Al-Azif conceals hidden depths beneath its maple syrup exterior, and is the perfect scent for all of my fellow sexy mad librarians. Four out of five stars.

You have to try Morgause - it's a gorgeous, regal incense and violet blend. Also, The Caterpillar (carnation, jasmine and incense) and Medea (poppy, night-blooming flowers, and incense). The Caterpillar has a strong hippy chick vibe. Medea on the other hand smells like the smoky den of a sword-and-sorcery villainess. Hope that helps!

Glasgow made me realize what people mean when they say a scent is "soapy." To me, it smells exactly like health store berry- and rose-flavoured soap. Sweet and pretty in a simple, clean sort of way, with a herbal touch that's probably responsible for the "health store" association. It's inoffensive, but bores me to death, although I can see the people who like to smell like they've just showered would probably like this one. I ended up making a hand cream out of this one, and it works much better as a lotion than as a perfume. The dilution brings out the complexity of the blend better and tones down the sweetness, and the soapiness means that it smells like a store-bought lotion, only better. I may even end up ordering another imp in the future for soap- or lotion-making purposes. Three out of five stars.

I'm still a newbie and can't recognize half the ingredients in this blend, but the mystery is part of the fun. Temple Viper is a little confusing for me; I expected a smoky resinous blend, and it is actually quite light and airy. There is a juicy, almost fruity component that must be one of the elements I'm not familiar with (champaca, labdanum, or hyssop?) a thick, syrupy sweetness from the sugar cane and vanilla, and the heavier and darker sweetness of the opoponax and frankincense. Normally, I dislike blends that are this sweet, but Temple Viper has a slight touch of mystery from the resins and an intoxicating, almost boozy quality. This is a fun-loving Viper that would probably disdain the solemn, ascetic temples that I had in mind from the description and instead haunt the ancient temples of Inanna, where sacred prostitution and joyful dissolution were practiced. Four out of five stars.

Australian Copperhead is mostly berry and cotton-candy-like vanilla with a hint of cardamom on me. I don't get any neroli, which is a shame, since the slight tang would probably offset the almost overwhelming sweetness of this blend. Australian Copperhead is delicate and ethereal and a exotic and strikes me as the sort of scent a rainforest fairy might have. I enjoy it but find it just a bit too candy-like for regular wear. The Snake Pit is my favourite collection, though, so even a relatively less successful blend like this one stands head and shoulders above the bulk of ordinary perfumes. Four out of five stars.

This is what Axe would smell like, if people had taste. The leather is definitely on the cologney side, but the sweet, dark, resinous touch of the opoponax brings it to a whole other level of sophistication. This is the first blend I have ever tried that features black amber, so I wouldn't be able to recognize it, but there is a kind of honey-like and almost syrupy spark of sweetness in the background that I really enjoy. The tobacco is discreet and contributes to the overall smokiness of the blend. The Black Rider was a freebie in my second Lab order. I would never have pegged myself as a leather fan before trying it, but I am a little obsessed now, although I doubt that I will find another blend that I will like as much as I like this one. It is definitely masculine but in a mysterious, remote, aristocratic sort of way; a scent to wear with a lace shirt and Venitian mask, and a gun hidden beneath one's velvet coat. Five out of five stars.

Serpent's Kiss is a highly conceptual scent done well. I wasn't thrilled when I saw it among my freebies, because the Lab makes a lot of snake-themed blends and this was not the most original or appealing to me, and the concept of a "serpent's kiss" struck me as too abstract to render into an effective perfume. I was wrong; Serpent's Kiss is one of the most original and fascinating blends I have tried so far. The raw, green vetiver evokes the coolness of the snake and the grass through which it slithers, while the dragon's blood and spice infuse the blend with an almost primal warmth. Serpent's Kiss is simultaneously hot and cold, detached and passionate, haughty and sexually charged. It is also very strange, and not for everyone, but I enjoy wearing it and knowing that no one else in the room has anything remotely like it. Four out of five stars.

I had a lot of fun trying to identify the unnamed ingredients in this one. Violet and lily are definitely present, with a green reedy vegetal undertone and an incredible freshwater aquatic note - very different from the citrus-like tang of ozone or the saltiness of ambergris and sea moss, but evoking water all the same. It makes me think of sitting by a pond in the summer, watching the wind blow through the rushes, the water-lilies glow in the sunlight, and catfish darting in and out of secret nooks beneath the water. Beautiful. I'm not sure if I believe in the voodoo capacities of the oils, but I do find Water of Notre Dame to be cheerful and soothing. I got a lot of wear out of it during the winter when I needed a reminder that summer is just around the corner. Four out of five stars.

