Years ago, I used to argue with a food-loving, atheist friend of mine that there simply must be a God. He’d ask me for evidence. And my response would be to draw his attention to… garlic. There was no way such a miracle of nature could have come into existence, I’d say, without some form of divine providence. He would chuckle and concede that I had a point. I suspect that if perfumers had to name one awe-inducing ‘wonder plant’, it might be jasmine. There seems to be no end to the number of facets and nuances which the innocuous little flower offers to the pursuits of scent makers. Think of any odour descriptor and chances are it could be applied to the white blossoms to some degree. Sweet, dry, citrusy, animalic, woody, green, mossy, peppery… they all fit. Almost every perfume house showcases jasmine in its collection – Frederic Malle is a notable exception – and now, by way of Pierre Negrin‘s and Richard Herpin’s Opus VIII, Amouage has decided to offer its own take on one of the art form’s most venerable materials.
However, in keeping with Creative Director
Christopher Chong‘s modus operandi,
Opus VIII is far from an ordinary jasmine. In fact, when you first wear it, you could be forgiven for thinking it isn’t a jasmine at all. It greets you with the dryness of tannins catching you right at the back of your throat. Theirs isn’t an evocation of a momentary absence of water, but of weeks and weeks of husky, parched, life-threatening drought. Then the woods emerge, equally bereft of moisture, leaping into the frame like pieces of kindling released from a blazing oven. Next, a truly arresting freshness fills the air, part camphoraceous, part zesty, which reassures you that a respite from the bleakness is just around the corner, even as it makes you gasp for air. And then, and only then, do you notice that what you’ve been smelling all along, in the background – that dusty, mothbally, earthy weirdness – is jasmine. It may be devoid of nearly all its sweetness and pumped to the max with disconcerting indoles, but it’s a jasmine nonetheless, as majestic, beguiling and unfathomable as it ought to be.
With faint echoes of
Alien,
Le Maroc Pour Elle and perhaps even
Isvaraya (which I keep meaning to review here)
Opus VIII constantly wrong-foots the wearer and refuses to allow its identity to be pinned down. Each time you think it’s about to turn into a more conventional floral, the wide-eyed freshness reappears (perhaps a consequence of the West Indian bay cited in the official list of notes) and each time you decide that this is a straightforward woody scent after all, those white petals give a gentle shake and remind you of their presence. In other words, it sustains an engaging complexity throughout its development. But perhaps what’s most surprising about it – bearing in mind that it comes from the least wallflower-like of brands – is its silence. Its presence certainly lingers for ages – no worries about longevity here – but it doesn’t project anywhere near as loudly as, say, the
Interlude duo or
Opus V. Indeed, by Amouage standards, the scent is positively introspective… which brings us back to that Sahara-like dryness…
At a time when millions of people around the world are reflecting on mysterious manifestations in deserts and Lenten abstinence, Opus VIII inadvertently makes an apposite statement about deceptiveness and illusion. By side-stepping attempts at easy categorisation, it focusses the mind, sharpens the senses and forces the wearer to ponder on the perfume’s effects and meanings. It demands mindful contemplation. That’s a pretty impressive feat, as far as olfactory achievements are concerned, and it’s likely to make soul-singing, scent-believers of us all… even my friend, the garlic-worshipping atheist.
[Review based on a sample of eau de parfum provided by Amouage in 2014; for more reviews of
Opus VIII, please visit
Perfume Posse and
The Non-Blonde.]
Persolaise
Ha! I keep avoiding Library series as I am so happy with items in the main range. But this, along with the previous Opus you reviewed, have opened the library door. An introspective Amouage you say? Sounds fine, especially all that sustained complexity and dryness.
Jordan, you've got a treat in store when you finally try the Library scents.