Labradorite No. 13

#1482 in my "Tour de Fragrance" I'll say this for Olivier Durbano scents: they do not follow the crowd. The closest I can come to something as purely bestial as this would be Zoologist "Hyrax" and Nishane's "Afrika Oliphant." I think if you wear this you have to have Nine Inch Nails' "Closer" blaring from the sound system. This is a "must have" for me. Could even become my signature scent. We all know the civet and castoreum are synthetic. As it should be. But the woods here absolutely set this apart. l shower every day with a gel scented with palo santo. I'd have a house built out of that wood if I could. Love the smell. This stuff is for the barbarian in us all. It's masculine, but if my girlfriend cuddled up wearing this I would straight up lose my mind! I can see from the ratings on longevity and sillage this is probably very skin chemistry dependent performance. For me it holds up well. Still a skin scent at 12 hours and counting. Not easy to find here. $240 is not cheap. But I'm going for it.

A deeply erotic toxic situationship. Shimmering and sensual skin scent on first spray. As it dries down it smells like spit and piss. Feels like it's seeped under my skin, gives me a headache, want it gone. Need to take a long shower and journal. I'll probably use it again in a week.

A Fable of the Old and New Gods? As if sequestered and ingeniously tailored within the geometric cyber-chambers of an all-enveloping set of Neurocranial-Google-Glasses set to surf First Class on the ‘Darkest Web’ of the near-future, Labradorite No. 13 expresses a tantalising and complex series of secular, post-modern, outcomes around a core of Sacred olfactory Shamanic wisdom once created by Gods of Antiquity and hitherto lost for many millennia. Until now, that is. Indeed, the opening of Labradorite is as vivacious and brilliant as Gillian Anderson’s audacious ‘Media’ as ‘David Bowie’ in ‘American Gods’ (2017), complete with 70s electric blue suit and matching eye shadow and ceremoniously topped with spikey, iconic, Bowie-cut, red hair. Androgynous, razor-sharp, yet abstract and non-conforming, Olivier’s latest composition is a masterpiece of the Atypical in which a non-linear narrative is supplanted by the unfolding mystery of ‘what’s next?’ And, like Bowie, it’s a Chameleon that demands repeated wearing in order to appreciate more fully its unconventional role and ‘moods’ in the ‘Relationship’ betwixt its ‘living’ self and recipient wearer. Dramatically crisp and aromatic like a medicinal Nostrum by way of an invigorating neo-pine partnership of cardamom and marjoram, there is too an initial ‘greenish’ wood opening accord that suggests recently snapped young branches with ‘extras’: perhaps an insult diagnosed, clinically, as a ‘greenstick fracture’ to the right distal radius secondary to blunt trauma from an aggressive and temporally displaced, elevated, Leprechaun wrestling with a soft-boned other-worldly foe: the concomitant resultant haematoma adding a noteworthy, ‘opaque and curious blood note’ according to the subsequent pathologist’s report written, in black ink, by Old God and Keeper of Stories, Mr. Ibis. Framed in olfactory HD, the composition shifts quickly revealing a luscious though contradictory rubbery-brittle Tuberose at its core with an elastic half-life obliged towards bitter decay and possessed of a pungency that moves in-and-out of focus and intensity like weirdly plasticky echoes on ‘Bowie’s’ Crimplene cuffs reminiscent of his yesterday’s wearing of the daintier chic reference, Carnal Flower, by Frederick Malle. In contrast, however, Olivier’s Tuberose theme is early-on set against a far flintier and sheer, non-sweet, background, itself poised to deteriorate in to the realms of ‘grubby decrepitude’ as if the Derridean conundrum of a Revenant Laura Moon arrives on the scene (with or without her arm) accompanied by an eldritch multitude of insatiable flies. Like a resurgence of the Old Gods and archaic Viking mores, the increasing appearance of deliciously smudged resinous-animalic-oud notes rising to the fore, emboldened by an exquisite employment of Amber, summons a portal to a myriad ‘mood-scapes’. Indeed, depending on your taste and skin’s biochemistry, this might range from ‘textures’ of recently excavated soil littered with soggy bunches of once pristine flowers decorating the emotional challenges of a wet and gloomy winter funeral or, perhaps, the distressed architectural fascias and greasy, oiled, steel cogs of a funfair ride smeared with a roustabout’s sweaty industry melded with nearby faint traces of diesel exhaust fumes. To be sure, Labradorite offers an infusion of unpredictability and risk as dark and dangerous as the enigmatic Mr. Wednesday negotiating ‘Your Future’ inside a Dario Argento-hued blood-red brothel, mixed with a tragic and melancholic ‘Whiter Shade of Pale’ like the transient angelic appearance of Marilyn Monroe: the tension between Beauty and the Beast persistent throughout this intelligent Perfume’s wild Life and Death. As with so many of this Nose’s stunning creations, there is a signature Durbano twilight phase of ‘post-basenotes’ that offers a warm, dusty, woody 'campfire' séance, as if the pulsing 'American Gods' soundtrack has stopped just as the final credits roll towards conclusion. Arguably perhaps not as 'definitive' or 'enjoyable' as the 'burnt' authoritative expression of his exceptional Black Tourmaline, Labradorite is nevertheless a brave and striking Perfume that with integrity and continued Durbano narrative, challenges the safe and prosaic way of contemporary trends and remains a must-try-nose for lovers of (dirty) Tuberose and the rueful allure of skanky undertones. Bravo, Olivier Durbano!

This is not for everybody. I had high hopes of loving it. After aplying the sample I get something Green, Metallic and salty. Like a Green womanity by Mugler for men. After washing my hands it become weaker. Please test before you buy. I suspect that majoram, palo santo and Ambergris is what create this to me harsh experience.