Reedsong

Holy toledo. This is liquid white flower honey syrupy whoaness, and it's strong and overpoweringly sweet. I feel like I've just been hit over the head with a two-ton brick of honeycomb wrapped in wet oleander petals. As it dries, a green stem sort of note starts to emerge and gives the scent a little more depth. I like the leafy green sappy quality, but the oleander is becoming a little plastic-y. The notes are fighting all out war, trying to settle someplace comfortably on my skin. I...think I like this? but will probably need a few more tests to figure it out.

This is an intriguing blend. The four notes are blended so beautifully - the lime comes out strongest on my skin, but that's typical for my chemistry when citrus is involved, and in the imp, it's hard to choose any one note as predominant. I knew that this scent would be interesting when I read it, and I'd definitely recommend it for anyone whose skin doesn't amp citrus into blaring candy like mine does. I agree with the reviewers who call this a lovely summer fragrance!

This scent makes me giggle. I thought it was impossible for the Lab's orange blossom note to get any sweeter than it already was...but of course: just add champaca, and it's instant Syrup of India! This stuff is strong, radiant, straight-up heady flower nectar. My fellow fans of L'École des Filles should definitely give this one a whirl. It's so very joyful.

At first, the sandalwood and the bay were the most prominent notes in this scent, which meant Lemon Dusty Death the minute it hit my wrist. I was about to banish it from my collection with a loud HMPH; I haven't ordered a Lunacy in months and was mad that Raptor had fooled me so viciously by its delicious-soundingness. And then, and then, and then, it dried down. And it dazzles me. Fledgling Raptor Moon is a primordial scent; it joins one of only a few BPALs (Jezirat al-Tennyn, The City in the Sea, The Black Tower, Graveyard Dirt, Dana O'Shee, and Obatala being others) that cross the line from "unique" into "archetypal." Here, for my enjoyment, we have archetypal green-musk-wood, how I'd imagine an ancient forest on an island of spices might be. It's the fragrance of a freshly-cut branch, still running with sap, and a wind carrying heavy dark-sweet aromas from afar. I smell the rich green top notes, and then as my nose is moving away, I catch that deep-sweet after-scent and think, "Wait, what was THAT?!" and lean in for another long sniff. This is gorgeous, and I am so pleased for taking a chance on this bottle; I certainly wouldn't have wanted to miss this one. A masterpiece, and one of the best Lunacies - indeed, the best BPALs - I've tried in years.

28: I have NO clue what to make of this one. This is a tilt-a-whirl for the senses, that's for sure. In the bottle, bright fruity sweetness with a hint of floral and a hint of anise. If Skittles were made by a gourmet candy company, this would be it. On the skin, I get cherry and...what is that? Tuberose, or lotus, some sort of intensely sweet floral, and it's sweet and perfumey and oh-so-appealing. Then all of that floral-fruit loveliness vanishes, and I get men's cologne. Darn you, men's cologne! You smell like Zest! WHY do you smell like Zest? You are supposed to be random, not crappy soap! Then...all of THAT vanishes too, thank goodness, because "Zest" and "BPAL" don't belong in the same paragraph, much less the same bottle. Final drydown gives me a slight skin-muskiness, combined with a sweet and subtle floweriness and the tiniest hint of fruit. This has inexplicably become subtle and soft. This scent is light and fairly unisex; it's oddly charming, but very light at this point (less than ten minutes), so it's off to swaps with this one.

718: It smells like vanilla and plastic in the bottle, but when it hits my skin, it's instant absinthe and mint with a subtle sweetness, sort of like if Cathode and Absinthe decided to reproduce. As it dries down, it smells more and more absinthe-esque, with the vanilla fading to only a slight deepening note in the background. Then, within five minutes, the licorice and mint notes vanish, and what's left is a very close-to-the-skin fragrance of a boozy vanilla, dried rose petals, and...lotus, maybe? I can't quite figure it out, but the overall effect is of freshly-washed, lightly floral scented, sexy skin musk with a slight but soothing rubber-y note. (You know the way that Luctor et Emergo, or a good pencil eraser, or Play-Doh, shouldn't smell good but does? It's like that.) It's fairly pretty, but too light and fades too quickly for me. Off to swaps with you, my Absinthe-Flower-Musky Antique-ish Stuff. Someone out there is going to LOVE you.

