This is lemon Italian ice, sold from a cheery street vendor in August.
Sugary citrus blooms, loud, with a wet floral that is supposed to be lotus, but seems more like yellow roses, with synthetic papery wooden notes underneath.
Citrine is sweet but safe, polite sillage that doesn’t overstay its welcome, no risks, no glory.
It needs layering with musk, or even a bite of something animalic to make it shine.
Bono channeling his inner Elton-Bowie-Elvis is amazing. Whether you grin or groan, you have to admit he took risks–and the song is great.