Even though the first review says pretty much everything that needs to be said about Dorian, I figured I would add my two cents. I got Dorian from a swap with my sister. On her, it was all sugary vanilla extract; on me, all the listed notes come out to play. I get the shot of vanilla, the lovely astringence of the lemon tea, an herbal note that makes me think of lavender (probably the fougere?) and a touch of white musk. It's definitely on the foody side, but a bit less sweet and more herbal than most gourmand scents. It's not my favourite type of scent, but I like it a lot, and often crave its cool, slightly bitter sweetness now that the weather is warming up. I have trouble associating this one with Dorian, though. It's just too damn nice. It makes me think of lace petticoats, summer picnics, having tea with the queen. I suppose it might work if I imagine the pre-fall Dorian, having his portrait painted while watching Lord Henry smoke his opium-tinged cigarettes, rather than the corrupt aesthete who kills Basil, seduces Sybil, and scandalizes London with his rentboy-frequenting and sleazy-opium-den-visiting ways. A nineteenth-century Eve, before the apple. Four out of five stars.

Voodoo is an amazingly complex scent, a mixture of wildly divergent and clashing notes that shouldn't work together but somehow do. I get a different impression every time I smell it - sometimes the pine and vetiver are dominant and make for a wild, green wood scent, then the vanilla and almond come to the fore and become almost foody in their intensity, then I breathe again and get a noseful of spicy earth from the patchouli. The lime wafts in and out during the first couple of hours but then vanishes. Voodoo dries down to a spicy, vanilla-infused wood blend. It reminds me a lot of Tombstone at this point, but I found the vanilla in Tombstone to be a bit too sugary and candy-like; the vanilla in Voodoo is a milder, creamier vanilla bean. I'm a bit surprised that this one isn't more popular. I can see it becoming the signature scent of an outdoorsy but very femme woman - the kind who packs her nailpolish kit on a two-week hunting trip to Alaska. Confusing, but in a good way. Four out of five stars.

I'm getting to the point where I have a lot of blends of my favourite notes - vetiver, vanilla, leather, sea moss - and so blends that may have enthused me at the beginning of my BPAL journey just rate a "meh" today. Prurience is one of those mildly disappointing middle-of-the-road blends on me. I get a soft and fairly low-key vetiver and some dry tonka that reins in the exuberant greenness of the vetiver and adds a bit of sweetness. The carnation has a pleasant peppery bite and revives my interest a bit, but as the scent dries down a tinny, metallic, vaguely raspberry-like scent that I have begun to associate with orris emerges and kills any remaining positive feelings. Overall Prurience makes me think of a weaker, dryer, less interesting version of Love's Torments. I have plenty of that one and therefore do not need Prurience. Two out of five stars.

The wet phase of How Doth the Little Crocodile smells like rotting wood coated in extremely rich, cheap, melted milk chocolate to me. I ended up having to wash it off, since it made me nauseous. My sister, who owns a bottle of it, made me smell it on her once it has dried and it actually becomes pleasant if odd in the dry phase - rich loamy woods with a faint backdrop of sugared mint and chocolate powder. Unfortunately, I just cannot bring myself to go through the wet phase to get there. Gourmand scents that appeal to me are rare and chocolate scents even rarer; How Doth the Little Crocodile is an unsurprising failure. Two out of five stars.

Blood Pearl is a very faint, creamy coconut scent with a touch of fruit. I find the creamy coconut agreeable enough if a little dull, but the fruity component bothers me - it smells sweet and sour and a little tinny, like canned raspberries in syrup. I cannot identify the smell of orris yet, but every scent I have tried that features it has had the same unpleasant, vaguely metallic, sweet-sour flavour and I am beginning to think that it does not agree with my chemistry. I'm not sure how blood musk differs from red musk, but the musk in Blood Pearl is pretty subtle. In my experience, musk improves the throw and duration of most scents, but Blood Pearl is extremely faint and lasts little more than an hour. The fruity flavour fades on the drydown and leaves behind a pleasant but ghostly musky coconut. Eh, it's all right, I guess. Three out of five stars.

When I first got my imp of Highwayman about three months ago, I liked it well enough but interpreted it as single-note vetiver and neglected it in favour of more complex woody blends. It is a testament to the increasing sophistication which BPAL has allowed me to develop that I now love it and can identify most of the notes listed in the description. The note that stands out most to me is still the rich, green, loamy vetiver, backed by a strong and slightly smoky leather note. It is quite sexual and commanding in a very masculine way. I still can't find rose and jasmine in the blend, but get wafts of gardenia whenever I wave my arm in front of my face. The cinnamon is pretty subtle and mostly comes out in the drydown for me. The wildness and exuberant greenery of the scent makes me think of a roaming in an overgrown English garden by moonlight. Highwayman is definitely not for everyone, but I'm glad I gave it another chance. Four out of five stars.