So, I'm having a bad day, and fortunately it's the same day my partial bottle of Joy arrives. Sweet orange creamy popsicle in the bottle. If this were a dessert, I'd have already swallowed half of it. On my skin, at first it keeps that orange-cream quality. This is a soothing sort of joy, a wise, discerning peace rather than an exuberant bounciness. I start to feel a little better. As it dries down, it smells at first like rainwater and orange, a bizarre combination. Then, the aquatic vanishes, and this odd, wet, extremely soapy floral note starts to emerge. And gets stronger. Argh. What on earth is this? Lily? Moonflower? Sweet pea? I think I've covered all of my floral death notes, but there's this waxy-soft-soap flower in there that's bugging me. My new-found oil-induced joy starts to vanish as my hand reeks of old-lady soap. This weird settling phase lasts only about ten minutes total, though, and what it finally turns into is a very simple, fresh fragrance: orange and honeysuckle. It's a mild honeysuckle vine simmering in the sunlight, next to a single orange blossom and maybe a small piece of orange candy. Still a little soapy, but pleasantly so. I can see that Joy and I are going to get along very, very well. I think I know why this one isn't part of the general TAL catalogue; there's an 'intermediate to advanced user' vibe to this one. It seems to demand, as a condition of feeling joy, that you reach outside of yourself and recognise there's more to life than your own narrow concerns. It's not an instant pick-me-up, but it does work.

Great Sword was one of the first BPALs I ever tried, back in 2006, and I remember being so impressed by the complex meshing of ingredients, the mandarin, tonka, tobacco, and cocoa creating such a discordant impression yet producing a very likeable fragrance. It seemed to be the oozing scented version of the clashing of swords. A few years later, when I tried my imp of Great Sword again, it was less complex. Like another reviewer above, I found that the bright mandarin and herbal notes had vanished, and what remained was a primarily red musk, tonka, and tobacco blending. Tobacco leaf is a death note on my skin, and the scent was oddly rotting. It was as if I was smelling the aftermath of wielding the Great Sword of War. I still think the Come and See fragrances are all under-rated masterpieces, Great Sword especially so, but advise anyone interested in this one to purchase it new and use it quickly. It's one of the few BPALs I've tried that does not improve with age.

Scent-wise, I get the same lovely lavender of Yvaine with some sweet, warm spices, the kind of spices that make a freshly-baked pie or gently simmering holiday potpourri so appealing. I would wear this oil for the fragrance alone. But as a lovely bonus, the effect is perfectly matched to the scent; I call it Hug-in-a-Bottle because it's precisely that. Anthelion has the sweetest, most loving energy of all of the TALs I've tried. If your particular breed of depression and ennui is best helped by loving-kindness, as opposed to the 'purification' effect of White Light or the 'courage inspiring' effect of Lionheart for example, I would recommend Anthelion most of the Joy and Inspiration blends. I wear this oil when I feel lonely and misunderstood, and it really helps, like being wrapped in a warm blanket when you're very cold.

This is a musky, sensual, dark scent and, as many reviewers have pointed out, it seems to express something of the primal feminine rage. Based on the scent description, and the many notes that usually don't work for me, I'd never intended to try this one - but I received a sniffy recently, gave it a chance, and am intrigued. This works better on me than any of the other Ashtanyikas did.

In the imp, it's exactly as stated - sweet peaches, magnolia, a lovely little Southern-style scent. Then it hits my skin. "AUUUUGH! AUUUUUGH! GET IT OFF OF ME NOOOOOW!" was the sound of my mental scream; it turns to really strong, plasticky department store potpourri. I'd hoped that, since peach blossom is a lovely note for me, peach might be the same, but once again it reinforces the valuable lesson that me + fruit in perfume = disaster. I hope someone else will enjoy this imp more than me!

