#jacques guerlain

[figliodicaterina]

A vintage Baccarat crystal bottle of l’Heure Bleue, from the late 1920s. Amazingly that brown sludge at the bottom still smells fantastic, I don’t know how it’s possible, but it does.

[odoroussavourssweet]

Guerlain L’Heure Bleue

Guerlain L’Heure Bleue

Nose: Jacques Guerlain

notes: anise, neroli, coriander, bergamot, lemon; heliotrope, carnation, violet, cloves, neroli, ylang-ylang, rose, jasmine, orchid, tuberose; iris, vanilla, benzoin, sandalwood, tonka, musk, vetiver

L’Heure Bleue is one of the few famous classics I still hadn’t smelled.

it opens with a flash of almond and anise, followed by pale-blue violet and sinking back into powder-soft heliotrope. It’s a very clean (surely reformulated) smooth scent, rapidly flashing between different facets of cooling spring florals, soft almondy powder, and gently sweet-spiced amber. An essay in melting, ever-shifting pastels.

Apparently the vintage version is lustier, with more orange blossom and a darker leather base. that sounds even lovelier.

but contemporary L’Heure Bleue is still one of the best old-fashioned powdery almond-y heliotrope scents around.

Not a dense, chewy super-sweet heliotrope/almond (Luctor et Emergo, Thumbsucker) or a super-rich creamy almond (Phi, Guidance) or a sleek modernist almond (Loulou) but delicate, shimmering, touched with rose and violet. The closest analogue I know is Mohur, but L’Heure Bleue is far more delicate.

It’s definitely a piece of marshmallowy fluff, very overtly feminine in a ballet-tutu sort of way. I wouldn’t say that’s my usual aesthetic, but I do appreciate it.

[moratoirenoir]

[persolaise]

Top 10 Perfumes For Autumn 2024 - Scents To Bring Us Together

It's time for another Top 10 list -- the best perfumes for autumn 2024, featuring Dior, Arquiste, Serge Lutens, Parle Moi De Parfum, Guerlain and others

If all the spam advertising emails are to be believed, autumn is the time for curling up on a sofa with a warm blanket and a mug of hot chocolate. But what if this somewhat individualistic image could be extended to include other people? That’s the kind of thinking that was on my mind when I put together my latest seasonal top 10: a list of perfumes that draw people in and bring them together,…

[angelitam]

Mitsouko de Guerlain

Mitsouko de Guerlain est la légende d’un amour impossible. Mitsouko de Guerlain Dans la Collection Les Légendaires, Mitsouko de Guerlain tient une grande place et raconte l’histoire d’un amour impossible. Mitsouko de Guerlain Mitsouko est un prénom qui, en japonais signifie mystère. C’est celui de l’héroïne du roman La Bataille, de Claude Farrère. La légende raconte que prise entre le serment…

[fragrancedqueen]

shalimar, guerlain, flacon abeilles

[blackswaneuroparedux]

Je ne me considérais pas vraiment comme une muse.

Jane Birkin

I remember when I was settling in Paris to live and work in this beautiful city, my French aunt (married to my Norwegian uncle) gave me the surprise of my life when she invited me to dinner at their home and there was Jane Birkin, in a big cosy cardigan, a simple t-shirt, baggy jeans and laceless sneakers. I was almost lost for words and more of a klutz in the kitchen than I normally am, but her infectious laugh and her easy going nature just made me forget who she was for one delightful evening. It wasn’t a formal dinner but just friends drinking wine, eating delicious home cooked food, and having a good laugh around the sprawling kitchen table. I was the youngest there - along with a couple of my cousins - in terms of the generation gap, but it didn’t matter one bit. It was just a cosy evening where the alcohol fuelled the conversation and the lubricated the singing around the piano (think of strangling cats).

During one lull in the evening, I was dying to ask so many questions. I had read her book, Munkey Diaries, which were extracts from her diary, dating from 1957, when she was twelve, to 1982. It’s a fascinating read and as someone who also keeps a diary since my early teens it was an inspiration. Throughout the book, she pours her heart out to her toy monkey, Munkey, telling him about everything from her childhood in England to her life in Paris where she met the men in her life, such as Serge Gainsbourg. She holds nothing back in telling the story of their couple, writing page after page to the rhythm of her ardent passion, but does not hesitate to put her foot down when it comes to her independence.

For Birkin was always a free, independent woman, choosing her films and musical interests with conviction. Sensing that her relationship with Gainsbourg was burning out, she left everything behind and moved into a hotel with her daughters, Kate and Charlotte. Her monkey still remained her intimate confidant, a rag doll witness to her heartbreak, particularly when she was seduced by Jacques Doillon. Jane spares the reader nothing. Neither her occasional desire to be done with it all, nor her more frequent excesses of happiness. A happiness she always wanted to share with those she loved. She wrote with such searing honesty and self-awareness that showed the world only scratched at what lay much deeper of this beautiful soul but a complex heart.

As the evening wore the conversation turned towards parenting and motherhood and things like that. I remembered in her Munkey Diaries that Birkin recounted a conversation with her own mother. In it she writes, “"During a bombing, her flat exploded, and I asked her, "What did you take with you?" After a moment's thought, she replied, 'Schiaparelli Shocking Pink Perfume: when you've got nothing left to lift your spirits, you've still got the superfluous.' I happen to mention that - I blame the wine now because the last thing you want to do is go all fangirl over her when she’s just trying to chill with friends. But she took it in her stride and she recalled a story she told elsewhere that many years later she had gone to Sarajevo at the height of the war there. So what does Jane Birkin do? She stuffed her bags with Guerlain lipsticks, tiny bottles of perfume and silk underwear for schoolgirls over there. She said that her mother was right after all. It’s all about being superfluous. By that she really meant what’s important is the essential.

