The Library Collection Opus IX

As soon as I put Opus IX on and took a whiff, it left me completely speechless. For one, it's gorgeous. Two, it's got such an outsized other-world personality that it's impossible not to want to take a step back and admire it from a distance to get the full effect. I need to get a couple elephants in the room addressed first, before I go any further. Firstly, is that I'm a pre-Salmon Amouage junky. They have been one of my favorite houses, perhaps my biggest favorite, for a long time. I have a bias. If I've said it once I've said it a hundred times, I struggle to think of a better creative director-perfumer duo than Christopher Chong and Pierre Negrin so far this century. But they have let me down a couple of times. Once was with Opus V, which a lot of people adored, but I found it boring and meek (maybe this was more Jacques Cavallier's doing than CC's/PN's). Opus IX strikes me as Chong and Negrin, with the superbly talented Nathalie Lorson doing a lot of the hard parts, revisiting Opus V to correct what I personally thought was wrong with it. The resemblance to Opus V is striking, but it's in the differences that IX really stands on its own. Secondly, this perfume is unashamedly a massive concoction of sythentic materials. I highly doubt there is anything natural in here. If you are sensitive to synthetics, either physically or psychologically, stay far away. So, here we go.... Where Opus V was (supposed to be) an animalic iris, Opus IX is a full-on animalic jasmine. Stretching from top to bottom in the perfume are powerhouse beeswax and civet/musk accords that lock together in such perfect harmony and symmetry you couldn't separate them with a particle laser if you tried. The beeswax, while adding a floral-sap-type note to the proceedings, gives Opus IX a powerful sweetness that never goes the route of syrupy or cloying. This is one of the sweetest perfumes I've worn for quite a long time, and usually I am repelled by sweet, but this is such a natural and complex sweetness (thanks to its floral qualities) that I never find myself thinking about it like I would sugar. When you first apply the perfume, you are hit square over the head by a startlingly powerful and very indolic jasmine note. The jasmine is stripped of nearly all of its bright bordering-on-citrusy components and is so indolic you could almost be fooled into thinking it was something else. In the first few seconds I thought it might be some bizarre form of orris because it has that silky smooth, rooty, and very buttery aroma that often comes with orris - but, nope, over a bit of time it revealed itself to be jasmine. When the jasmine dries down, the floral and sweet beeswax carries the plot line. The transition from one to the next is so seamless you almost wonder if it happened at all, but the key difference between the two is that, though the jasmine is very unique, it is also fairly simplistic whereas the beeswax evocates the jasmine and much more. No less important to this perfume is that massive dose of civet/musk-type accord. It is far from being light and abrasive, like a soap musk would be, but it is very loud. Smooth, oily, slightly sweet and sticky, it is also very animalic. It smells like it came out of the back of some wild beast. I half-expected my dog to start humping my leg. Whatever material Chong, Negrin, and Lorson used for this musk accord I expect it has some molecular bonding with uranium or plutonium; it goes off like a nuclear bomb. At 10 hours in the perfume is still going strong. Have I mentioned how much I love Amouage? When they say they're giving you an EdP concentration, they really give it to you. Their EdPs pass for extraits by many definitions. And it's around this timeframe, when I thought Opus IX had told its whole story (and when most perfumes would be completely gone), it shifts again! Lorson and Negrin somehow manage to use vetiver and ambroxan to carry on the jasmine/beeswax floral animalic accord further still. To my nose it's almost rose like. All of the previous characteristics I described are still intact, the perfume has just switched gears. Absolutely brilliant. Lastly, I wasn't shy when I applied IX, but that doesn't explain why it filled my house with its aromas - but the musk material propelling this perfume certainly would explain it. So, a word to the wise: this is not an office friendly perfume; apply it very conservatively. Opus IX makes a statement, and a very big one at that. Next to Opus V's Stephen Hawking-esque voice box, Opus IX is Luciano Pavarotti standing next to you at full volume. Pavarotti was called "King of the High Cs" because that high C note near the top of the tenor register is hard to hit and to hit well, but he could hit it with such smoothness and power that it sounded effortless. Just like his voice, Opus IX is loud, but it is also sweet, silky, definitely elegant but with a playful raunchiness, breathtaking high notes and rumbling-core-of-the-Earth deep resonance. Opus IX is an amazing perfume, and a great example of what Chong and Negrin achieved together when Amouage was daring, bold, and creative. I used the past tense on purpose. Opus IX, like so many of Amouage's greats, is discontinued. Hold on to your Pavarotti records and care well for them, he's no longer around to make anymore.

