strangemusic

I love the label. I can't decide if the figure is bellowing, or sticking its tongue out at me, but I love it! This is a cool, watery, pale green scent; I'm put in mind of fae cucumber juice. There is an overall clarity and muted sparkle to this oil, though-- these florals are gentle balm, dripping soothing moisture unto the soul. Just my own wee opinion, but this is the nasal equivalent to 'Heirloom' from Björk's Vespertine album... just smooth, glassy, and soft, with a watery, firm incisor bite (think slightly over-ripe melon, that feel at your gums.) Comforting. On me: The pale green scent gives way to an extremely faint, liquid citrine rim working its way around the dominant/top notes (one of which I suspect is the moonflower, another lily), which are rich, winy, sweet at the very tip of my tongue; reminds me of a gorgeous mead I bought in Indiana. Kindly Moon's florals ripple and drip into each other; for the most part, I can't distinguish individual notes, as they meld and shift so smoothly-- I'm just left with an over-arching impression of sweetness and gentility, a cool hand on the brow. There's almost no throw to this oil, and it evaporates quickly in the least amount of heat-- at the end of, say, an hour, I had to press my nose right up against my skin to catch a whiff of the scent-- but it lasts, and it's a keeper. C&P from ye olde LJ, slightly edited for boo-boos.

Acquired via swap. ...man, y'all. I'm such a rose whore. Just so you know, the first time I'd ever seen the description for PQ was yesterday, 2 September-- well after I'd written up my review. Here's what I wrote down: Mmmmmm... proud, haughty rose, with a sullen tang; showy, much like a male peacock's fan. This, to me, is rose as teenager- you can see the growth, but there are still flashes of untutored inelegance, the yearning for experience. I get more rose sachet/high-quality rose soap as this dries, as well as a hint of rose attar... the real thing, which is a bit difficult on the ol' sniffer. Strangely enough, this scent doesn't extend far beyond my idea of my personal space, and truthfully, why would it? This is not a rose for the hoi polloi. Very feminine, but she's a bit cold... and I don't entirely think her haughty demeanor is deserved. C&P from my LJ, dated 2 Sep 2006 and slightly edited/expanded

I acquired an imp of this in a swap, and I can now enhance my review, knowing the description, because there was an edge to this that I just couldn't get... Rose addict that I am, I'm glad to have this. Freshly cut, dew-laden, ice-rimed ROSE, crushed leaves and stems, young, callow, hothouse bred, extremely green-- I can taste the astringency at the tip of my tongue, scrape it off the back of my teeth. The texture, strangely enough, is a bit chewy. This is freshest rose water; this was one of the Beast's roses, cut at such high price. As usual with my skin and the purer rose scents, fabulous throw; on me, this deepens as it dries and loses some of the raw living green quality, but none of its razor-sharpness. C&P from my LJ, dated 2 Sep 2006 and slightly edited

I purchased two bottles. CT III: CMXLVII (974) I smell... something faintly mossy/lichen-like at the base; a creamy, near-vanilla note that I suspect is tonka, a lick of aldehyde, and freshly planed cedar... reminiscent of Tombstone minus the sassafras. Wet, this is strongly cedar-- I lose the earthy, mossy base, lose the creaminess, and have peppery, warm, summer-harvested cedar on my skin for the next ten hours. I occasionally catch the merest flash of the moss, but my skin is amping this cedar so much that nothing else can even get past it. While I enjoy the resonance of this at its fullest drydown, I can't wear it at all. Off to swap-land! CT III: CMLXXIX (979) Cool melons and strawberries, a harmonizing floral note I just know but cannot place to save my life. If forced to guess, I'd say, something from the orchid family. This is musky, fruity, slightly akin to lotus but nowhere near the bubblegumminess I usually get from traditional lotus-- this is young, sparkling, beaded with juice, and light. Richly pastel, a hue crossed between salmon and ripe canteloupe, full of the dreams of muskmelon fantasia-- at least, what I imagine muskmelon might smell like. I couldn't stop sniffing my wrist all night I tested this, because this is just, like, whoa, man.