Yummy, yummy, delicious honey! It's that lovely bright-lemony honey from Hony Mone AND the rich dark-sweet honey from Honey Moon AND that warm appealing vibe from Bezoar, all rolled up into one. This is gooooooood and, despite having an imp and a half already, may have to be a bottle purchase. Did I mention YUM? Just checkin'!

Queen Gertrude is perfumey sweet and brings to mind a lovely meeting between C. Howard's violet candies and Crabtree & Evelyn's wisteria perfume. It's antique, faint like the breath from a flower garden, and dignified without seeming stuffy or decayed. This fragrance wafts pleasingly from my wrists every few minutes; it's strong enough to satisfy my senses, but light and fresh enough to suit a professional, solemn, or other kind of occasion in which a heavy or sexy oil wouldn't be appropriate. This is a must-try for flower lovers, especially if you like the fragrance of violet flowers but find (as I do) that many violet perfumes turn to soap or powder on your skin; the delphinium and wisteria in Queen Gertrude bring out the beautiful, subtle nuances of the violet and keep the soap smell away.

I agree wholeheartedly with Ravenclaw79 - while Andreiphontes is an interesting, vaguely spicy and pleasantly unisex fragrance in the imp, it goes to Charmin instantly on my skin, with a slight after-scent of baby powder. I also spilled half of my imp on myself, so now I smell like I've been rolling around in a huge pile of TP. ARGH!

This oil smells exactly like Double Bubble bubble gum in the imp, and released a cherry-orange wax-bottles sort of fragrance when it hit my skin. I'm having a horrible day, and as I smell the Mojo more, I can feel the relief of a dark fog quietly lifting from my mind. Smelling like 1980s candy is not usually my thing, but the effect is more pronounced than I expected, and the scent is certainly more charming to my nose than some of the TAL formulas. A keeper for sure, and I think even people who don't do well with foody fragrances might do well to try this one - especially if they're moody and grumpy like me.

Oh, Yeats, my favourite poet/playwright/magician/everything of all time. So, I saw the Bards of Ireland series and scrolled down the list reacting accordingly: "Huh, interesting, hmmm, okay, huhHOLY CRAP THEY MADE A YEATS SCENT EEEEEEEEEEEEEK MUST BUY NOW!!!" I'm not even sure I actually read the scent notes, for woe, I am a pitiful fangirl. In the bottle, the juniper berry and grassiness of The Host of the Air are most prominent, with a slight berry sweetness softening the effect. Then, I applied it to my skin and got wet old-lady soap. Just as I was about to sob, though, I realised that the powdery soapiness was my old nemesis, dandelion, and after five minutes, the wretched weed retreated. The dry-down is sighingly exquisite: a sweet, warm radiance not unlike that of freshly-washed skin. I smell subtle notes of wet grass, soft flowers and pollen, and a tart berry or two, like a wind blowing through a beautiful natural place. I want to be wherever this scent is. I am immensely pleased that I took a chance on this fragrance, and I agree with other reviewers that, if you've failed with other grassy/earthy/valley sort of scents (like Nowhere in Particular), you would do well to try The Host of the Air; I'd also especially recommend it to anyone who liked Val Sans Retour but found it too faint (as I did) or too sharply grassy. This is a beautiful homage to Ireland's brilliant poet laureate! (Edit because I do not grammar good.)

I agree with the other assessments of 'green' and 'sharp,' but this scent is strangely likeable, despite starting out so sharp I was afraid the oil would eat through my hand. Ya-Te-Vo reminds me very much of Snow Moon, in that both are tree-tastic and extremely medicinal in the bottle, but dry down to something sweet, softly wintry, and appealing. I didn't want to like this one - my exact reaction to the imp was "Ugh, Lysol!" - but the longer it dries down and wafts through the air as I wave my hands, the more I enjoy wearing it. Keeping my imp for sure, and glad this is a GC so I can always get more if need be.

I adore Longing. The mix of spice, rose-sweetness, and resin is just gorgeous, in the bottle and on my skin. It amps so perfectly; I can smell it, and so can everyone around me. I get complimented by everyone, even my mailman!, when I wear this one. It's a beautiful expression of the warm love that every line of the poem exudes, and one of my favourite BPALs ever.