Perfume spotlight Amouage Opus IX - Unexpectedly Gorgeous, Hypnotic, Cross-Cultural Dream I fell in love in reverse with Opus '9' .. I was standing in front of the Library Collection trying to recall which one of the two newer ones Christopher Chong had told me I would fall for... I remembered it was either 7 or 8 or was it 10...? I took full spray fragrance-on-skin shots of those three. 7 and 10 (pardon me using the Arabic rather than the Roman numerals), 7 and 10 were totally my kind of perfume. They rested well on me, they coincided with what I loved and enjoyed (Leather, Smoke, Rose!)...I thought smelling both "my kind of fragrance" Almost swooning. ALMOST. It was only, almost walking away from the Amouage counter that I decided I would try IX, Opus '9'. I was struck dumb, speechless, put into a sort of reverse anaphylactic shock. There was that over-ripe, almost meat-like tropical fruit reference cossetted underneath a healthy dose of prowling civet. The indole in the piquant jasmine note rubbed straight up into a dark-green guaiac wood that gave no quarter. You were either prepared for the dive into deep space or you were not, but it was going to happen like at the count of 3. 1,2,3 the Dive began... And I was totally hooked. Yes the screech of rubber against asphalt, the heady indolic jasmine, the submerging of black pepper berries in a vat of white flower butter... it all did its magic on me. My partner in fragrant crime Lorna Eng cringed and said, “Mark, Superstinkies Chan are you sure, there’s a note that upsets me in there...!” But I was by then, well-transported to a different world. Dark, damp and yet heavenly. No nymphs or faeries, no elven lights. But nubile apsaras and young arjunas both dancing and bending the bow, aiming the arrows. I was taken prisoner, totally floored, by a beauty I had not expected to be bottled, let alone sold in the air-conditioned privilege of Singapore haute shopping at the atmospheric prices that the Opus line commands. I had met my match. My radiant phantom turning a corner and leading me on. On down a ceremonial progression of green vetiver, grey ambergris nesting on a modern rotating twist of white flowers and rubber tyre on road. Yes I have read the marketing that Christopher has told the media. Yes I love Callas and I am enjoying the 1958 Lisbon Traviata that he told me inspired him. But what he communicated to the noses Nathalie Lorson and Pierre Negrin intrigues me. Because he has curated here my perfect Ambrosia a la the Trade winds of South-East Asia. Perhaps this is what remains most poignantly... His dreams crossed mine, one culture slips into another and they cross-fertilise most unexpectedly: His Traviata for my Ramayana, his Lisbon for my Jogjakarta. His ode to Camellia for my love for the 7-petalled yellow Gardenia. Wear this with care. Choose your occasion correctly. But hey, if you already have a sample or a bottle of Opus IX you know full well you are ready for the dive and the heavenward spiral after. Thank you Christopher Chong , thank you Amouage for this marvellous perfume

In search of skanky ambergris jasmine, Opus IX came as a contender. Honestly, I am envious of all of you who smell the purported jasmine bomb. Perhaps, like Ouch! notes, this fragrance is weather dependent and worth a revisit. (EDT: since owning this bottle Opus IX and I have become better acquainted... jasmine totally blooms, waxy and dark). At first spray on this cold, gloomy day, the jasmine is quite green and watery to my nose, morphing quickly into a hit of salty ambergris, raw, dry leather, vetiver root, and sweet, fresh sawdust, with a hint of soured milk and a touch of glossy vinyl (maybe waxy, lipsticky beeswax? I'm hearing you nada); somewhat androgynous and bearing hallmarks typical to both sexes at once, as opposed to being sexless; erotic and fascinating; quite to my liking. A dry, vintage vein, yet with contemporarily synthetic accents and akin to something I would find in a Costume National bottle. I can't get enough of these intriguing contrasts. The inspiration: the opera La traviata (or the fallen woman), written by Giuseppe Verdi. But let's not stop there. Verdi was inspired by a theatrical performance of Alexandre Dumas', fils novel The Lady of the Camellias -- Dumas, fils, illegitimate son of a dressmaker and Alexandre Dumas (The Count of Monte Cristo, The Three Musketeers), and who was not legally recognized by his novelist father until the age of 7. Dumas, fils falls for a courtesan later in life, believed to be the inspiration for Lady of the Camellias. In his psuedo-autobiographical novel, the central character, Marguerite wears a red camellia to signal her lovers that she is menstruating and unavailable, and a white camellia to elicit invitations. And she is the object of bourgeois Armand's desire. Separated by Armand's father's efforts to thwart the illicit relationship, Marguerite eventually dies of consumption before she and Armand find fulfillment in their love. Opus IX is this: beautifully tragic in the most heartbreaking way, written on a parched manuscript forgotten in a vintage wooden bureau drawer, littered with fragments of dessicated, rancid flowers, contrasted by a waxy neoteric composition. The story behind the inspiration of the fragrance really helps me understand the artistry behind the perfume, right down to the color of the flacon and reference to the illusory scent of camellias. For me, worthy of consideration as a signature, and yes, I'd like to reserve a full bottle of tickets to this magnificent olfactory performance.

