HOUSE Sonoma Scent Studio (I've decided to abandon the star-rating system; it's too blunt a tool and personal preference isn't a measurable quantity anyway.)
STYLE/FLAVOUR incense/oriental
DATE OF ISSUE March 2010
LISTED NOTES frankincense CO2, myrrh EO, labdanum absolute, cistus oil, natural oakmoss absolute, aged Indian patchouli heartnote fraction, sandalwood, cedar, ambergris, orris, angelica root absolute, elemi EO, vanilla absolute.
ENVIRONMENTAL & ETHICAL CONSIDERATIONS Recycled packaging elements, synthetic instead of animal musks/civet/castoreum, no sunscreens, preservatives, colourants, parabens. Sources sustainably grown ingredients where possible. Close attention to batch freshness.
STYLE/FLAVOUR incense/oriental
DATE OF ISSUE March 2010
LISTED NOTES frankincense CO2, myrrh EO, labdanum absolute, cistus oil, natural oakmoss absolute, aged Indian patchouli heartnote fraction, sandalwood, cedar, ambergris, orris, angelica root absolute, elemi EO, vanilla absolute.
ENVIRONMENTAL & ETHICAL CONSIDERATIONS Recycled packaging elements, synthetic instead of animal musks/civet/castoreum, no sunscreens, preservatives, colourants, parabens. Sources sustainably grown ingredients where possible. Close attention to batch freshness.
My beloved is unto me as a bundle of myrrh, that lieth between my breasts.
(The Song of Solomon)
No one would have trouble perceiving the fact that I use incense almost daily upon walking into our house, but it's always seemed strange to me how few of us can name the components of this most evocative aroma. Smoke? Prayer? It's a whole lot of wood, when you think about it, but why are ligneous essences so closely associated with the divine across so many cultures and practices? I had never really questioned the ancient conventions surrounding incense until I began exploring scent in a concerted manner.
In the process I've been endlessly frustrated in my search for a true or even adequate rendition of the substance in wearable form. It's always, always a timid little dash of smoke or spice and then a giant whack of P E R F U M E, the two often diametrically opposed but chained together for some ungodly purpose, pleasing devotees of neither. I'd hear rumours of success and in their innovative Series, Commes de Garçons came so achingly close; I disliked the dull, flat choke of Avignon and thought Kyoto cheap and cheerless, but Jaisalmer and Ouarzazate transported me in two very welcome directions and I would have loved them unreservedly if they had stayed beyond an hour. Tragically, they do not and after that I did despair. I scowled down at my little Sonoma Scents vial and thought you're lying to me, Incense Pure... you're just like all the others.
I was wrong about that. Incense Pure is, at long last, pure incense. No flowery excuses, no concessions to the uninitiated, just smooth and bronzy goodness for those of us who like to see a thin blue haze.
In the process I've been endlessly frustrated in my search for a true or even adequate rendition of the substance in wearable form. It's always, always a timid little dash of smoke or spice and then a giant whack of P E R F U M E, the two often diametrically opposed but chained together for some ungodly purpose, pleasing devotees of neither. I'd hear rumours of success and in their innovative Series, Commes de Garçons came so achingly close; I disliked the dull, flat choke of Avignon and thought Kyoto cheap and cheerless, but Jaisalmer and Ouarzazate transported me in two very welcome directions and I would have loved them unreservedly if they had stayed beyond an hour. Tragically, they do not and after that I did despair. I scowled down at my little Sonoma Scents vial and thought you're lying to me, Incense Pure... you're just like all the others.
I was wrong about that. Incense Pure is, at long last, pure incense. No flowery excuses, no concessions to the uninitiated, just smooth and bronzy goodness for those of us who like to see a thin blue haze.
The first thing to strike you about I P is the hit of white, curling wood, the kind of punch that rises from a handful of dry timber shavings and hovers in the air over a nip of Islay single malt. Almost-but-neither iodine or alcohol. Perhaps it is the cedar and the highest notes within the elemi, a pungent resin, that flap past us in this moment but it's gone almost before you can name it, swept out of the way by a broad guard of more central components. If IP was a shape, or more importantly a texture, to me it would be something like shagreen, the enlisted notes overlapped so closely that they almost disguise each other on their way to becoming the greater whole. Frankincense, tart but generous as ever, forms the spine. Around this note wind two darker strains; laconic myrrh and damp, slightly oily oakmoss, the latter pushing through in the first hour to make this quite a dark rendition of the theme for me, suggesting the pitchy black deposits on the inside of an antique censer. It is flanked by a chorus of recessed woods; a classic sandal, knotty labdanum and then a very austere patchouli, cousin to that found in Luten's Borneo with its distant, desiccated green. More distant still is a suggestion of vanilla, though it is mellow and fractional, the temptation to offset the literal nature of the composition at this point thankfully resisted.
While my initial impressions suggested a very dense and lineal scent, so much so that I'd wondered if I could weigh or even discern the individual components, there is definitely space and progression, on a personal scale especially, its twists and reveals held close to the skin as the tail glides slowly downward until it loses itself in something soft and grayish. I get the soapy, musky mauve of orris in the dying breaths. With a generous application I expect four hours of moderate, coherent sillage, and perhaps another two in a more private form. Superb.
In considering notes like olibanum and sandal it becomes clear as to why woods and resins are so heavily used in reverential expression; when we still had a meaningful accord with nature these things were the voice of the Grove, the living temple that surrounded and sustained us as it did all other creatures. Incense is the ghost of that regard, coded and remembered in the twining violet smoke.
Incense Pure EDP. Purchase online at Sonoma Scent Studio and at selected retailers within the U.S.
Céili O'Keefe
While my initial impressions suggested a very dense and lineal scent, so much so that I'd wondered if I could weigh or even discern the individual components, there is definitely space and progression, on a personal scale especially, its twists and reveals held close to the skin as the tail glides slowly downward until it loses itself in something soft and grayish. I get the soapy, musky mauve of orris in the dying breaths. With a generous application I expect four hours of moderate, coherent sillage, and perhaps another two in a more private form. Superb.
In considering notes like olibanum and sandal it becomes clear as to why woods and resins are so heavily used in reverential expression; when we still had a meaningful accord with nature these things were the voice of the Grove, the living temple that surrounded and sustained us as it did all other creatures. Incense is the ghost of that regard, coded and remembered in the twining violet smoke.
Incense Pure EDP. Purchase online at Sonoma Scent Studio and at selected retailers within the U.S.
Céili O'Keefe
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