Karasu

I've been ruminating a lot lately. For example, the temporal shifts that change culture and shape man's search for meaning; the tug of war between spirituality and materialism. There is this fascination with the arc of a human individual's life, or even the life of a whole generation of people. For example, I have been watching actors in interviews in films over the decades and seeing them age and remembering when they were younger and realizing now that I have watched them age just as I am beginning to age myself. And then time doesn't seem limited at all. There are also these videos on Youtube of footage taken of people in public, in cities, out and about, living their lives, smoking cigarettes, having a cup of coffee, doing their shopping, laughing with colleagues. For example, if it's reels or video from say, 1973, I see those that are so young, maybe 20s or 30s, and now, 53 years later, they are elderly. Snap. And to me, that really doesn't seem that long ago, only five years before I was born. It's really just the snap of a finger in the vastness of time. Karasu, literally 'crow' in Japanese, is named for Karasu Tengo, the fierce forest spirits in Japanese mythology that often would take the form of this corvid. Composed around the components found in traditional kōdō, it is spare yet intimate, almost spartan in nature. I smell smoky yellowed papers, perhaps old love letters, postcards, shoeboxes filled with a life lived, loves gained and lost, heartache and fortune, from those no longer on this plane of existence. The dust of a past, the sediment of time passages, the evidence of physicality that is now destined to be part of the stars far away. Costus is prominent here, and is what makes Karasu most haunting, as it often smells shockingly animated and mammalian in its sebum-scalp-meets-orris-root nature. It's what makes it one of my favorite accords—few can communicate such a lived-in, human element as it can. The addition of siam wood (Fokienia hodginsii) oil here, with its warm and almost unctuous woodiness, enhances this effect. It may sound foreboding (and may very well be challenging to some), but to me it smells peaceful, like a reconciliation of sorts between the ever receding past and the live-wire present. It smells like the passage of time, at least as it pertains to humankind.

To me, This is what DS and Durga was attempting to do with Amber Kiso, but Karasu just does it far far better. They both have similar copy about the inspiration for the fragrance (temples in a Japanese forest, hinoki, incense rituals with traditional leather armor), but Karasu is just much more evocative of this imagery for me. this fragrance is simply amazing, as is most everything from Apoteker Tepe. This one might actually be my favorite of the line, which I was not at all expecting. It is strange, slightly challenging, but beautiful. It is a slightly smoky, slightly woody, but also slightly rubbery. The contrast of natural and synthetic is perfect, and it has a transparent, austere, and ephemeral nature, yet retains some hint of whimsy... But then there is also a hint of a human skin smell that is hard to pin down but very much there to me. Just an amazing creation. The smokiness is not like the smokiness in the more highly regarded Holy Mountain from the same line, but is a distant, long burned out fire. It’s not a campfire smoke, but one from a hearth, or a temple where tea was being made. Those are the associations I have with the fragrance. It feels somehow familiar yet distinctly different, like a clouded memory. Someone else mentions creosote smoke, which may explain why this perfume appeals to me so much, as one of my favorite fragrances is El Cosmico from DS & Durga, which has creosote as a very predominant note. Overall, I really don’t understand the low rating on here. It is every bit the equal of the other Apoteker Tepe creations (I got the sampler and found them all to be amazing), and perhaps the most interest and creative from the range. Edit: I now own a full bottle and upon wearing more liberally, I think the skin smell is actually just a really gorgeous suede, by far the best and most realistic suede I have smelled. Its not a raw suede, but a processed suede... you can smell the hide but also the solvent/tanning chemicals. So the fragrance is kind of a suede with a very light synthetic/chemical undertone and distant smoke, and absolutely beautiful. Haunting even.