I just tested this out today, wore it to work, entire 2ml sample from scent split,(not very happy with samples from this company, none seem to measure up to reviews for longevity and sillage). That being said this lasted and projected slightly better than most of the other amouage samples I've received from scent split. This projected intimate to moderate for about 2.5 hours, then became a detectable skin scent for about another 1.5 hours, then it was very hard to detect on skin, (but still could smell on clothes if I put my nose to it). I feel like this fragrance sprayed from a bottle probably has much better performance than what I got from this sample. All that being said. I love this, this is what I like about amouage fragrances, this is unique. This reminds me of myths man, not how it smells but how it's constructed. Especially with this unique "camelia note", which I believe is what this fragrance is intended to focus on. It is on the cover of the box (no it's not a rose like I thought it was and avoided looking into this scent because of), then I read the notes, found it was "camelia", and I read a bit about this fragrance and from what I understand the camelia flower has no scent. In this fragrance it's referred to as a "fantasy note" , and based off what I smell, mostly in the opening, but also sticks around through the whole life, (similar to how the chrysanthemum works in myths man), amouage (or the perfumer) has created a smell for this flower. A "fantasy note", I believe this is what I'm smelling because it's definitely not jasmine which is also listed here. The smell almost has a metallic aspect to it, it's a very interesting floral, and in my opinion (like the chrysanthemum in myths man) very wearable for men. I definitely get underlying somewhat dirty animal/ambergris after the first couple hours, but it's not disgusting , it's actually very nice, and the guaiac wood compliments these notes nicely. This base reminds me a bit of some aspects of the dry down in figment man, which is probably my all time favorite amouage so far. They share animal and guaiac wood notes, although opus ix seems to lean more dirty animal vs figment leans more dirty earth. What I didn't get was leather or the bees wax, so I really want to try this again, I actually think I just want to get a bottle of this one, it's so intriguing. Overall first impressions, this is wonderful, seems like it needs more than just one wearing to really appreciate the nuances.

I first tried Opus IX back in 2016 and was initially put off by how unabashedly feminine it was. I appreciated that it was up to something cool, but it just wasn’t for me. Cut to a month ago when I was deep in an ambergris kick thanks to Les Indemodables (Ambre Supreme and Escale D’Indonesie) and exploring some Amouage frags and decided to give this curio a revisit. I suppose my tastes have changed quite a bit, because the fleshy floral hit of Opus IX on my skin now sparked absolute pleasure- the floral flush of Jasmine was intoxicating (I also get a lot of lilac, a note not listed here) buttressed by sweaty, salty ambergris and waxy honeycomb. The blend of these elements recall an old courtesan flopped on her four poster bed draped in velvets post-coital- pure vintage, baroque sex. I deeply appreciated the artistry at play, and although the flagrant display of Jasmine here is truly not my vibe I kept winding up spraying myself with the decant and huffing myself like a glue addict. I went out in public enamored with this romantic and, frankly, kind of lewd aura that surrounded me- I met up with one of my perfume-crazed friends and had her sniff me “I smell like an old French whore, and I love it!” Her eyes fluttered as she took in a whiff and exclaimed “you smell amazing!” By that point I was addicted and had to get a full bottle- fortunately I scored one at a great price even though Opus IX is sadly discontinued. It’s a shame more people won’t get to experience this masterpiece. It’s uncompromising and definitely not for everybody (even though I’m a man, I doubt many others would embrace it as much as I do), but I think it’s an evocative concoction that has the rare ability to tell a complete story through olfactive suggestion. I cannot wait to see what this smells like when summer dies down and there’s a chill in the air- I have a feeling its warm sensuality will cut through the cold like a knife hidden in a garter.