After I heard the sad news of her passing I thought of that as I thought of a way how to memorialise her on my blog.

The thing about looking for a good Jane Birkin picture to post is that there are no bad ones. Go on I dare you, find a picture that looks dated. She was timeless. That’s the clue to her longevity. She wasn’t fashionable but she was stylishly essential. In many respects she presented a fashion paradox: the more Jane Birkin developed her unique signature style, the more brands sought her out. She never saw herself as a fashion icon. She never saw herself as a muse. As she once said, “My look is a cocktail. I'm not as nicely turned out as the french, but I don't care like the English.”

What makes me a little sad is that while Jane Birkin has become kind of an Instagram and social media artefact that fashion girls and luxury and fashion brands use to sell “a vibe”, it makes it all the more easier to forget that she was not just a tectonic inspiration for musicians, designers, filmmakers but also a remarkable artist in her own right.

I could sit in a bric-a-brac room for hours listening to Jane Birkin talk about what’s in or on her famously battered and bulging Bikrin bag, her style and life for hours on end. She was charismatic and stylish, sure, but in person she was absolutely hilarious and so down to earth.

Everything she touched was beautiful, cool and sophisticated as she. Everyone she touched felt their spirit lift a little lighter. It never crossed my mind that she was mortal.

Rest in peace, beautiful Jane Birkin, ‘la petite Anglaise’. My muse.

You’re free now.

RIP Jane Birkin 1946-2023

[cleolinda]

Mitsouko (Guerlain, 1919)

Guerlain, 1919, Jacques Guerlain. Post-2014 formulation; eau de parfum concentration; 2002 decant from the Perfumed Court.

(To discuss: what it smells like, why it smells like that, and the struggle to describe this legendary heritage throwback.)

Trust me, these specifications make a difference. A year ago, I read reviews of different versions and took notes on what I wanted:

Do not get samples from 2007 - 2013, pre-2007 will have real oakmoss. Every concentration has different focus. EdP is mellower than EdT. Extrait is "truest."

You see, the International Fragrance Association (IFRA) restricted oakmoss in 2001, and then more tightly in 2009, from what I can tell. Mitsouko is considered a "reference chypre," a textbook example of the genre, and chypres are, by definition, citrus (usually bergamot), labdanum, and oakmoss. (The Perfume Society adds patchouli to this trio.) Like, you gotta have those for it to be a chypre. But Mitsouko is not THE chypre:

Bois de Jasmin: Guerlain Mitsouko : Fragrance Review (New and Vintage):

Created by Jacques Guerlain in 1919, Mitsouko was a variation on the avant-garde fragrance of the period–Coty Chypre. Chypre was based on the startling contrast among the bergamot top notes, the jasmine heart and the richness of oakmoss. Though undoubtedly beautiful, Chypre was brutal in its impact. […] Mitsouko is a kiss to Coty Chypre’s slap in the face, and for this reason, its popularity endures to this day.

So when oakmoss was restricted as an allergen in the 2000s, perfumers industry-wide scrambled to come up with a facsimile; for Guerlain, with a fragrance this storied, failure was not an option. Reformulations everybody hated were, though. Edouard Fléchier took a crack at it somewhere around 2007, and in 2013, Thierry Wasser reformulated the whole thing to recapture the scent everyone remembered. People seem to have been satisfied with that version since.

So I've worn that new Mitsouko on and off, when I feel fancy, for about a year now. I put a little on a card for my sister to smell the other week, and she said, "It smells old." (She'll be the first to tell you that she’s learning what individual notes smell like.) Being crushingly literal, I don't understand what "smells old" or "smells like old ladies" means. Powdery, she said, struggling to explain. "Old." Maybe I haven't smelled enough old ladies.

Mitsouko does smell… weird, by modern standards. Generally, people either love it or hate it, and Results May Vary in a big way; it's worth getting a sample just to take it for a spin (kind of like Not A Perfume or Glossier's You, in that one regard), and to see what a piece of history smells like. Expert-of-experts Luca Turin says it's the one perfume he'd take to that proverbial desert island, but I am but a gentle woodland creature, a basic vanilla bitch; I would be more likely to take something that cost $10 instead of $145. But I still kind of love Mitsouko. Users who review it positively often speak of not liking it at first, then going back to it again and again. They also speak of a "pissy" stage in the middle that might be civet or oakmoss (or whatever represents those notes now); I know what they're talking about, but it doesn't read as anything so unpleasant to me. It's not easy to wear like the simple scents I usually go for, but the drydown is absolutely gorgeous. That's one of the things that makes Mitsouko so interesting to me: it's like two completely separate perfumes were mingled, and the first gradually recedes to let the Guerlinade take center stage.

But what’s in it? “La Guerlinade,” for starters, is a complex foundation that the historical Guerlains have—a house accord. (You could buy it unto itself for a while.) The exact formula is super secret, of course, but it's said to (possibly) include bergamot, jasmine, rose, orange blossom, orris, vetiver, tonka bean, vanilla, and lilac. The lilac—a note I didn't even know I would like—is what shows up on me with both Mitsouko and Guerlain's L'Heure Bleue (1912); it's a soft light purple note that peeks through from the very beginning, and gradually becomes the glass slipper that Cinderella leaves behind.

Over on the official Guerlain site, they tell us a bit more about the reformulation:

A masterpiece in balance and originality, Mitsouko combines a fruity peach note with jasmine and rose centifolia (May rose) flowers. Its mysterious base combines spicy notes with notes of undergrowth and vetiver.

