Listening Between the Notes
If your nose has no patience for false notes or loud chords, and only truly hears a complex orchestra when it’s written by a talented composer — one who doesn’t blend the notes into a messy pile, doesn’t try to deafen the listener, but respects the purity of sound and the way the soloists take turns — then pause and listen: this is a quality “orchestral” performance. Perhaps this is simply a listener letting the composer hear his own music through someone else’s ears.
I’ll describe my personal impressions using my only “objective” measuring tool — my own nose.
Aquatica
This one keeps changing on me — sometimes it’s the icy depths of the ocean, sometimes lemony Sicily, sometimes the white and blue of the Cyclades. I don’t fully know where it’s taking me, but I like the ride. It gives me a feeling of pure oxygen and open space — never stagnant water. I think that’s my favorite game a scent can play with me — feeling both completely clear and completely impossible to pin down, all at once.
By Virtue of Sunbeams
This smells like a tropical Christmas carnival on the beach — mocktails instead of mulled wine. One note in particular knows how to shout and how to whisper, and either way you hear it. The citrusy bitterness and tropical fruit are balanced by something clean underneath, so it never turns sugary or sticky. I didn’t expect myself to enjoy a tropical Christmas carnival this much.
Vanillawood
This one feels incredibly cozy, calm, and quietly comforting — like sitting beside a fireplace. Sawdust, kindling, warm resins, a little smoke, all wrapped in a cloud of vanilla — weightless, light, but always there, not sweet like dessert, more refined than that. Some notes step forward, some stay in the background the whole time, and some only flicker in for a moment. I love wood in perfume, and this is a clean, rich wood that knows how to lead.
Moonlight Harvest
Cherry — this is the smell of my childhood. This one takes me straight back to summer, to a cherry orchard, to a house filled with the scent of jam and cherry pies. It’s a very specific, very personal kind of nostalgia. The cherry here doesn’t overwhelm, doesn’t cling, the way it usually does. It fades into something almost overripe, and that fading is what I love most — it’s a shame it can’t last forever. The musk stays restrained, respectful even, never fighting the cherry for attention. A beautiful, harmonious interpretation of the cherry note. Thank you for that — you gave me my childhood back for a few hours.
In my ongoing search for complex orchestras, whether by chance or not, I wandered into this place — and I’m glad I decided to pause for a moment.
I truly enjoyed listening to these “orchestral works.” I’m looking forward to receiving the complete collection and finding out how long I’ll want to keep listening — whether they’ll turn out to be intrusive company, brief acquaintances, or companions I’ll want to keep around.
Welcome to someone else’s ears.
Listening Between the Notes.