The Graces, the Charities, the the Gratiæ: Goddesses of beauty, charm, celebration and merriment. They are the personification of all these aspects as found in both nature and mortal life. Daughters of Zeus and the oceanid Eurynome, they are Aphrodite’s attendants and work in harmony with the Muses as fountains of inspiration in the arts. In their aspect as fertility and nature deities, these Goddesses are associated with the Underworld and the Eleusinian Mysteries. Aglaea herself represents, from the Lab description: Splendour - Three golden ambers, bright musk, peach wine and myrtle. Acquired via swap. When I uncapped this, I smelled candied fruits, resembling Jolly Ranchers™; flowers with a rose edge, perhaps? I got a taste of their special astringency. My mind's eye conjures up a springtime flower arbor in full riot, I at the middle, delighted by overlapping circles of pleasant scents. Wet, a candy rush! Finest, handmade hard sweets and pastilles, like walking into an Old-World candy shop, everything carefully made as a labor of love. A rise of juicy peach, perhaps a tinge of apricot; no florals, but this waft is supported by gilt, and something else, even underneath the musk... all topped by a lightly heady vapor of wine, and outliers of a rich, living, growing leaf. I think I really like myrtle. As Aglaea dries down, I lose the 'candy' quality, and retain the fruit; I also get bright, warm skin-scent, and it's oh-so-nice. She doesn't last long-- Goddesses, of course, can't stay-- but her diminuendo is gorgeous. C&P from my LJ, dated 2 Sep 2006 and slightly edited

Clear, yet plum-colored. Initially, there was a bit of chemical admixture to my nose, resembling unscented lotion... a sort of blended nonentity, as it were. As the drydown began, this gained richness and depth, resinous in affect, shading from lilac, traveling deeper. QM is mild, sweet, and dreamy... I suspect it shares a note or two with Tzadikim Nistarim, and I'm almost right-- osmanthus, or sweet osmanthus, is also known as sweet or tea olive, a member of Oleaceae-- and blends with the sandalwood, further bolstering this scent's depth. Night-blooming jasmine and black orchid make for a lovely mix-- I tried this at the same time as TN, and while they go surprisingly well together, enough so that I may try layering them in future-- its throw can't even compete. QM is subtle yet penetrating, queenly and mysterious, yet not so otherworldly that this couldn't be an every day scent. C&P from my LJ, dated 2 Sep 2006 and slightly edited

Tzadikim Nistarim is the clarion scent of trumpets, ringing triumphant. I smell a balsamic sort of pine, freshly crushed; overall, a glowingly ripe, goldenly peach-colored scent, akin to fullest sunrise. Benevolent, encompassing jewels, spinning, light catching their polished facets, with the balsam-like scent more elevated than the resins (well melded and faint in the background, reminiscent of the same effect that the labdanum had in Magdalene.) So I put this on, already entranced by both the story and the scent, and got sucked into these lovely forums for a good, long while. I'm reading along, chuckling over rants about the films we all love to hate, when I smelled something ... really good. I flailed around a bit trying to find the source of the scent, and finally realized it was me. My goodness, this is delicious-- resonant, full, swirling at the very rear of the space where nasal passage and esophagus meet, with an odd yet fitting ring of near-citrus, a fantasy of holiness and world-enfolding compassion. CP from my LJ, dated 2 Sep 2006 and slightly edited

As its description, short and sweet, so shall be my review: On me, Hawaiian Punch with shot of 7-Up, fizzy and effervescent. C&P from my LJ, dated 2 Sep 2006

My first aquatic. I had to pass this one under my nose several times and hold it there, as this scent is so light, to me. I smell sugared air and rain, cooled and condensed as liquid; sweet, mild color of sky as storm clouds gather, tinged electric bruise pastel. Good water free of pestilence, roiled by by heavenly agitation. On, there's practically no throw to this oil-- just a lovely, cooling skin smell, which feels good... and I suspect would be great on a hot day. There's the low crackle of sparking ozone, clean white brightness of aerial electricity, relief and smooth glassiness after the tempest has passed. This is a peaceful, airy scent. At its fullest drydown, the ozone went a bit too far into "hair-spray" territory, so this one isn't a keeper. CP from my LJ, dated 2 Sep 2006