Warm spices such as black pepper mingle with cold spices like cardamom and pink [pink pepper?] berries.

Patchouli essence features many vegetal, woody and earthy olfactory facets. Combined with rose, moss, and bergamot, patchouli forms the base of the chypre accord.

Hilariously, Guerlain also straight up tells you what Thierry Wasser actually put in New Mitsouko:

ALCOHOL

PARFUM (FRAGRANCE)

AQUA (WATER)

LIMONENE

LINALOOL

EUGENOL

HYDROXYCITRONELLAL

EVERNIA FURFURACEA (TREEMOSS) EXTRACT

CITRAL

BENZYL BENZOATE

ALPHA-ISOMETHYL IONONE

CITRONELLOL

GERANIOL

BHT

HEXYL CINNAMAL

CINNAMYL ALCOHOL

ISOEUGENOL

BENZYL ALCOHOL

BENZYL SALICYLATE

TOCOPHEROL

CI 14700 (RED 4)

CI 19140 (YELLOW 5)

CI 60730 (EXT. VIOLET 2)

FARNESOL

Yeah. There's the famous Guerlinade… in there somewhere. They gave that secret away, hidden under a tiny link, because it means fuck-all without proportions or a way to separate it from the composition as a whole. Well played.

A Basenotes user posted a suggested Mitsouko formula that's somewhat more indicative of what those chemicals would smell like (deep breath): sweet orange, lemon, bergamot, elemi, celery seed, tarragon (a component of oakmoss reconstitution), coriander, chamomile, lavender, geranium, ylang, jasmine, clove, anise, castoreum, civet, labdanum, tonka, patchouli, cinnamon, peru balsam, benzoin, vanilla, violet, rose, costus, vetiver, musk, and the famous "aldehyde" C-14: a peach-scented lactone from 1908.

Logically, Mitsouko (1919) must not have been the first fragrance to use gamma-undecalactone, but I'm not sure any other has survived the ages like this one. Carter Burr (another top expert) writes that Jacques Guerlain most likely got it from the supplier Firmenich, via their Persicol peach base:

C-14 was a marvel, a fruity, aromatic, delicious scent that gave ripe peach skin. Guerlain plugged C-14 into the equation perfectly (the rumor is, actually, similar to Chanel 5, that he in fact accidentally overdosed the stuff; who knows), and Mitsouko became a thing of subtle opulence, strength and balance and silken twilight.

Sidebar: peach is one of my favorite fragrance notes. It's in Tamora, one of the first BPALs I ever tried twenty years ago; I don't know what the actual peach accord in that oil is, but it's still probably my favorite Black Phoenix. No matter how weird people said Mitsouko was, I was GOING to try it for that landmark peach lactone. And that's what shows up at first for me. I do get that Guerlinade lilac peeking through, but the opening as a whole is a spicy autumnal peach lying on the dead-leafed forest floor, more velvet than flesh, Octoberish and unseelie. That first sequence is intriguing, and then it warms up into that unpleasant stage; then that uneasy note fades and the Guerlinade comes fully out, a soft pale purple-blue siren song floating by on a powdery cloud. Those are the two perfumes that seem to be twined: bewitchingly different, each one blended so smoothly that I can't distinguish all the notes within them, yet not quite blended together.

And that's just my own reaction. Watching Fragrantica reviewers describe Mitsouko is a pastime unto itself. It smells like power, sex, domination, old money, "strangely nutty," depressing, elegant, fascinating, bitter, ripe, like oil paint, "an old medicine cabinet," pungent, tangy, moldy, intoxicating, alienating, feminine, masculine, unisex—to quote frugally:

User Aerides: "Mitsouko is gloomy Sundays, walks in the woods after it rains, and empty auction rooms. […] It's incense and burning candles, and waxy floor polish. It's cinnamon peach jam. It's a bouquet of lilacs on the dining room table. It lasts so long it's like a ghost in the room."

User Amararata: "There is something vampire-like about this fragrance. It's the sort of scent a woman leaves behind after she's conquered a man, or a kind of lascivious tryst in the middle of the day."

User querty988: "For some reason, those stinky little [camphor-clove] whiffs endeared it to me. It was like the baby from Eraserhead whispering in my ear, 'yes, I am the most revolting thing you've ever smelled, but I'm here with you in public today, and it's our little secret that I belong to you.'"

User KingRidesBy96: "Can't explain it. Don't want to. She's a witch, it's magic."

Mitsouko is weird as hell, and yet, thanks to the “waxy floor polish” review, and (I swear) a review someone wrote that I can't find now that mentioned linseed oil, furniture, paint, and his wife, I knew exactly what Mitsouko was going to smell like. And I was right. And I think that the mental preparation is incredibly important here. Not to be snooty about what it takes to "appreciate" a perfume like this, but to frame for you where this being of times past is, at least, coming from. Mitsouko is Aslan, present when the Deep Magic was written in 1919, whether the Deep Magic smells good on you or not.

Further reading linkspam

Bois de Jasmin: What Does The Word Mitsouko Mean?

It’s the French spelling of a female Japanese character’s name (Mitsuko, “child of light,” “shining child”) from the 1909 French novel La bataille (“The Battle”); Jacques Guerlain was friends with the author, Claude Farrère, so this is thought to be the most likely namesake. Wikipedia:

The novel is set in Japan during the 1905 Russo-Japanese War, and chronicles a fictional amour fou between a British Navy Officer and one "Mitsouko", the wife of Fleet Admiral Marquis Yorisaka. Both Yorisaka and the British officer sail to war, and Mitsouko awaits with reserve to see which of the two will return alive to her.