Challenging, strange, unnerving beauty. Completely baffled my nose at first (chalky mud? cardboard? damp flaky plaster? orris root? tomato leaf? ) but in the most compelling and mysterious way. Smelled far more like a place than a perfume, for sure - redolent of organic life, yet no one specific spot or thing or creature or plant you can really put your finger on. Then morphs into slightly sweeter, more aromatic, more recognisable phases - yet it always stays mysterious - modulating from wood to incense to Avignon to Kyoto to the unknown. Ever-changing: it kind of shimmers on the nose. Very Zen, to my mind - a riddle for the brain, shot through with contradictions and surprisingly airy, dry, minimal space where you least expect it. Intriguing and weird and possibly great. Definitely one for the nature-organic-woodsy-moody loving oddballs, though. Not only are you unlikely to get compliments, many might not even recognise you as wearing fragrance at all. But you might feel so enlightened and lifted by it you wouldn't care, and rise serenely above all that.

Truly a scent that is hard to put into words and has to be experienced. I'm not familiar with the scent of costus root, but if this is it then it is quite odd and very nice. it's difficult to identify the idividual notes in this, but it is an immersive scent that gives me the impression of peat, wet boots, orris and a bit of smoke and tea. I don't really get the Japanese incense ritual here, but more of a sense of the outdoors as experienced on a wilderness backpacking trip. The smoky bits don't really translate to incense to my nose, but I like the atmosphere that this creates around me. Karasu is an odd fragrance that I love and wish would be brought back. My sample is running low and I'm starting to despair! It also seems to share some kind of DNA with Holy Mountain, despite them not having any listed notes in common. There is a thread of smoky incense and labdanum that links these two together.

I love perfumes with a paper accord. It's an incredibly difficult accord to pull off well, but, when done properly I instantly recall memories of being in very old libraries like the ones I visited in my hometown, and the library later-on when I went to an old university for my higher education. The libraries smelled of old, worn, stained wood shelves and the decades of individual odors living in the furniture. A fine aura of dry dust and must in the air. I'd pull an old leather-bound tome from the shelf, worn at the spine and the leather a bit darker in spots where it has frequently made contact with the oils of skin over many decades of reading. The woven fibers of the thick cream-colored paper smell a bit musty and woody, the pattern of the weave visible and palpable, unlike the thin and characterless composite papers used today. Sometimes you would get one that would smell a bit moldy, with slightly green and turned-fruit aromas, if it got a bit wet at some point in its life, or a touch resinous and incense-like if it was in the home of a smoker for a long period. The opening of Karasu pulls those smells and textures from my memory very clearly. As it warms up and dries down from the top notes it goes in a "burnt" direction. If you've ever smelled a cold fire pit, filled with the white-gray ash of paper and fragrant hard woods, it smells a lot like that minus the sharp earthy edge that ash can sometimes have. Throughout each stage of the perfume I clearly hear Holladay Saltz's unique voice; having tried several of AT's perfumes now, Saltz's style is becoming instantly recognizable. Similar to Jean-Claude Ellena in that Saltz's perfumes always have light weight, diffusive, and airy qualities to them, the difference is in texture. Ellena's perfumes sometimes feel a bit thin, and a bit elastic like cling film or like a heavy and slick mist, but also very luminous. Saltz doesn't have that cling-film or slick mist texture, instead presenting a texture that is like a gentle breath over your skin; there is a luminosity as well, but not the noon-day sun of Ellena, and more like the dimming light of dusk. Saltz seems to fully understand and accept their voice. A newer perfumer, like a new vocalist, is probably tempted to try out different vocal styles and songs until they mature in their craft and find their own unique self, but Saltz is confident and mature from the get-go and sings songs their voice can perform well. Karasu also seems to slightly correct an issue with several other AT perfumes that I've tried, mainly being that they lacked enough volume and power in their voices to convincingly sing the song (longevity and durability). The volume of Karasu is a whisper, just like the other AT perfumes I've tried, but the whisper is sufficiently sustained and pitch-perfect, and delivers a quiet power I haven't really found yet in other ATs. I really like Karasu, but I'm still not sure I'm sold on a full bottle. It's so unique I'm not sure where and when I'd want to wear it, but that's on me not the perfume. Without a doubt, it has convinced me that Saltz and Apoteker Tepe need to be paid attention to. There are some very good and unique things happening here.