Music For a While

“At a party on Paris’ rive gauche, a woman’s fur coat is lifted from her bare shoulders, exposing her neck to the candlelight. Aware of many eyes upon her, she pauses, smiling to herself, before emerging like a conqueror from the shadows.” Oh Mr. Malle, how I love your tendency to wax lyrical about nonsense! The writer in me loves the imagery you draw, and the consumer in me wishes you wouldn't. The mention of paris, and the risque exposure of the skin of the neck in the candlelight is a striking, if slightly cliche, image. However, it makes little sense in the context of the scent. And unlike with Dans Tes Bras, and with Musc Ravageur, where I found myself in grudging agreement with the branding, in the case of Music For a While (hereafter, MFaW), I find it fairly odd, and unfitting. That is not to say that MFaW is a bad fragrance, it isn't. Far from it, in fact. It's just that reading the PR drivel, one would imagine a sensual, femme-fatale experience to come from the atomizer. Instead what's found is a playful departure from the usually serious, "buttoned up" fragrances that come from the house of Malle. One thing is certain, though. I have never smelled anything like this, and that is, perhaps, why it took so long for me to pen a review of something I loved from the first spray. MFaW opens up with the first of many surprises bottled by Carlos Benaim, in a shockingly acerbic burst of pineapple. It is very odd to find pineapple in anything from Malle, considering their penchant for sobriety, but here it stands in all of it's glory, tart, citric, and beautifully unripe; far more the natural fruit than the tinned variety found in most fragrances of today. Despite this, it seems almost sacrilegious that something as...well mainstream, as pineapple found its way into a Malle fragrance. I was nervous, since I expect more "high effort" perfumery than I do frivolity, but I was pleasantly surprised at how nicely Carlos Benaim utilized this note. Of course, the surprises are far from over, with the pineapple being coupled with a large dose of very austere lavender, that is dry bordering on incense-esque! The stark contrast between the exuberant pineapple and the far more restrained lavender makes for a combination unlike any other I have smelled. And quite frankly it works excellently! As the fragrance progresses to the mid, the pineapple changes character and becomes deeper, denser and much sweeter, while still retaining a touch of the earlier acidity, while the lavender goes from more floral, to slightly vegetal. It is here we find the third of many surprises, in the addition of what is a burnt sugar/caramel note finding it's way into the mix. The way they meld, however, is absolutely gorgeous! It veers into a territory just shy of gourmand, evoking the image of a dark, almost burnt caramelized pineapple, with a lavender glaze. The fragrance here, takes on the more masculine character that it retains to the very end, while still maintaining its less-than-serious demeanor. And as we approach the drydown, there is yet another surprise waiting in the wings, where fragrance seems to take on a completely different character in the later hours of the wearing. The delectable, almost gourmand fragrance, is joined by a rich patchouli and warm vanilla, each playing off the other to give it a rough, yet well rounded finale. The patchouli is similar to that used in Monsieur, however far less potent, playing more into the chocolatey and vanillic aspects than the dry and boozy patchouli of Monsieur. This cuts through the brightness of the earlier melange in an elegant way, taking it from borderline gourmand, to what I can only describe as a sweet fougere. An odd but fitting end, to an odd olfactory experience. MFaW is truly a unique wearing experience, and one that I have enjoyed thoroughly! It is a very confusing scent, veering between exceedingly masculine (bordering on macho) and delicately gourmand, seemingly at random. It has me hooked in a way I rarely find myself, wherein I go back to it time and again, to experience the multitudes found within. And as someone who isn't the biggest fan of fougeres, this is a shock in and of itself. Would I recommend you blind buy this fragrance? Absolutely not. It is brilliant yes, and it garners compliments yes, but hardly a safe blind buy. Despite it's apparently whimsical nature, it still has the fundamentally complex core that makes Malle fragrances what they are, which can be challenging for the inexperienced nose. And for those that care: This is a strong fragrance! The sillage and longevity are both stellar bordering on obscene. 10/10 on that front for me, your mileage may vary though.

