Songes à Fleurs

Darren Alan is unapologetically a fan of the old guard of modern perfumery - erm, let me clarify that as being the old guard of about 50 or so years ago - and he is upfront about it. "Step back in time to an era where beauty reigned supreme and where quality was more than a mere facade." I salute you, sir. Songes a Fleurs is a classic floral chypre of the commercial kind, not the designer kind mind you. Its retro beauty lies in its gentle and demur presentation like those old commercial scents did, as opposed to the full-throated operatic blasts of Lauder's old chypres as examples, but it doesn't go so far over the gentle/demur line to be a wallflower either. Unlike music or fashion, retro perfumes are always out of style and shunned by the current mass-consumption segment of the industry, and today is no different, so who the heck did he make this for?... (Me.) I suspect himself, without much of a care as to what people would think of it. Or, perhaps, the point of it is, intentionally or unintentionally, contradictory evidence aimed at the mouth-frothers waving pitchforks in protest of the turn-of-the-century IFRA restrictions: you can still make those old school perfumes today, it's simply that very, very few houses or perfumers have the desire to do it. Visionary types used to crack the whips of the luxury goods industry, but now it's the marketing departments too afraid to release something like Songes a Fleurs - and yes, the irony is not lost on me that SaF is not anything new, strictly speaking from a visionary standpoint; far from it. It's got all of the good stuff up top and in the heart. Dusty and low light sparkling aldehydes; oily and bitter bergamot; a big heaping bouquet of all the classic florals: luscious red rose, indolic jasmine, watery and fleshy muguet, peppery and creamy carnations, musky honeyed gardenia and bright heliotrope; but, the most interesting part is the greenery, which is a neat little twist on this classic structure. A cold and anisic tarragon and a bitter green-woody wormwood corral the dispersing aldehydes, citrus, and florals. Then finally - ahem, are you paying attention mouth frothers? - an old school oriental-leaning chypre composed of a vetiver plus sandalwood-framed amber of lightness and ethereality plugged with quite convincing notes of airy, musky civet and damp oakmoss. It's like being in a time portal to a 70s druggist's perfume counter; getting there is highly futuristic, but smelling it is achingly familiar if not spot-on mimicry. Just the right amount floral, just the right amount spicy, just the right amount woody and mossy, just the right amount stinky from the civet, an interesting anisic and bitter green twist, all while presenting you with a gentle, quiet, inviting smile. Big fan of this. Lovely stuff. But my perfume cabinets are already overflowing with vintage bottles of stuff just like this, more than I can use in my lifetime. So, do I buy it? Yet again... who is this for? I honestly don't know. It must be for Mr. Alan. The fragheads like me are already well-stocked with this sort of thing, the new mass-consumers want nothing to do with it, and it's not exactly utilitarian and cheap the way its forebears were by principle, so.... Oh what the hell. I'll buy a bottle. Why not. I'll definitely wear it, but mostly just to say I've done my part to make sure perfumery like this has a place in today's world.