FROOT LOOPS! I am not exactly sure how this happened, but it started as a faintly sweet, complex resin/citrus in the imp. It smelled sophisticated, intriguing, piqued my interest in a fun and flirty way... ...and then dried down to Froot Loops. Seriously. I want to layer this with Milk Moon and a spoon. First Deimos smells like Fig Newtons, and now this?? What's next, Wonky Skin Chemistry? Will you convert some other oil to Velvet Pop Tarts? Or Petit Four Moon? This is getting ridiculous. Ah well. I'll send this sniffy on to a more appreciative BPAL-er. Darn.

Because this shares notes in common with Pulse Points (civet and black poppy), it doesn't surprise me that this smelled...well, a lot like Pulse Points. In the imp, in fact, the scent was very similar. On my skin, though, it dried to a faintly bog-like and sour variant on PP. This is a very strange scent, and while all of the notes individually work for me, together they're somewhat chaotic. It's very reminiscent of entropy itself, really, so in that sense it's perfect!

This is a really lovely scent, and I'm so disappointed it doesn't work for me. "Honey-sweet and soporific" is the best description possible of the blend; it's a groggy, sleepy bunch of sticky honeyed flowers that seem to invite a good, long nap. As it dries down, though, it becomes cleaner and brighter until it smells like old-lady soap. I love the scent of BPAL's lotus note, but it always does this on my skin; on the up side, that means that anyone who loves the Lab's lotus should rush out to buy this one!

CCXXVIII if I'm reading the smudgy numbers right, and in the bottle, it's Dorian and...penicillin? Ah, this is why - it's ripe plummy Dorian, with a bit of fuzzy peach in there. On my skin, the fruit notes amp and produce the effect of a cup of hot Blue Eyes tea. It's a sweet and cheerful blend, and if I can get past the initial blast of juicy pink penicillin, I might just keep an imp of this one.

My best guess for the number is CCXXVI, and in the bottle, it smells bracing, clean yet dark, perhaps a blend of a few different musks. I apply it to my skin, and something heavy, murky, and oppressive emerges; this must be black musk, a death note for me. I also detect something resinous, perhaps either benzoin or opoponax. This reminds me very much of Schwarzer Mond, and I think anyone who loves Schwarzer and Snake Oil both would adore this blend.

MXVIII: I received a decant of this as a frimp today and am very pleasantly surprised. Typically, I love the 'unexpected' element of Chaos Theories, but they tend not to love me. In the imp, this strikes me as lush tropical flowers and fruit. I think I smell cherry? Maybe jasmine? It's a strange combination but a likeable one. This one actually made it onto my skin - rare for a Chaos Theory. After a few minutes, something very tart emerges - grapefruit? Orange, maybe? Whatever it is, it's brightly citrus, in the refreshing way of a newly-opened fruit. Finally, some spices come out to play - I get some clove and maybe nutmeg in this. What started off smelling like a tropical wonderland suddenly ends as a sweet, lovely holiday pomander. The way holiday spice should smell. The way I always want pomanders and mulling spices and potpourri to smell. My only complaint is that this fades almost in the time that it takes me to type the review. It hugs my skin very closely and goes away all too soon in a haze of warm, comforting spices. It's a really lovely fragrance, and if this were released with a Yule update, I would at least buy a decant if not an entire bottle. Previously reviewed by Dark Alice.

This ranks in my top 5 BPAL scents of all time, and I'd probably save my bottle from a burning building. It's luminous, sweet, warm, "red" in feel and so elegantly romantic. I can't pick out a single note from this perfume; I read the other reviews and think, "Well, yes, there is likely vanilla in here," or, "Clove, I could see that," or, "Sandalwood, that's an interesting notion," but all I smell from this scent is loving, bright passion. One insightful reviewer likened this to a softer version of Dior's Poison, and I find that comparison apt, but really, there's no summary of The Living Flame that does it justice. This fragrance is so unique and brilliant, and I'm strangely more content in my ignorance of its ingredients than I would be with a list of notes. I watch the Lupercalia update eagerly every year to see if this one will make a return...well, a Baudelaire-loving lady can hope, yes?