Maybe this is reflected in the duality I’m getting from the perfume, I don’t know.

Isn’t all this very orientalist? Why, yes! Our antique faves are as problematic as ever!

Ayala Moriel: Olfactory Orientalism

Arts of the Working Class: Journey with Mitsouko and Mitsuko

More technical discussion:

Persolaise Review: Mitsouko from Guerlain (Jacques Guerlain; 1919 [and Thierry Wasser; 2013/14]):

Suffice it to say that whether it’s because [Wasser] increased the dosage of vetivert in the base, or he revitalised the citruses at the top, or, most interestingly, he created a special ‘oakmoss-like’ accord to compensate for the shortcomings of synthetic substitutes, the result is that the current Mitsouko feels like it has just emerged from the fountain of youth.

The Empress of Moss: Mitsouko

A look at the current state of the chypre: IFRA, Oakmoss, Chypres & Perfume Houses (2022)

Late breaking news: right after I fell down the stairs and injured myself rather thoroughly yesterday, my vintage pre-oakmoss-ban Mitsouko sample arrived in the mail. I’ll update once I can smell it. I also have a 2022 decant of L'Heure Bleue and, uh, about three drops of Samsara from around 1989, so stay tuned for more Guerlain at some point.

[parfumieren]

Habit Rouge (Guerlain)

"Smell this." I hold my wrist under my husband's nose.

He inhales deeply, then shrugs. "It's okay."

"Just okay?"

Cheerfully: "Mm-hm."

This scene occurs daily at my house, with very few deviations from script. I would say that ninety percent of the perfumes that have undergone this test rated an "okay". Some receive a "Weird", others a furrowed brow and a muttered, "Where is it?" Occasionally I get a resolute "No!" balanced on the next wearing by an enthusiastic thumbs-up or - best of all - a blissful nuzzling at the nape of my neck.

Little does the man know, this time I'm not asking on my own behalf.

In the years that we have been together, my husband has never worn any kind of fragrance on purpose. He has built a personal regimen involving Ivory Soap, Gold Bond Powder, Nivea Sensitive shaving cream, and "plain" therapeutic moisturizer-- all of which, in concert with his personal scent, happen to smell fantastic. But his sensitive skin limits the amount of experimentation he's willing to do with new or unfamiliar products. He has reacted with mild interest to the masculines in my collection, particularly Bertrand Duchaufour's Timbuktu, yet has never made a single move toward swiping it for himself. And the idea of an "aftershave" other than plain cold water makes him shake his head.

I would never presume to choose a fragrance for him. But if my husband were ever to choose Guerlain's Habit Rouge for daily wear, I'd be the one doing the nuzzling.

Looking back over the evolution of men's fragrances, one sees certain categories -- fougères, leathers, woods, and aquatics -- lording it over all. Habit Rouge belongs to none of these. It's classified as an woody oriental, but is no less masculine for its lack of chauvinism. Bear in mind that in 1965, when Jacques Guerlain formulated HR, the definition of masculinity itself was in flux. Beginning with the Mod style movement of the early 60's, men had begun to struggle free from the previous decade's buttoned-down definition of manhood and to explore (gingerly, of course) a more "feminine" interest in fashion, art, and self-expression.

By 1966, lavishly pattered flowing shirts paired with hip-hugging flared trousers and Cuban heels would be considered the cutting edge of male fashion in psychedelic London. An outre "new Edwardian" aesthetic waited in the wings, all velvet and brocade-- to this cultural style revolution, Habit Rouge acted as the huntsman's trumpet call.

It kicks off with a fantastic top note, unashamedly floral yet not at all delicate, a hearty handshake of a scent like neat camelia oil on good leather. It then rapidly kaleidoscopes through a hundred sunset shades of citrus, with raspy wood notes gently shouldering their way to the fore as if to reassure you of HR's core masculinity. No need to overstate the obvious here, as so many overtly hairy-chested fragrances do at a shout. HR is perfectly comfortable with its identity; its manliness goes without saying and can survive a bit of dandifying.

It ends where very few masculine fragrances have ever dared to end-- in a faint, talcum-powder shimmer laced through with orange blossoms. This explains why so many men have lost their bottles of HR to wives and girlfriends-- but don't draw the wrong conclusions, gents. It's not that HR is for ladies. It's that ladies love HR, no matter who's wearing it. Why not you? (Still not convinced? Be advised that Sean Connery swore by Habit Rouge for years. That's right-- 007 HIMSELF wore it, so calm down, big boy.)

"Smell this." I hold my Habit Rouge-sprayed wrist under my husband's nose.

He inhales deeply, then shrugs. "It's okay," he says. Then he takes my wrist in his hand and smells again.

"Hm," he says.

Hm, indeed.

Scent Elements: Bergamot, lemon, rosewood, basil, sandalwood, carnation, patchouli, cedar, cinnamon, vanilla, amber, moss, benzoin, labdanum, olibanum

[ibjb]

Shalimar Eau de Parfum by Guerlain is a Amber Spicy fragrance for women. Shalimar Eau de Parfum was launched in 1990. The nose behind this fragrance is Jacques Guerlain. Top notes are Citruses, Bergamot, Lemon, Cedar and Mandarin Orange; middle notes are Iris, Patchouli, Vetiver, Jasmine and Rose; base notes are Vanilla, Incense, Leather, Opoponax, Civet, Sandalwood, Tonka Bean and Musk.