A sort of lemony furniture polish in the imp, woods, perhaps a bit of fresh air and smoke... perhaps a little water as well? When I applied this, I had a quick flash-back to Neptune, reviewed elsewhere-- that waft remiscent of lemon peel, or verbena. This really opened up on my skin, becoming more spacious with elements I found to be musky, akin to fougere (that lavender, I guess), and plenty of those woods-- sun-warmed, elegant, close grained, polished with oils... no carnation at all though. Oh well. Saint-Germain, however, is too masculine for me to wear, even at my butch-faggiest, but I can see this being delicious on anyone with the right chemistry. CP from my LJ, dated 2 Sep 2006 and slightly edited

Mmmm, dim, blooming orchids, palest pink with blushing heart, nodding under a willow grove at twilight. There's a bench under the trees, perfectly situated so that, when one takes repose from one's garden stroll, the wind gently steers the scent around and about you. Wet, the scent opens up slightly and takes on a faint tinge of fresh green leaf, a hint of muskiness; a yawing pit opens underneath the tendrils. Mayhap the pit described as "falling in love", but more likely the pit of one's romantic doom. As the description states, this is a subdued scent, and as such, there isn't much throw. On drydown, a more traditionally perfume-y edge emerges... and while it's sweet, this is a little too much. This was another double-tested imp, and I noticed that first time, worn on a hot day, the sweet orchidaceous note stuck around longer, growing more and more faint as time elapsed; the second time, tested at home in cooler temperatures, the "perfume-y" drydown came to the fore, heavy on the shadowed, damp foliage. I'm not quite sure what I think of this. I'll keep the imp, and see what happens between us in future. CP from my LJ, dated 17 July 2006. I found that this particular orchid blend was just a touch too cloying... WOES, as I really do enjoy this scent. I might try it again in a few months, because I don't want to give up on this blend.

When I smelled this for the first time, I really, really wasn't sure if Sybaris and I were going to get along. I was worried about the tonka bean, as it's often used as a stand-in/helper for vanilla... and I'm beginning to think that Lab vanilla and I don't get along too well. Sweet clove? Eh... Hetairae had clove, and the result wasn't so great. Mediterranean incense? What goes into that? Argh. Then, there was the violet. Isn't violet for, um, well... old ladies?. So, this is what I got a whiff of: thick, furry, powdery incense, with something indefinable, straining to break free... a lithe, slipping breath of one pure note; creaminess of tonka, the faint, moderate spice of clove in flecks. On me the furriness is like a writhing pile of kittens-- here and there, a paw of clove, a wildly waving tail of tonka, the raspy cries and squeaks of incense, the fluff of powdery fur, tiny, needle-sharp claws... and then, that indefinable, slippery note becomes a pure line that BURSTS out... wow. Violet. Violet is not an old-lady scent on me. Oh no. Violet gathers up the kittens, smoothes their ruffles, calms their indignant little yowls, and cuddles them all in her lap, stroking them to peaceful, purring happiness. She wears a satin dressing gown of deepest, truest name-sake color that matches her eyes; her skin is flawless, pampered, silken soft. As this dries, I find I can't really describe how all of these elements morph into a harmonious whole, but they do... and at one point, all I'm left with is a bright cable of delicious, pure violet. Or so I think-- after a while, the spices come back, just as a complementary thread in the ply. A quite decadent sort of oil, clear in the imp; moderate throw. CP from my LJ, dated 17 July 2006

In the imp: An apple-juice hued oil, bright, harsh, acrid. I can, very faintly, smell a bit of pinpoint citrus... but what I mostly get is day-glo (optic) yellow industrial compound, with a fresh wrap-around of translucent lavender (color, as opposed to the note.) Wet: Oh. Industrial cleaning fluid with "lavender" and splinters. Dry: INDUSTRIAL CLEANSER OMG. I stuck it out for the day, but oh, I wanted to wash this one off. Oh, wait-- I did try to wash Clio off, and she wouldn't go. I gave Clio away to my historian friend post-haste. CP from my LJ, dated 17 July 2006 and slightly edited

