Fierce out of the bottle, smoked black tea with two sugars and burning cedar shavings, loud in personal space, soft outside. Lasts three hours before sliding into nutty vanilla and dark woods on the skin for three more.
Aggressive but interesting, with enough sweetness to be inviting. Recommended for corporate mercenaries and apocalypse vigilantes.
DAG: Angharad used to call them anti-seed. CHEEDO: Plant one and watch something die. ~ Mad Max: Fury Road
TokyoMilk No. 13 opens with big white flowers, in a packed hot church kind of way–and even gets a bit sweaty a few minutes in. The gardenia takes up a lot of elbow room, then slowly settles to a foot off the body with sticky amber that smells like the soap in the bathroom of a mortuary.
Lasts through the burial and the wake, and haunts your clothes for a week after.
Sky–the super-group that you’ve never heard of–included the classical guitarist John Williams, the bassist Herbie Flowers and percussionist Tristan Fry, (who both did session work with everyone from the Beatles to Lou Reed to Elton John.) Bach’s Toccata and Fugue is easily the most famous song in D minor ever.
Sugary orange gummy candy on top, cheeky and loud, that projects for 2 hours at arms length before slowly drifting down to floral oak-y tea leaves, left to stew in the bottom of the pot. The finish is quite nice, smoky and mysterious, and long lasting on fabric.
Also, this one matures well in the bottle. I’ve an older rollerball as well–five years at least, the juice has turned dark and thick–that opens with a whiff of boozy plum wine before hitting the Brach’s Orange Slices, and has a slightly richer dry-down. I like both equally.
Love this sweet and mysterious song from one of my favorite duos.
Proceed with caution– One light spritz gets you powder and cute plastic toys and baby hair–sweet with innocent violets and melting ice cream–all day long. Two full sprays gets you a spanking by sticky artificial vanillin, itchy rubber pants, and a bath.
I adore this sweet little tune, off a children’s album by the same guy who did Lump and Peaches–
TokyoMilk No. 33 opens with poisoned alcohol, that metallic knife edge of distillation fumes called “the angels’ share.”
Dusty bruised apples roll in fast, brown sugar and rose–nice, but on me soon get lost in the forest green notes–and end in bittersweet musk.
A fairy-tale step-mother perfume.
Movie soundtrack videos are usually kind of meh, but this one is fun.
The blackest richest dirt, and polished exotic coffin woods, vanilla sweet flowers to cover the scent of death—-but then it lingers for a while at a distance, ethereal with a breath of incense ash and mystery.
My not-so-inner goth-girl finds this utterly lovely.