Shalimar was created by Jacques Guerlain in 1925, as a tribute to the legendary love story between Emperor SHAHJAHAN and his wife Mumtaz Mahal. Before he became emperor his name was Prince Khurram. According to the legend, twenty- year-old Prince Khurram met a young girl, named Arjumand Banu at the bazaar where her family worked. Mesmerized by her beauty, after becoming emperor, he made her his wife as Mumtaz Mahal, meaning the "Jewel of the Palace". After the wedding, the prince and Mumtaz were inseparable, in war and in peace. She had given 13 children to Shahjahan and died during the birth of their 14th child at the age of 39. Her death devastated Shah Jahan and had built Taj Mahal in memory of his wife and their undying love. Shalimar is named after ‘The Gardens of Shalimar’.It was Mumtaz’s favorite garden. Shalimar is one of the best selling perfumes ever and its magic is undeniable. Perfume is composed of citrus notes; lemon and bergamot, jasmine, may rose, opoponax, Tonka bean, vanilla, iris, Peru balsam and gray amber. The coolness of the citrus notes lead to a floral heart ending with a warm and luxurious trail.

What does Guerlain Shalimar smell like?

THE QUINTESSENCE OF “GUERLINADE”

Voluptuous and sensual, Shalimar Eau de Parfum opens with a breeze of flowers and bergamot, warmed with notes of iris, jasmine and rose. Vanilla, balsam notes and tonka beans meanwhile bring power and sensuality to this now-legendary fragrance.

[moratoirenoir]

[persolaise]

Guerlain Apres L'Ondee vintage extrait Review - Jacques Guerlain; 1906

Utter perfection. Which is why it doesn't need any more words from me. -- My review of the extrait version of Guerlain Apres L'Ondee.

For this post, my aim will be to remember that less is more. Over the years, I have sung the praises of Guerlain Apres L’Ondee at great length. Far greater length, probably, than the patience of my readers and followers has been able to withstand. Quite simply, I consider it to be one of the most haunting, heart-breaking and poetic perfume creations of all time. So when I managed to get hold of…

[elmartillosinmetre]

"El derecho a la belleza es tan revolucionario como el derecho al pan"

[La pianista Carmen Martínez-Pierret y el violonchelista Israel Fausto / JUAN CARLOS MUÑOZ]

Carmen Martínez-Pierret e Israel Fausto Martínez Melero presentan un disco con tres sonatas de compositoras de principios del siglo XX

Directores del ciclo Rasgando el silencio, que cumple su tercera temporada en el Teatro de la Maestranza destinado a presentar música escrita por mujeres, la pianista Carmen Martínez-Pierret y el violonchelista Israel Fausto han llevado al disco un programa que hicieron ya dentro del ciclo en marzo de 2022 y que recoge tres sonatas escritas por otras tantas compositoras entre 1905 y 1919. "Se trata del segundo disco de la colección La chambre bleue dentro del sello Thelxínoe –comenta la pianista, fundadora de este sello–, que está dedicada a música de compositoras que nos parece que merecen pasar al disco".

–¿De dónde sale el título de La hora azul?

–CM: Es el de un perfume de Jacques Guerlain, que representa el fin de la Belle Époque. Guerlain lo crea en 1912 con la intuición de que estaba viviendo el fin de un mundo. La Sonata de Pejačević es justo de 1913. La de Mel Bonis es de 1905, pura Belle Époque y art nouveau, y luego está la de Bosmans, de 1919, que es ya la entrada en el art déco y el fin de la guerra expresado muy crudamente en la propia Sonata, obra llena de dramatismo y de dolor, una especie de réquiem musical.

–¿Por qué estas tres obras?

–IF: De todas las que escuchamos nos parecieron de enorme interés por sus propios valores, pero también por la evolución musical que se puede rastrear en ellas. Son tres obras muy distintas. Es una época en la que el repertorio para violonchelo y piano no es tan abundante. Desde un Romanticismo más clásico, el de Mel Bonis, a una escritura muy característica del cambio de siglo, sin dejar de ser romántica, con un tratamiento fantástico del violonchelo, por una gran sinfonista, la de Pejačević, que yo desconocía hasta hace unos años; y luego una obra muy impactante y exigente en sonoridad, colores, la de Bosmans: su padre era un gran cellista y eso debió de condicionarla de algún modo, el instrumento está muy favorecido en su música, aunque ella fuera realmente pianista. Le otorgó a la obra una forma circular; hay en ella algunos elementos que recuerdan al Concierto de Elgar, ese carácter cíclico y dramático, aunque la escritura no tiene nada que ver.

–CM: Son tres obras distintas de tres personalidades distintas. He intentado reflejar la personalidad de cada una con los acordes florales que cito en las postales que incluye el álbum [Bonis: bergamota, clavel y flor de vainilla; Pejačević: flor de naranjo amargo, iris y violeta; Bosmans: heliotropo, rosa y tuberosa], que no los he inventado yo, están en la propia página web de Guerlain. Mel Bonis era una mujer creyente y conservadora de ideas, valiente. No pudo casarse con el hombre que quería, y buscó alguien que le diera una posición económica sólida. Tuvo que pelear mucho para estudiar. Es fruto de esa época. En el libreto usamos textos suyos, pero cada una se expresa de una forma: de Mel Bonis escogimos los Diarios, no comunica hacia fuera; los sentimientos los vuelca en sus Diarios. Pejačević era aristócrata, pero acabó alejada de su familia y de su mundo, y ella se expresa a través de cartas: vuelca en confianza sus pensamientos. Es una mujer mucho más moderna. Mel Bonis durante la PGM hace beneficencia, pero Pejačević hace servicio social como voluntaria. Sus amigos la llaman “la socialista”. Bosmans es una mujer moderna: habla a través de sus entrevistas, hacia el exterior. Tres tipos de personalidades totalmente distintas, como mujeres y como artistas.

