La Couche du Diable

"How can one attend the coronation of Satan without ever once having tasted sin? Oud and labdanum come together to create a diabolical and sumptuous veil of indulgence and remorse for a first transgression." is how the Lutens website describes La Couche du Diable, a name that, quite aptly, translates to "The Devil's Bedsheets" If ever any of the hyperbole used in the marketing of fragrances was true, it would be here. And if sin had a scent, it would be this. So much so, in fact, that I was, and am, compelled to remark that the 7 deadly sins were bottled Christopher Sheldrake in this scent. And be warned, it truly is a devilish delight, but absolutely not for the faint of heart, or the novice nose. And embody them, it does. Pride; Wearing this fragrance brings about a change in the way one carries themselves, almost unconsciously. One smells regal, untouchable and proud. Almost as if "above" those around them. Greed; A spray, perhaps two, but no more. Every drop, something precious and rare, not for mere mortals, but only for those that have dined with Lucifer in the fires of hades. Envy; An abstract thought, and perhaps one difficult to articulate, but the feeling evoked whilst wearing this, is one that is missed in a manner almost cruel after the fact, as if the person adorned by this fragrance is another version of the self, unbothered by the opinions of the crowd, instead choosing to care only about luxury and indulgence. And it is that feeling that one is envious of. Gluttony; The fragrance itself is gluttonous in the extreme, filled with precious material, every waft a rich, warm and opulent aroma, the distinct smells of luxury moving through it. Wrath; As the color suggests, this fragrance is anything but kind. Nay, it is angry, like the fires from whence it's been inspired. It is the color of rage...of passion. Sloth; As bright as the it burns, it is also a test of patience. It is slow to develop, to reveal its secrets and hidden pleasures. It is languid and ever present, savoring every sin as you indulge. Lust; The sin all are familiar with, and that requires no further explanation. Anyone who smells it, will understand immediately. Now my own rambling hyperbole aside, I must move on to how the scent smells, more than what it evokes, although for me, the latter is often more important than the former. La Couche du Diable is opens with a cinnamon-boozy accord, with a citruses going through it, lasting for a good while, as the fragrance evolves, bringing with it a metallic, almost blood like tang, as the amber, labdanum and woods begin to take center stage, turning it warmer and more austere. The oud in this fragrance is something I can barely detect, except to say it smells, somewhere in its evolution, like warm skin. There are no discernable Top, Heart or Base notes to me, instead it flits and evolves from one sin to another, staying true to its amber-spiced core, with notes of flowers, citrus fruits and woods coming and going as they please. It toes the line, almost crossing into middle-eastern perfumery, but remaining firmly planted within the west. This scent is best suited for fall and winter, and you wear it for yourself, since it is unlikely to garner many compliments, especially from the masses, that prefer the blue fragrances to anything even remotely creative. The longevity is excellent, but it stays close to the skin, which I believe is quite appropriate, since only the "chosen" will get to smell it. And smell it you must, not only to experience truly daring perfumery, but also to understand the plethora of feelings this concoction evokes. To summarize, dark, indulgent, and sinful. Sweet and spicy. Unique in the extreme. Stunning.

This perfume makes me laugh. Serge Lutens has always had a great sense of humor, and frequently at our expense sometimes. The title of this perfume is lewd and puerile. Lutens loves a wordplay game and La Couche, a singular form it should be noted, most likely means diaper. And it’s an oud composition with a sense of humor, which is always welcome since oud and its devotees take things far too seriously. This is actually a labdanum perfume, and, more specifically, a cistus labdanum perfume to my nose rather than labdanum. For this reason as well, I tend to think of it as more of a deconstructed oud perfume rather than a strict presentation. Strict is not a thematic element that would jive with what seems to be La Couche’s intent. Curiously absent in La Couche - I’m still chuckling at this every time I write it, I’m such a child - are the fecal, animalic, barnyard notes most readily associated with oud. So, again, to an earlier point I made, this isn’t really an oud composition, but the argument could be made against another statement I provided that you cannot truly have a “deconstructed oud” - or something to that effect - without the animalic facet. I don’t find La Couche (lol) accruing defect because of this though; all of the other facets we associate with oud are there and just enough to spark a lightbulb moment where you mind says “oud!... But... hold up a second.” Instead, what I smell is one of the darkest, resinous, woodiest, rose perfumes I can recall. Deep, dark brown, earthy resins of enormous viscosity that almost renders them immovable. The woods of aromatic trees touched by forest fires, swatches of black and brown in their exposed cores leaking sap. Woody spices as well, like a very pungent and fresh nutmeg and cinnamon combination, and probably a rather heavy touch of allspice. And then there’s that floral note, the rock rose, the cistus labdanum’s high note. This perfume might want association with the devil, but this floral note will make you sing God’s praises. This rose smells black in color. Many oud varietals have a natural floral aspect to them that is a bit “rosey” in many/most presentations, so, to my mind, this works. There is nothing fruity jammy, peppery, or green to this floral note at all - it is muscular, resinous, woody, and earthy in a hallelujah-God’s-knightly-warrior sort of way. As an oud-not-oud in Serge Lutens’s typical dark humor that makes me the butt of the joke, I am more than happy to laugh along with it while also being very taken with its superb materials and handling (very likely at Sheldrake’s masterful hands). Oud purists will not like it. Good. Stay away. It’s not for you and that means more for me. That said though, I’m not sure who this perfume is for. If the oudists won’t care for it, and those who don’t like oud are likely to find the commonalities off-putting, then who will this appeal to? Maybe the Satanists amongst us. I might convert (from whatever it is I currently am). Excellent work.

