Blogging the Madinis: Four Seasons

Talisman** is having their annual sale on Madini perfume oils, and Google tells me that lots of people have been hitting the archive of "Blogging the Madinis" posts, so this seems like a good time to give a quick review of one of my Madini favorites, Four Seasons. So many of the Madini florals are pushy, shrill creations (not that I don't love them) but Four Seasons is a completely demure, generic lily blend with just a touch of powder. If you enjoy the exuberance of Stargazer lilies, well, you won't find them here; nor will you find any hint of sticky (fake) muguet. Four Seasons is a very dry floral, with an unusual, almost salty character. Heady it is not. Although this may sound unappealing, trust me when I tell you that the effect is very pleasant and soothing. Anya claims she has seen it calm women in the grip of hormone-induced rage, and I don't doubt her. So far I haven't had to employ it for that purpose, but I've got a bottle and a backup, just in case.


Sicilian boy with lilies, Wilhelm von Gloeden. c. 1900 (The boy seems a little out of keeping with the character of my review, but how could I resist him?)

**Enter "HOLIDAY09" at checkout to get your discount

Blogging the Madinis: Marrakech and Baraka

I can't believe it's 8:25 pm. Where did the day go? I'm about to turn into a pumpkin any second, so I just have time for a couple of lightning-fast reviews:

Marrakech: Go to your spice rack. Open the jars of ginger and cardamom. Wave them under your nose. Mentally add a whiff of jasmine and Madini's signature sweet amber. Now you know what Marrakech smells like. It's fairly unisex, but not suitable for manly men. Personally, I like it. It's a nice scent for a cool, crisp fall day.

Baraka: A sugary musk layered with a heavy dose of the best head shop strawberry incense. If you are of a certain age, Baraka will remind you of getting high and making out while listening to Todd Rundgren records. Whether you wish to take that particular trip down memory lane is a matter of personal taste. I only enjoy it at long intervals.

Illustration of cardamom plant from Köhler's Medizinal-Pflanzen, 1887.

Blogging the Madinis: Nile

It's a little after 6 am here, and a thunderstorm has been rumbling for hours. The first flashes of lightning woke me up, and as I tried to get back to sleep I began to think about Madini Nile. Other people may count sheep. I catalog my perfumes.

Nile is a light, spicy oriental with a fleeting rose note in the heart. It has a hint of green (probably galbanum) that gives it a contradictory quality I love. The warm, soothing spice converses with the fresh, grassy note, so the scent never goes flat, as oils so often do. Nile is wild and cozy at once--a little like curling up in bed during a thunderstorm.


Evening, or Lost Illusions, Charles-Gabriel Gleyre, 1843. (This painting was supposedly inspired by a vision Gleyre had on the bank of the Nile.)

One Sentence Perfume Review: Summer, Madini

The perfect scent for flirting at a garden party: sweet and harmless, but not entirely innocent.


Notes per BitterGrace: Bergamot, Neroli, Lavender, Rose, Jasmine, Lily, Vetiver, Sandalwood

The Earth, Nicolas Lancret, c. 1730

Happy Solstice!

Blogging the Madinis: Spring, Feriha and Fruittee

If you are looking for a scent that captures the damp, wild earthiness of early spring, or the sweet, girlish fragrance of a May Day bouquet, then don't bother with Madini's Spring. Exuberant and unsubtle, Spring is simply the greenest of green florals. The opening is a blast of citron and galbanum--imagine a glass of wheat grass juice with a twist--and it takes a good five minutes for the flowers in the heart to emerge. I detect freeesia primarily, with hints of lily and perhaps stephanotis. The bracing bitterness of the top quiets down a little, but continues to dominate the floral notes. There are no softening musk or resinous notes in the base--in fact, there really is no base that I can discern. Spring remains its unsweetened self to the end, which is a long time coming. This has to be one of the most tenacious fresh green scents I've ever encountered. I count that as a plus, but only confirmed fans of cut leaves are likely to enjoy this one.

Feriha strikes me as a calmer, more unisex version of Spring. It's got the same green citrus opening, though there's a touch of lemony sweetness that Spring lacks. The heart is also a bit sweeter, with subdued floral notes. Talisman's description makes a point of mentioning "essence of rose," and I'm not going to argue with them, but I wouldn't call Feriha a particularly rosy scent. What I notice most as the top fades is a light oakmoss note, very clean and pleasant--emphasis on "clean." Feriha is soapy in a good way, with a real "shower under a forest waterfall" quality.

Fruittee is yet another green Madini, but there's no grown-up bitterness here. As the name suggests, it's all about fruitiness, the fruit in question being green apple. If you love the smell of a just-cut Granny Smith, you'll probably like Fruittee, at least for sniffing. Personally, I can't imagine wearing this one on its own. It does blend well with Spring, and I imagine that fans of fruity florals would enjoy it with any of the Madini soliflores.