This was tested twice, as it ran into the lotion problem (basically, an unscented lotion with a noticeable chemical aspect to it), a sticky inferno masquerading as a Texas summer day... and, it turned out, the beginning of sinusoid congestion fun. The first time around, I smelled something vaguely, indiscriminately fruity, a mid-range, diffuse cloud of edible particles that was killed by my lotion... didn't have a chance. Second time around: ah, delicious, sweet, rosy-green apple fragrance, almost that of a candied apple; this smell is expansive, airy, and wild-- think of taking a walk though an apple orchard, or a stand of wild apple trees. There's that quality to it, no doubt intensified because of the herbal addition. I can't tell what said herbs are, this is so skillfully blended. On my skin, herbs crisp up, leap forth like a spear, leaving the apple scent as a poor, ragged third cousin once removed. There's power here, a living green, a conscious worker of Rule against Chaos. An odd, muted bump?...perhaps the black amber. It's not quite supporting, not quite blending, just there; as this oil dries, though, the amber does a better job of harmonizing with the sweet apple, which makes its tentative return after the prior herbal smack-down. I'm put in mind of nothing so much as apple-scented shampoo, and in fact this would be a lovely scent to add to one's hair-care, as it's very light. Definitely a spring scent, but not for me. C&P from my LJ, dated 17 July 2006 and slightly edited

I thought instantly of Mary Magdalene upon seeing this imp. She is one of my favorite biblical women of all time, and I was glad to see she'd warranted a scent from the Lab-meisters. Thanks to Shadow Witch Orchid, I can tell the note-- oh, it blends well with white rose. Dusky sweet, youthfully sweet, plumply musky, voluptuously round, enfolding and encircling a nestled, yet generous orb of labdanum. I love me some resins, and labdanum (aka rockrose, or cistus) smells wonderful to me-- suppressed grief, greatly bitter, but yet bearing hope of future joy. To my nose, slightly thick, plum-colored, a tad velvety, yet moist-tasting as I roll it around the bowl of my tongue. We begin with that resinous orb, spreading liquidly, creating a base for the lightest, most gossamer folds of white rose to rise, billow, and catch themselves on delicate spikes of labdanum; the orchid floral is too heavy to join the dance, but its musk blends with the resinous pad underneath to create a dire, bitter, dolorous accord, close-held yet sleek as bengal kittens. At its end, the faintest thread of rose come forth. The romantic in me imagines this as the scent the women used to anoint Jesus after removing him from the crucifix at Golgotha, their sorrow dripping into the funerary attar. This is a very distinctive scent-- not common, not easy, but so very, very lovely. C&P from my LJ, dated 17 July 2006

... the smell of new spring life, indeed! Here's what I smell in this bottle, in no particular order: herbs, mints, and growing grasses; fresh, budding florals; wind wafting through trees, bringing the odor of leaf and twig alike; sun-caressed fields of grain; ripe and ripening fruits. My skin brings out the fruits-- berries, pears, plums, peach, apricots all juicy with each other-- the green herbs, and finishes with the grains, a sort of warm, wheat smell. Truly a pick-me-up for blah days. C&P from me LJ, dated 4 July 2006

With a name and description like that, how could I resist? Though when I saw the oil, I got a bit wibbly-- it is Dark. When I uncapped it, my nose got dark, dank, damp black earth. The sort of soil in which mandragora might be found, but not for any positive purposes. Oh no. Wet: WOOD. Freshly planed, dark, heavy WOOD. I imagine that teak might smell like this, or perhaps mahogany. Incredible throw for the first thirty minutes, then it drops back to become... more WOOD. And EARTH. This ain't goin' nowhere, no how. Dry: Still WOOD, but now with undertones of other types of EARTH, and something that's ... bark? It flashes, but if I try to smell it too much, I get sneezy. Many, many, many hours later: Oh. It's that patchouli, I think. This one was way, way too blunt and woody for me to wear, so off with it. I'm more into Machiavellian evil, as opposed to HAYLOOKATMYEVOL!!1ONE!!1! I am sad because I wanted this one to work out, but now I get to find out if red patchouli/vetivert is a) off limits, or okay in smaller quantities. C&P from the LJ, dated 22 May 2006

