Blackberries at dawn, and other secrets.
Gah, this stuff is NICE. Basil cuts through the sweetness of the berries, and moss keeps the musk soft.
Juicy on the skin, herbal at a distance.
I just wish it lasted longer.
Kurt Vile is an indie-folk musician out of Philadelphia. I love this dreamy tune off his third album, Childish Prodigy.
Or: Mr. Bojnokopff`s Purple Hat.
This is what nefarious charlatans who make devil’s deals for true magic (that always backfire and involve a twirled mustache) smell like.
Lavender and bittersweet chocolate on a cedarwood stage lit with vetiver gaslight, and lasts longer on silk than on skin.
I always fall head over heels for an elegant villain.
So the story behind this one is of an illusionist in 1897, Russia, the same year of Rachmaninoff’s disastrous debut of his first symphony. It opens with some serious mustache twisting.
Light Blue Lumberjack, by Chainsaw & Gabbana.
Opens with a splash of lemony cassis tea, then peaches. Twenty minutes in the cedar develops, spectacular sweet woody pines–summer forest floor with wild berries, rather than winter yule tree–that lasts an inch above the skin all day.
The amber and vetiver on the bottom are very sheer, and surprisingly faint on clothing.
It’s actually quite nice.
Love this tune by Vetiver (with guests.)
Indeed.
Rich hot coffee and roasted cardamom pods at arms length for an hour, slowly fading to sweet oud and herbal rose a few inches above the skin for several more.
Gorgeously unisex, but also sensual and inviting–flickering lights on a cold night, hands held in mittens, warm drinks with spice.
The solid is nice, but I want a bottle to douse myself with on the holidays– and it would work really well as a bed linen spray, too.
This song is comforting and inviting and unisex, too.
This one is from Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab’s Mad Tea Party collection, and it’s rather nice.
The grapefruit opens more floral than fruit, especially with the lavender, then chamomile makes it sweet. The musk is subtle, paired with the currants, and soft, like the dusty bloom on dark berries.
I’d love it in a bath oil.
The Pogues aren’t from anywhere near Cheshire, but this is great.
Not bad, in a modern Town & Country way.
His girlfriend got it for him when they were on spring break last year. His mother thinks it’s nice too.
Pineapple and sage on the top, sandalwood and rented groomsman’s tuxedos on the bottom.
Edit – 5/11/21
Lots of pineapple in the store, almost cloyingly sweet, then settles down to the generic leathery vanilla woods that seems to be the base of all dude cologne right now.
I wish the sage notes I got from the peelie came through more.
I am never not in the mood for this song.
Rain on tree-lined streets, organic and urban at the same time.
A huge foggy opening of oak bark and oakmoss and oak-y sweet clary sage that calms down quickly to powdery ash and sweet orange flower water.
Ambiguous and androgynous, city gardens and paved forests. I like it on other people.
This song is best sung sloppy, and listened to in earphones while walking.
Light and lovely and ridiculously fresh, but with an odd plastic-left-in-the-sun note. Peaches in cellophane and patchouli and warm spice, with a hit of wax rose petals and white flowers, ending on a very comforting vetiver.
Projects like a summer garden with vinyl flags and lasts twice as long on clothes than skin.
Pity about the cheap cassette tape bottle, though. That’s just a travesty.
This was the biggest pop song in Italy in 1999.
Paul Newman wore this one.
Nice bergamot and neroli with a hit of waxy lemon polish at the end–basically 4711 driven by a race car rather than a horse-drawn carriage–and fades into the distance just as fast.
*
The Entertainer was a theme in one of Newman’s greatest movies–the Sting.
Here’s an absolutely not-sober version by the Reverend Horton Heat, that ends as quickly as the cologne.
Crisp roadside pear slices and lemonade, then a big swallow of juniper gin that fades into the musk at the end.
Sunny day pretty, but there’s a haze underneath, like diesel fumes.
Not for me, but I would crawl inside the clothes of the man wearing it.
Here’s Dwight Yoakum’s hit from the album Three Pears.
kira a. gold 