–En el disco las sonatas siguen el orden cronológico, pero también un camino hacia el pesimismo. ¿Pretendían enfatizar tanto ese contexto histórico en la grabación?

–CM: La idea es cronológica. Es un recorrido histórico: Estamos en esa hora azul, en esa premonición de un genio, como Guerlain, e inmediatamente llega la guerra, y eso se nota aquí.

–Guerlain da título al CD. ¿Cómo vincula su trabajo a la música?

–CM: El mundo de la perfumería me apasiona, se trabaja mucho con términos musicales, notas, acordes… Habrá feministas que me criticarán. Pero yo recuerdo que las primeras sufragistas americanas decían: “Queremos el pan, pero también las rosas”. Es decir, el derecho a la belleza, que es tan revolucionario como el derecho al pan. Por eso Lorca cuando hizo su discurso de apertura de la Biblioteca de Fuente Vaqueros dijo aquello de “A la gente hay que darle pan, pero también libros”. Esa reivindicación histórica de las feministas, el derecho a la belleza, parece haberse olvidado, pero está ahí. Me pareció que la historia del perfume venía muy bien. Guerlain era un genio, vio esa hora azul y tuvo esa premonición del fin de aquel mundo. Cuando los soldados franceses se iban al frente, las mujeres les perfumaban los pañuelos con L’heure bleue. La idea era esa: un mundo que iba a desaparecer, el de Mel Bonis, para la que la guerra fue el hundimiento del Titanic, estuvo siete años sin componer; luego Pejačević, con una obra auténticamente visionaria, pórtico de su madurez musical; y cierra Bosmans de forma bellísima pero desoladora. Las tres obras me parecen muy bellas: a Bonis se la relaciona mucho con Fauré, pero esta obra tiene estructura franckiana. Un mundo feliz, que se acaba.

–El mundo de ayer de Stefan Zweig planea sobre todo esto…

–CM: Sin duda. Es aquella frase de "Mis padres creían que vivían en una casa de piedra y en realidad vivían en un castillo de naipes", un castillo de naipes que cayó con estrépito.

–IF: De todas formas la obra de Bosmans tiene ese componente dramático pero hay también un punto místico. En el tercer movimiento, el lento, hay un punto que recuerda al Cuarteto para el fin del tiempo de Messiaen. El cuarto es un monumento bélico.

–También de la época es la extraordinaria Sonata para viola de Rebecca Clarke ¿Han tocado la versión para violonchelo?

–CM: Yo no la he tocado. Iba a hacerla con Gérard Caussé en París. La tenía trabajada, pero se interpuso el Covid, así que la preparé pero al final no pude tocarla.

–IF: Yo sí. Y además tengo un alumno en el Conservatorio que la está preparando, y tuve otra, que estudia ahora en Holanda, que también la preparó, por iniciativa suya, porque yo no le sugerí nada. En el ciclo hicimos el Trío de Clarke, que es una obra fabulosa.

–El trabajo material del disco es exquisito, ¿qué retorno esperan?

–IF: Hay un trabajo estético importante. Uno toca un concierto, el concierto se acaba y ya está. Pero el disco físico queda, es una carta de presentación, es la reivindicación de un repertorio desconocido, y la estética es fundamental. Le hemos dado muchas vueltas al título, al material que queríamos incorporar, los textos, el aspecto...

–CM: Yo soy fan del papel. Si puedo comprar un libro en papel no lo compro en otro soporte. Si haces un disco físico tienes que ofrecer un producto que aporte algo especial, que tenga belleza. Si no vas a hacer un disco bonito, no lo hagas, súbelo a las plataformas y ya está…

–¿Hay más discos previstos para el sello?

–CM: Hay uno en otra colección (Pour le piano), un disco Satie para 2025, que es el centenario, y Satie es un compositor que me ha acompañado mucho tiempo. Para La chambre bleue hay un proyecto con la soprano Delphine Mégret, que estuvo ya el año pasado en el ciclo y vuelve este año para el Concierto de San Valentín, y con Bastien Rimondi, un tenor muy brillante, que trabaja mucho en París, y está ahora de gira con Les Arts Florissants. Y nosotros seguiremos grabando juntos, porque hay sonatas espléndidas y las piezas breves esperando que se graben.

–IF: Entre ellas, indudablemente la de Rebecca Clarke, pero también música de Luise Adolpha Le Beau o de Emilie Mayer…

[Carmen Martínez-Pierret e Israel Fausto en otra foto para esta entrevista / JUAN CARLOS MUÑOZ]

–¿Rasgando el silencio termina este año?