The scent of this imp reminds me of Whitechapel - it has that sharp quality to it - and if I didn't know lilac wasn't a light, white flower, I'd swear this compound had the aforementioned in it. This is lucent, sweet, resonant, and a perfect embodiment of the winding sheets used to enclose and protect the dearly departed. There's a broad juiciness to this oil, as well-- nothing heavy-handed, but definitely there, and a delightful complement to the dopplering depth of the herbs. Not the grief of death, but the reverent preparation of the body for interment. On my skin... mmm. Light, airy, just gorgeous. The herbs and grasses smell as though freshly crushed on a board of white sandalwood, melding with its fragrance; the florals dance on top, a celebration of the art of preparing for the next world. I can't explain it better than this, so I won't try. I'll just say two things: one, I wish I could pick out the florals better, and two, this is definitely going on my next mondo Lab order. Weak-to-mild throw, but lasting, for a more close-in scent. C&P from me LJ, dated 4 July 2006. Since then, I have learned of the floral beastie that is 'white lilac', so perhaps I wasn't so far off after all...

This is one that my friend S. (whom I've fully enabled, *evil heehee!*) and I tried together. When I opened up the imp, she got a floral kind of nose-feel from the mix of resins and barks; I got a very spiky shove of what I recognize as frankincense with a shy, thin scrim of brighter cedar, and dark, bitter myrrh, which goes straight into my upper sinuses and spins around for a little while. Mmm. On my skin: wet, the faintest blossoming of myrrh... and there's the cedar! This time, the cedar is warm, lustrous, freshly shaved from the tree, as opposed to nearly non-existent in Tombstone; its scent lazily twines and spirals around the myrrh's shagginess, circling around a whisper-soft spire of sandalwood... and, yep, a faint background threat of soap. Damn. S. came back to me an hour afterward, exclaiming "I smell like church!" with a great deal of glee. Which led to a discussion of our relative religious upbringings, and our conjecture that there was frankincense in that thar imp. By the end of my dry period, this was full on, spiky, dusty, spicy, soap. Sigh. Yet another that doesn't quite work well enough on me to keep. Medium to strong throw. C&P from ye LJ 4 July 2006

This is another clear oil, a pale gold-amber, and in the open imp, I get a first whiff of something thickly acrid, which opens up into sweetness. Thick, syrupy, candy sweetness, almost that of children's cough syrup. On top, a peppery bite of cinnamon; toward the rear of my nasal passage, an almost sour tang that puts me in mind of black licorice. It's not quite that, but very, very close. It's a smell that makes the back of my throat rise, and brings a little bit of that mucus-y feeling. (Sorry for the TMI.) On my skin, the cinnamon rides on top of that candy-sweet cushion, getting more peppery than the usual warm curliness of cinnamon spice, and that acrid tang (the bitter almond, I guess) turns immediately to SOAP. Bitter almond SOAP, and not a quality soap, at that. There's also a lurking, skulking sort of... furriness? It's mixing with the cinnamon to make for sneeziness. I'm sad, so very, very sad... oh, I'd wanted this one to work on me. I'm guessing that sugary sweet smell was the heliotrope; I liked it a lot, but it's not strong enough against the bitter almond/cinnamon snappage. *sniffle* And I can smell how this scent would just rock on the right person, too. Waaaaaaaah. *sob* I like cinnamon. I think I'm liking heliotrope, too... just not together. ...and, adding insult to injury, the imp keeps spitting at me when I open and close it! Argh! Moderate throw, for this one. C&P from the LJ, dated 4 July 2006

Yep, sweet, soft, and hell of powdery. I can smell... hmmm. The top of this smells like a mixture of, um, argh. Dried and powdered sachet flowers-- a little violet, a little tea rose, a little this, a little that, a whole lotta old lady's chifferobe. A broad band of old-school linen sheets cut across the powder-- the type of linen sheets you got at your wedding, well-woven and meant to last. These sheets would be washed by hand with gentle soap, and hung to dry in the air and sunlight for the next sixty years. Ghosts of summers and springs past linger there. On my skin: The faded-sunshine-linen smell flares up for a little while, no more than a brace of minutes, and is swallowed up by powder. I'm reminded of a specific perfume, here, but cannot for the life of me remember which one... L'Air du Temps, maybe. Every element of this scent devolves into a sweet, light, dry-powder mix that just sits there, flowers on top. Actually, my skin is emphasizing the sweetness, but that's about it. I would write what this is like when dry, but by that time, it's gone. This is the shortest-lasting perfume oil I've ever tried in my life. C & P from the LJ, dated 26 June 2006