The old adage goes, 'the devil is in the details.' The devil also apparently rests in his bed, waiting for you to allow him to arise in your mind. We all seem to think that if there were a fragrance to reflect what seems to be such a parable, it would smell offensive (well, some folks seem to think so anyhow given a number of other reviews I've read) but no, not at all, this smells beautiful, if not dark, brooding, and beguiling. I think more of Mara in Buddhism, and the fears that arise, particularly the existential, those of loss, of death, of ceasing to exist. We all find ways to distract ourselves, resist the feelings, run away from truth—hiding from these fears, and we do so through manifesting behaviors: greed, gluttony, sensuality, consumption, delusion. Perhaps its a stretch for me to suggest that Christopher Sheldrake wanted La Couche du Diable to represent the embodiment of this (after all, did Guerlain and their perfumers really intended Samsara to represent the cycle of suffering?). This fragrance though, as I wear it and reflect during a tenuous time, has me meditating on the relationship I have with scent, transcending fragrance itself. How does it distract me? How does it help me to tune in and befriend difficult feelings? There is a lining of tangerines and citruses, a periphery of light within the depths of the labdanum accord which eclipses all else. Any other element here serves as an accent, or shading at most. I believe Sheldrake might have used a natural derivative of cistus-labdanum produced by Biolandes called Hydrocarboresine. I have a generous amount of it as I adore it, a perfume in itself. It is at the other end of the spectrum from, say, olibanum resin, it is unctuous, resinous, and smoky, with the sweeter highlights of cistus contrasting with the leathery and organic backbone. The whole composition feels like viewing brightly-hued stained glass windows against the negative space of a dim church interior. Light and dark. The story of life. So facing the devil in its bed means stopping, and this fragrance makes me stop, and that—and this fragrance, is tender and real.

i feel like a huge component of perfume is aesthetic and conceptual; what the title, bottle, and brand contribute has a ton of stylistic weight for me when picking a perfume. call me weird, but its almost enough for me to know that it will be the perfume that i want. i was really drawn to the beautiful art-deco logo and bottle shape and the overall concepts of serge lutens. i immediately wanted the imagery that the title presented: the devil's bed. sexy, demonic, twisted. when researching, i found overwhelmingly negative reviews about it--people alarmed by the mistranslation (the devil's diaper! ew! i asked a french friend; he confirmed that the use of "couche" is definitely an anachronistic way of speaking, and that this would be closer to something like the devil's bed/bedsheets); people saying that this smells like blood! wtf! i'm almost exclusively a musk lover. this is a beautiful scent. very smoky, oud and amber, dries down with a nice citrus. when still wet, it smells like cocktail olives. this is definitely a musky perfume. the musk component of this smells exactly like that of CB I HATE PERFUME's "musk" accord. Christopher Brosius apparently really dislikes musk, and made a synthetic of it from his imagination and research. this smells just like that scent, down to the isomer. like: dirty panties. which honestly, i love. some might not. but its very seamless and elegantly present. like slipping anchovies into a sauce, something delicious and necessary would be missing without it. not making very appetizing analogies today, am i? this perfume lives up to its image. its highly sexy, elegantly animal, and arousing. the only downside to this in my opinion is its low sillage and longevity. i've been wearing it in the day, and going out at night, i'll probably just wear more. ;-)

With thousands and thousands of perfumes around, it is sometimes useful to me when people connect a certain fragrance to others of the same ilk or style to make myself an idea of what to expect. Sometimes I go "What is this person saying??" but I nonetheless think it can be useful. So with this word of caution for I may be wrong, I find La couche du diable quite easy to describe as a labdanum and amber strong fragrance not too far from Laudano Nero by Terenzi, without the tobacco. Yes, WITHOUT the tobacco and in a less in your face fashion. La couche is more sophisticated and chic. You can tell it is a Lutens by the great use of materials so as to never be cloying but still have a wow factor and presence. I don't know any other Lutens close to this in smell but there is no doubt the general feeling it creates is not far from the one you get with the other late offering Le participe passé. However, where the latter shares a lot with some early offerings, La couche is undeniably less complex (no ton of spices in the mix here) and I could even dare to say this music is a one-track song. Labdanum and amber in a somber, elegant way. I sometimes smell some orange, some rose, but I would lie if I said those rival the other two or make the perfume have any considerable twist at any point. I like Laudano nero but find it a bit heavy sometimes, I haven't had that feeling with La couche, although the overdose of labdanum needs some context to be worn.I definitely like it but with so many Lutens in mind and heart, this doesn't find its place yet. Who knows, perhaps next winter?