Some perfumes don’t just smell like something. They smell like someone you used to be. Music for a While opens and suddenly I’m back in Sheffield, not the Sheffield of maps and postcodes but the city I lived in as an architectural student in the 90s. The one stitched together from late nights, cold mornings and the warm glow of friendships that felt like they’d last forever. Zaha Hadid (RIP), Peter Blundell Jones (RIP), Daniel Libeskind, Rem Koolhaas, Coop Himmelb(l)au, David Chipperfield and Santiago Calatrava were our familiar guest lecturers back then, oh... good 'ole days. The lavender hits first, soft and familiar, like the air inside a friend’s uni room when you walked in without knocking because back then, nobody knocked. The radiator clanked, the posters curled at the edges and the speakers were always humming with something: 90s house, hip‐hop, remixes we’d hunted down like treasure. That lavender feels like the warmth of those rooms, the safety of them, the way they smelled of cheap incense, warm electronics and the faint sweetness of whatever someone had spilled last week. Then the pineapple rises, bright, juicy, almost glowing and it takes me straight to the record shops where I spent hours flipping through discounted and reduced-to-clear CD singles and 12" vinyls - 99p and below. My fingertips remember the feel of those glossy covers, the soft scrape of cardboard sleeves, the quiet thrill of finding a rare remix tucked between two albums nobody wanted and at times, some paper cuts from flipping through the sleeves. The shop always smelled faintly of dust, plastic wrap and the cold air that rushed in every time the door opened and the owner remembered me every time I stepped in - "ah, that bloody 'reduced to clear' student again!" That pineapple note carries the same familiar spark, the excitement of discovery, the sweetness of youth. As the scent deepens, the patchouli and vanilla begin to hum together, warm and rhythmic, like the bassline of a track you loved before you even knew why. It reminds me of evenings spent in cramped uni quarters, sprawled on mismatched furniture, swapping CDs, arguing about mixes, rewinding the same beat again and again because someone swore they heard something new in it. Those nights felt endless, the kind of endless that only exists when you’re young and the world hasn’t yet asked you to hurry. There’s a softness in the drydown, a quiet animalic warmth that feels like vinyl warmed by a turntable lamp. It smells like the last track of the night, when the room goes still and the conversation softens into something honest. It smells like the walk home through cold Sheffield air, headphones on with my trendy Philips DCC player at that time (who can recall that 'innovative' Digital Compact Cassette system in the 90s?), breath fogging, the city lights blurring into something tender. By the time Music for a While settles on my skin, it becomes a memory more than a perfume - a warm, sweet, rhythmic echo of who I was then. A student with too many CDs, not enough sleep and a heart full of music and possibility. Someone who believed that friendships forged over shared tracks and late‐night mixes would last forever. And maybe, in a way, they did. Because every time I wear this scent, I’m back there, in those rooms, in those shops, in that version of the city that still lives somewhere inside me. For me, Music for a While isn’t just a fragrance. It’s a pocketful of memories, the late nights, the long queue at the club, the Sunday early mornings catching the first train back from London so that I wouldn't miss my early Monday morning Architectural Theory's lecture, the record shops, the friendships built on beats per minute, the feeling that life was one long mix you never wanted to fade out. A place where the music never really stopped. More music, just for a while please.....