I normally *hate* chocolate-scented perfumes, whether they are from mainstream manufacturers or from BPAL. They smell too rich and cloying and make me feel as though I have been gorging on triple chocolate brownies all day long. Vice, Bliss, and How Doth the Little Crocodile all make me nauseous in the vial and I have not been able to give them a fair trial. In Boomslang, I have found a unicorn - a chocolate scent that does not make me sick. It smells a bit too rich for me in the vial, although there is a spiciness in the background that makes it more palatable than the aforementioned scents to me. I apply it to my skin with some wariness, and fall in love immediately. The chocolate is like raw, bitter cocoa dust to me, with a kind of dirty, spicy vibe that makes me think there may be patchouli in the blend even though it is not mentioned in the ingredients' list. The rice milk strikes me as smart choice - it is sweeter, but more watery and less creamy than regular milk and keeps the chocolate from becoming too rich and buttery. The smoky vanilla that I have begun to identify as the Snake Oil component wafts gently in the background. Utterly delicious but in a surprisingly non-foody kind of way. On drydown, the cocoa note fades and the woody teak note which is absent in the wet phase comes to the foreground. I find myself missing the cocoa. I get what all the fuss about this one is about, and I may find myself needing a bottle soon. Five out of five stars.

Black Annis had been on my wishlist since I started BPAL, but I kept putting it off because the description scared me a little. I finally got it as a gift from a very generous forumite and I am terribly glad to have had the chance to try it, since it is surprisingly pretty and not just in a "sexy ugly" sort of way. The anise note to me is very herbal and not at all foody, much closer to fennel tea than to black licorice candy. I'm not sure what "cave lichen" means in perfumery but I can definitely perceive a moss note, although it makes me think of tree trunks overgrown with fungus and moss rather than caves. Once again, I would not be able to recognize civet but I can distinguish a furry, musky haze in the background - it is warm and gentle and not at all aggressive. The end result is wild and fey but in a subdued kind of way. This is what the fairy folk's underground palaces in traditional Celtic legends would smell like: beautiful but dusty and moss-overgrown and a little alien. A surprising winner. Four out of five stars.

A perfume based on quantum thought experiments? How freaking amazing is that! I get mostly sugared tangerine and lime from Schrodinger's Cat, with a backbone of lavender to keep it from becoming too foody. The chocolate emerges on the drydown; so far I've found the lab's chocolate note to be too rich for my blood, but this chocolate is faint and a little bitter and makes an interesting contrast to the citrus fruits. Overall the Cat is a light, refreshing, and cheerful scent. I would feel like a grinch if I disliked this one. I can see this one becoming a staple once summer comes around. Four out of five stars.

Lyonesse is sheer otherworldly beauty. The aquatic note from the sea moss is absolutely perfect, salty and blue with none of the soapiness that aquatics sometimes get. The amber and vanilla give depth to the scent and make it glow with a golden light, and the ambergris adds its usual bittersweet waft. The overall atmosphere is of acute, breathtaking beauty marred by wistfulness. I smell Lyonesse and feel as though I am watching the sun set over the ocean, knowing it will never rise again. I feel as though I am watching the waves beating at the ruins of some ancient, decaying city by the sea, until finally they give and collapse into the ocean. I feel unsure whether I to rejoice at the wonders or the present or mourn that they will no longer be with us tomorrow. Kant's definition of the sublime, finally in bottle form. A very enthusiastic five out of five.

Kumari Kandam was my first heartbreak, because I was hoping so badly to like it, based on the description. I expected an incense and ozone blend with a background of greenery and a mild floral undercurrent. I get FLOWERS, flowers, and then more flowers, heady, hot, cloying tropical florals, with a strong underlying layer of dirt that makes them smell as though they were rotting. (Well, at least the "decaying" part of the description is right.) The ozonic note is very faint and mostly gives the florals that dreaded soapy detergent edge instead of evoking sea and ice. There is no incense and no greenery. This scent has a lot of throw and duration and is guaranteed to give everyone who is sensitive to florals an instant headache. Unfortunately, I can't recommend it. I will have to satisfy my longing for lost cities buried by the sea somewhere else. Two out of five stars.

Black Opal is one of the worst BPAL experiences that I've had so far, which is a disappointment since it sounded so appealing from the description. In the vial, I got a faint, nondescript, vaguely sweet scent. On me, it morphed into a cloyingly sweet baking vanilla with a chemical, rubbery plastic note. I have never had this kind of an experience with vanilla scents before and I suspect the mineral note other people mention in their reviews may be the culprit. This is one of the few scents I had to wash off - the combination of foody vanilla with plastic made me nauseous. I do have one thing to say in Black Opal's favour: it was faint and washed off easily. Oh well, they can't all be winners. One out of five stars.

I ordered this one based on concept alone, because Martin Buber is one of my favourite philosophers and I am fascinated by his works on Hasidic mysticism. I expected a solemn resin blend with a spark of playfulness that would embody the mix of sorrow and humour that any self-respecting Hasidic saint ought to possess. Unfortunately, this is all one-dimensional gloopy caramelized sweetness with a faint touch of grease from the olive. Gourmand fans ought to love this one, but I expected a bit less sugar and a bit more depth. Two out of five stars.