–IF: El proyecto original era de tres años, con el compromiso de presentar a 60 compositoras en el escenario. Javier Menéndez está muy contento. Queríamos variar un poco para ir más allá de estas tres temporadas. Hemos mandado una propuesta para continuar una temporada con otro formato; el formato de diferentes grupos de cámara ya lo hemos explotado, queríamos hacer otras cosas para atraer otro tipo de públicos…

–CM: Hay mucho repertorio bueno. Hay obras maestras, y otras obras que a lo mejor no lo son tanto, pero merecen ser conocidas, porque forman parte de la historia y forjaron el sonido de su época. Por ejemplo, el programa que hago esta noche [esta entrevista se hizo el pasado 4 de diciembre; por la tarde, Martínez-Pierret tocó en el Maestranza un programa dedicado a compositoras españolas del período isabelino]: el piano español del XIX no es Albéniz. Yo le digo a la gente, si os pensáis que vais a descubrir a la Chopin o la Liszt españolas, no, porque sencillamente no los hay. Aunque Liszt escuchó a una de ellas, a Eloísa D’Herbil, y dijo, "esta niña es Chopin con faldas", pero bueno, no es Chopin. Esto surgió porque hubo una iniciativa de la Fundación March que sacó el nuevo canon del piano español, con muchos compositores que no son conocidos, pero no había ni una compositora. Yo entiendo que no las debieron encontrar porque si no las buscas no las encuentras. Y justo entonces me llamaron de Patrimonio Nacional para este proyecto de música de salón del XIX, y entonces nos pusimos a buscar, yo ya tenía cosas, y empezaron a salir compositoras. Muchas son obras escritas recién terminado el Conservatorio, con 22-23 años, incluso con menos, ¿por qué? Porque solían ser niñas de la aristocracia o de la burguesía que después se casaban, tenían hijos y dejaban de componer, así de simple; entonces lo que ahí se ve son obras juveniles, de compositoras en sus inicios a las que no se dio la oportunidad de forjar carreras, que no sabemos lo que habrían hecho con ellas. ¿Son obras interesantes? Sí, porque no todo tiene que ser de primer nivel para ser conocido. Hay que enriquecer el repertorio y poner esto a disposición de los intérpretes y de los oyentes. Hay un proyecto con la Universidad Complutense de editar las partituras y de hacer una grabación.

–IF: Es que además hay mucho repertorio de compositoras buenísimas que aún no hemos programado, como Florence Price y algunas otras americanas, por ejemplo. Y por ahí va nuestra propuesta para una cuarta temporada del ciclo.

–CM: Es importante trazar la genealogía de estas compositoras. Cuando se dice que la mujeres han sido borradas de la historia de la música… No han sido borradas, no han sido incorporadas. No puede ser borrado lo que no está. Es muy necesario hacer aflorar todo esto, darle luz, o, mejor, en este caso, sonido.

–¿Hasta cuándo hay que seguir rescatando música de mujeres por el hecho de ser mujeres?

–CM: Queda mucho trabajo por hacer. Nunca hablo desde el victimismo. Pero hay obras fruto del esfuerzo y de la voluntad, forjadas en muchos casos contra viento y marea, que son obras de gran valor. ¿Hasta cuándo? Hasta que podamos decir que se programa en igualdad de condiciones y que tengamos la posibilidad de acceder en igualdad de condiciones al repertorio de hombres y de mujeres. Hay un repertorio que ha sido omitido de la historia de la música y lo tenemos que reincorporar, al igual que el de otros muchos compositores que fueron eclipsados por el genio de turno. ¿Tienen sentido los ciclos de compositoras? Muchísimo hasta que salvemos ese desequilibrio.

LA HORA AZUL EN SPOTIFY

[brownlegacy007]

Most Iconic French Perfumes of all time

In France, perfume is an art. French perfume is renowned worldwide for its timeless elegance, exquisite craftsmanship, and unparalleled artistry. Perfume became popular when Catherine de Medicis introduced a fashion for perfumes in the French court. Then, During the 17th century, France began producing fragrances by dedicating farmlands in Provence to cultivating flowers and plants used in various scents. France has been synonymous with luxury fragrances for centuries, and the country's perfume houses have set the standard for excellence in the industry.

Here are Top best French perfumes

1. Miss Dior Originale Perfume

2. J'adore Dior for women

3. Guerlain Shalimar Eau de Parfum

4. Chanel No 19 Eau de Parfum

5. Mugler Angel for Women

Miss Dior Originale Perfume: Miss Dior Originale is a Chypre Floral fragrance. Miss Dior by Dior Eau de Toilette Originale was Introduced in 2011. Miss Dior Originale is a classic perfume created by the renowned French fashion and fragrance house, Christian Dior. The formation of Miss Dior Originale revolves around a rich bouquet of floral notes, creating a fascinating and alluring fragrance. Miss Dior Originale is a fragrance that exudes elegance and timeless charm. It is a perfume for the sophisticated and confident woman who appreciates classic femininity. 

Top Notes: Galbanum

Middle Notes: Jasmine Sambac

Base Notes: Patchouli

J'adore Dior for women: Dior J'adore is a Floral Fruity fragrance for women. J'adore was Introduced in 1999. The Person behind this fragrance is Calice Becker. J'adore is one of Dior's most iconic and beloved perfumes, celebrated for its elegant and radiant character. J'adore opens with a sparkling and fresh blend of fruity and floral notes. It is a fragrance that represents elegance, femininity, and timeless charm. Its combination of floral delicacy,  fresh citrus, and warm sensuality makes it a versatile perfume suitable for every occasion. If you want perfume as your signature scent then this can be one.

Top Notes: Bergamo, Melon, Magnolia, Peach, Mandarin Orange, Pear 

Middle Notes: Violet,  Rose, Jasmine, Lily-of-the-Valley, Tuberose, Freesia, Orchid, Plum, 

Base Notes: Cedar, Vanilla, Blackberry, Musk

Guerlain Shalimar Eau de Parfum: Guerlain Shalimar Eau de Parfum is a Amber Spicy fragrance. Shalimar Eau de Parfum was introduced in 1990. The man behind this fragrance is Jacques Guerlain. This is a complex scent that is both spicy and creamy, with notes of vanilla, citrus, and musk which Provides an alluring and intoxicating scent that guarantees satisfaction and is loved by all ages of women. Shalimar is suitable for all occasions, and seasons and can be worn at any temperature.