I hadn't worn it for a while, but a few weeks ago, I dug out my bottle of Jersey (Chanel), reminded again of how satisfying a sweet lavender scent can be. Soon after, the same, only with Brin de Réglisse (Hermès). That rekindling of my lavender passion led me to exploring others that might fall within the same family. Et voilà... Music for a While! Upon first spray, it's immediately apparent why this perfume is so polarizing. You've never smelled anything in this wheelhouse. It's almost as though you've sprayed two diametrically opposed scents. A starkly herbal lavender and a sweet (though never too sweet) pineapple—two totally distinct accords—clash for control of your nostrils and olfactory bulb. Being so foreign and unfamiliar, disgust may be a visceral response. HOWEVER—and this is crucial—DO NOT ABORT MISSION! DO NOT SCRUB! DO NOT PLACE NOSE TO SKIN! Or, to repurpose Milgram's directive: "It is absolutely essential that you continue. You have no other choice. You must go on." Let it settle. Let it waft. Let it win you over, convert you. Because what develops is so, so beautiful. The lavender and pineapple soon reach a magical détente. At first glance, lavender and pineapple don't seem like they'd mesh well. On its face, it sounds downright odd. But Carlos Benaïm is inspired. He's identified how, out there on their edges, lavender and pineapple share something in common. (Don't ask me what that "something" is; I couldn't tell you. I just "get" it!) Below, you'll read of others failing to detect any lavender, or failing to detect any pineapple. I understand. In the dry-down, I can fool myself into perceiving Music for a While as a lavender "soliflore" or as a pineapple "solifruit." Those two notes, so at odds at the outset, fuse in what I can only liken to an optical illusion—I see two faces looking at each other! Oh, now I see a vase! An olfactory illusion, if you will. The patchouli in here acts as a bridge to fuse the two together. It's captivating. And, yeah, though Music for a While is a sweet lavender fragrance, it doesn't really feel aligned with Jersey or Brin de Réglisse. To me, those both embody a sense of quiet comfort. Not this. No, no, no. If it's possible, Music for a While simultaneously projects quirkiness, gravitas, and joy. I don't recommend blind buying EVER, especially for something as controversial as this one, but here we are. I did. (I'm a piss-poor role model.) Fortunately, this was a major success. Deep love. I'll be stanning Music for a While... for a while.

I blind bought this as a birthday gift to myself and luckily it was a hit. This is one of the most innovative creations released in the last years. A retake on the immortal fougere fragrance profile. Your classic Lavender / Patchouli / Oakmoss / Coumarin blend, keeping the DNA alive but modernising it through the addition of Ethyl Maltol and the Pineapple Note. Very daring and hard to pull off from the house of Frederic Malle. But once again, as they did with so many past releases, they have hit the nail on the head and broke the traditional walls of perfumery. With so many mundane and boring fragrance releases, the re-releases and the milking of the already drained cows that are the hit-pieces designer perfumes and their flankers, which also get increasingly expensive and reach niche level pricings, this fragrance stands out from the crowd. A bright start of bergamot and aniseed gives way to a camphoraceous, top-notch quality lavender oil that lasts for a very long time on the skin. the dry down is the magic of this "musical" piece. Ethyl Maltol laced patchouli accompanied by the signature of Carlos Benaim, Labdanum. While the DNA is classic, it is definitely sexualised through the addition of these base notes. The Labdanum will not leave your skin until the next day. I wore it on a Saturday morning and could smell it on Sunday afternoon in the sauna. Brilliant perfumery, fit for a great summer day, and evening. Gathers real life compliments. A quite brilliant addition to anyone's collection. 8.1 / 10

Boy oh boy I loved this perfume. Now anyone who says 'just get some lavender essential oil' clearly doesn't get this perfume. It's Lavender dominant sure enough (at least at first) but comparing it to the raw material lavender (which depending on origin/extraction etc...can be very changeable) is just not fair. Neither is it fair to say it's remotely like a Caron Homme or Dior Eau Noire or any other lavender based fragrance. Now how can something with such lavender bias be so different...well for the reasons I mentioned above but more pertinently a great perfumer at the helm and complimentary surrounding notes. The opening is fresh, sweet and strange but anchored by a growing herbal lavender note which blooms quickly and does give a musician like feel (whatever that means?) I suppose a kind of creative, calmness. The main thing Music for a while does is transport me back to youth reminding me very vividly of some kind of gummy, jelly sweets, tropical fruits and the listed pineapple here makes absolute sense although I didn't immediately get that myself. I can understand why some folks would hate this, cloyingly sweet and pungent lavender and even I will admit it became a touch that way with the candied, fruit juice sweetness and generally artiness, but it accessed something within me and lovingly tickled it. Carlos Benaim is an interesting perfumer but this was a touch unexpected but then in hindsight, absolutely his style. I want it, but not at FM retail price.