Upon uncapping this imp, a waft of thick pink. The first time, it was a mix of vulval fleshiness and pink oil pastel crayon, held up by something dark green and leathery. Succulent, too... I couldn't think of the name of the plant, so couldn't look it up... but the leaves are split in two, VERY fleshy, dark green. It was as though an olive leaf had been cut in two to reveal a half-inch of watery flesh inside, like a succulent or an aloe plant... that sort of dark green smell. When I applied it that first time, I was overwhelmed by pink vulva, old pink oil pastel, dark olive-green something, and a sort of... chalky binder. I never figured out what it was, either-- I was too busy washing this one off, and trying to decide whether to give it another try, or run screaming. After a while, I decided to try again. This time, I smelled sweetness; not young, but older. Honey and ylang ylang to lure you in, to place figs drizzled with honey on your tongue. The tastes complement each other, and as you swallow, she kisses you. She's been sucking cloves to freshen her breath; the headiness envelops you as she plies that tongue, soothes you with caresses. Patchouli is in the way back, emphasizing the spicy bite of clove. I got so much more from this scent the second time around, but it took me a while to figure out why-- where one happens to be in one's menstrual cycle really does make a difference with some scents. Since I would only be able to wear this one week of every four, I'll not keep it... but I might buy/swap for another imp down the road. C & P from my LJ, dated 26 June 2006, slightly edited

It is what it is, yo. Juicy, wet, fruity, boozy, aromatic, fine quality apricot brandy, with, to my nose, a hint of ripe peaches. First, I smelled like a swallow of perfectly warmed apricot-peach cognac; second, I smelled like a peach Jolly Rancher™; at the end, I smelled just like waxy, plastic-y, scented little-kid "cosmetics" from the mondo toy store. C&P from my LJ

A clear, dark amber oil; a note I smell reminds me of another imp I've tried before-- it's dark, peppery... puts me in mind of Black Lotus. I wonder if there's a common note between the two. Gosh, that smells really... attractive, like a mulling spice. I smell a rich sweetness, deepest brown velvet, shot through with rare threads of ivory silk and gold. A slight fillip of something bitter at the very end of deepest inhalation... ah, that's an orange note. Ah, and that dark bite at the beginning must be the black narcissus. A crawling, mewling, hollow-eyed mass of need, embodied in scent. This hit me right in the pit of my stomach, gnawing, searching for some surcease, for mindless escapism in appetite. Black narcissus loses its spiciness, takes a bitter, skin-musky tone with my skin... rings hard against my front teeth, hammers against my forward sinuses, writhes uneasily between harshness and wild abandon-- topped with faintest hint of orange (orange blossom, as it turns out.) The only element keeping this flailing maw together is the vanilla... holding on tight with bands of sweetness At some point during dry-down, the black narcissus takes on what I can only describe as an almost... fecal undertone, but one that's not unpleasant. Earthy, yes; odd, very much so, but strangely alluring.

Sweet, winy, just-blown tea roses, so much so that I'm getting a bit of that drunken feeling; the top of my head is ever so gently trying to separate from the rest of my cranium (think of the two parts of the Enterprise, and you'll know what I mean.) My old friend violet is there too, but much more muted than she was in Sybaris-- this time, she's peeping out from under the skirts of the tea roses... that is, when she's not otherwise occupied under there, if you know what I mean and I think you do. Deliciously female, and quite licentious, this scent. While wet, the velveted, microsuede tea rose overskirt whips around, revealing little flashes of violet tulle; dry, the tea roses mature a little, gain some resonance, depth, and a hint of spice, while the violet lazily gyrates at the omphalos of it all. The throw of Marie is maddening-- now you smell her, now you don't; she's there, yet dancing on the horizon. Truly, a will-o-the-wisp, the kind of scent that causes double-backs, no matter how foolish. C&P from my LJ