Top Notes: Mandarin Orange, Citruses, Lemon, Cedar, Bergamot 

Middle Notes: Rose, Patchouli, Vetiver, Jasmine, Iris

Base Notes: Musk, Incense, Leather, Opoponax, Civet, Sandalwood, Tonka Bean, Vanilla

Chanel No 19 Eau de Parfum: Chanel No 19 Eau de Parfum is a Floral Green fragrance for women. The perfume was introduced in 1970. Chanel No. 19 refers to August 19 which was the birth date of Coco Chanel. This fragrance opens with vibrant and crisp top notes of bergamot and galbanum, which provide a lively and refreshing start. Chanel No. 19 is known for its robust character and aura of confidence. This is often associated with elegance, sophistication, and a sense of empowerment.

Top Notes: Neroli, Bergamot, Green Notes

Middle Notes: Lily-of-the-Valley, Narcissus, Iris, Rose, Ylang-Ylang

Base Notes: Vetiver, Oak Moss, Sandalwood, Leather 

Mugler Angel for Women: Mugler Angel is an Amber Vanilla fragrance for women. Angel was introduced in 1992. Angel was created by Yves de Chirin and  Olivier Cresp. Mugler Angel is renowned for its unique composition, oriental, combining gourmand, and fruity elements to create a truly memorable and polarizing fragrance experience. Mugler Angel is a fragrance that is often described as bold, daring, and provocative. This fragrance is suitable for winter and great to be worn in the evening.

Top Notes: Mandarin Orange, Coconut, Melon, Jasmine, Bergamot, Pineapple, Cotton Candy, Cassis

Middle Notes: Lily-of-the-Valley, Blackberry, Orchid, Red Berries, Plum, Apricot, Caraway, Peach, Jasmine, Nutmeg, Rose, Honey 

Base Notes: Chocolate, Vanilla, Tonka Bean, Caramel, Amber, Musk, Sandalwood, Patchouli 

Wrapping UP: We hope you enjoyed our top best French perfume picks and learned about new Perfumes. These top French scents are a testament to the artistry of fragrance creation and the power of scent in capturing the essence of timeless charm. These all are the best French perfumes. Feel the beauty of luxury with these enchanting perfumes, and let their captivating aromas become your scented companions throughout your whole day.

[texaxwib]

“One of the best-selling perfumes of all time, Shalimar was introduced in 1925 by Jacques Guerlain and is still being sold today.  ...” (via Shalimar - Retro Fragrances)

[parfumieren]

Mouchoir de Monsieur (Guerlain)

There's really not much to say about Mouchoir de Monsieur that hasn't been said -- loud and clear and for 121 years -- by Jicky. Being a blatant retread launched fifteen years after its more famous sibling, one could almost call Mouchoir de Monsieur a Jicky flanker. Or "Jicky pour l'homme"… if only l'homme hadn't already been hitting Jicky for years.

But each new wave scorns the shibboleths of the previous generation; the vanity of youth demands fresh tributes of its own. One imagines an army of arrogant young things, bored with their parents' fusty old fragrances, clamoring for a signature scent-- something new, edgy, just for us! And what did Jacques Guerlain do? Supremely indulgent, he handed them the exact same juice in a different bottle. New boss, meet the old boss!

When two perfumes share so many of the same traits, one must look for clues to tell them apart. Both Jicky and MdM hang their Belle Époque finery on an identical lavender-vanilla armature with a unisex silhouette. But much as one can tell a man's coat by the positioning of the buttons, certain subtle details act as fragrance shorthand for gender. A double-dose of civet and an emphasis on bergamot over lemon or neroli helps to situate MdM firmly on the masculine side of the scale, rendering it less floral, less rococo, drier and more leathery than its sister scent. As for Jicky's weird, compelling animal note, MdM amps it up to the fragrance equivalent of a tomcat's yowl-- hitting the bullseye between sexy and aggressive to which he-men have aspired for centuries.

Why, then, does feminine Jicky still come off as the more virile of the two perfumes?

The answer may be a matter of… well, cumulative life experience. Jicky's been around the block so many times, she can't help radiating placid self-confidence from top to bottom. If Mouchoir de Monsieur radiates anything, it's the fitful, uncertain energy of the adolescent. Frankly speaking, there's an obvious parallel to be drawn between MdM and your average male twentysomething: both come on strong, but fizzle out quick. In the immortal words of Nick Lowe, here comes the 20th century's latest scam: half a boy and half a man.

If Jicky is Léa de Lonval, it stands to reason that Mouchoir de Monsieur is Chéri-- that petulant prettyboy with the heart of darkness. As frivolous as a kitten, as decorative as a doll, Chéri possesses exactly as much beauty as he lacks manners. (In an early scene, he informs Léa that she ought to give him her pearls since they look so much better on him. Saucer of cream, table one!) His tongue is expert at spite, but true love renders him mute; he has an instinctive grasp of luxury and fashion, but is clueless about his own heart. Snotty, sullen, callow, vain -- and in spite of it all, deeply appealing -- Chéri is Léa's exact match and perfect mate, a twin soul born years too late.

So what truly differentiates Mouchoir de Monsieur from Jicky, besides fifteen years' difference in age? A faint five o'clock shadow? The tiniest punk-rock snarl? These might count for something when he's preening in front of the mirror… but one sniff of her perfume, and fifteen years are no more than a heartbeat…

Lavender, bergamot, verbena, rose, jasmine, neroli, civet, patchouli, vanilla, iris