Photo of freesia from Wikimedia Commons, and apple pic likewise.

Blogging the Madinis: Sahara and Alma de Alma

Sahara and Alma de Alma are both built around a pretty amber/citron accord, but they put it to work in very different ways. Sahara's opening has a hefty dose of citrus, giving it a distinctly masculine character in its first moments. Madini's signature amber, which is old school--sweet and rich--emerges quickly to mellow things out, and Sahara seems quite unisex from that point on. The citrus note hangs on in a secondary role, and myrrh in the base keeps the sugariness of the amber under control. Although there aren't any discernible green notes, the overall effect is fresh, almost like a fougere. This is a scent that wouldn't seem out of place on a walk in the woods (or the desert, I suppose.)

Alma de Alma, by contrast, is a perfect sugar rush of a scent. The citron is there, but it's definitely the candied variety. Talisman lists musk as a note, and that seems plausible, though it's so thoroughly melded with the amber that I can't separate the two. Alma de Alma doesn't really evolve as it dries down, but it does expand. The delicate sweetness of the opening is unchecked as the citron fades, so it becomes heavy and unsubtle. The whole experience is a little like being smothered with a velvet pillow--not bad in the beginning, but increasingly intolerable as time passes.

That said, Alma de Alma is a fantastic blending scent. It provides a gorgeous base for any of the Madini soliflores. Not surprisingly, it partners very nicely with Sahara, creating a smooth, soothing nectar.

Adam and Eve, Jan van Scorel, c.1540. Image from Wikimedia Commons.

Blogging the Madinis: Fez and Maderas de Oriente

I assume Fez's name is a reference to the city, not the hat, but even so, this casual floral seems to be at odds with its label. The city is a center of culture and learning, and it's particularly famous for its tanneries. (This Youtube video has some great images of Fez--or more properly, Fes.) Madini's Fez doesn't have even a hint of hide, nor is it a highbrow, bookish sort of scent. It's a rich blend of rose, neroli, violet and mimosa over a sandalwood base. To my nose, it's almost a dead ringer for YSL Paris, but much less shrill, and not quite so aggressively feminine. It's also not as tenacious. I wouldn't call it fleeting, but it fades more quickly than a lot of the Madinis, leaving behind a clean, mellow skin scent, with just a hint of rose. Fez is one of my favorite Madinis, a real "wear anywhere" fragrance, with a cheerful, relaxed character.

Maderas de Oriente is a sort of mirror image of Fez. It gives the woody element center stage and puts the flowers in the background. It opens with a sweet, fresh combination of cedar and a birch-like note, and I also seem to get a hint of mandarin. The floral notes emerge in the heart: primarily orange blossom, accompanied by rose and henna flower. M de O is one of those scents that gets louder and sharper as it develops. Not that it's ever a screamer, but I find it calls more attention to itself an hour into wearing than it does when I first apply it. The overall effect never becomes "flowery," but the floral notes do seem to boost the sillage considerably. Given the name of the perfume and the overall Madini aesthetic, you'd expect there to be an oud note, but if it's present I can't detect it. The base of Maderas de Oriente is just a smooth sandalwood, with a touch of rather bright moss. If you are addicted to the sugar-laden woods of Lutens, or the ultra-dry JCE creations, then Maderas de Oriente might not be your thing. It has much more in common with a classic woody chypre such as Halston.


Photo of a gate in Fes by Bernard Gagnon from Wikimedia Commons.

Click here for a nice article about the city of Fes from the NY Times.

Blogging the Madinis: Ambar Gris and the white florals

Chaya's up first this week, with a meditation on one of her favorites, Ambar Gris. Join me below for a quick run down on a passel of florals.


Chayaruchama: It’s a mystery to me…and that’s the way I like it.

Madini tells us that ambergris is a natural panacea, harvested only from material washed up on Atlantic shores; that it inspired John Singer Sargent to create his masterpiece, Fumée d’Ambre Gris. Ambergris --“grey amber”--is aged sperm whale vomit. Every year that this dubious flotsam lurches upon the waves, it acquires added character , depth, and value. There are multiple descriptions of its odor: animalic, salty, rosy, marine, sweetening over time.

Madini’s version is a smoky, viscous wonder, tenacious beyond your wildest dreams. I am mad for it, beyond all reason. I could wear it solo, or layer it all day with classic perfumes, cheapie deals, other oils.

It’s broodingly dark--in scent, substance and hue--and literally so thick it wrestles with the rollerball. I don’t perceive this as animalic, not like civet, real musks, or castoreum; but it stirs the collective unconscious, reeking of primeval fires, ancient rituals, and honeyed, burnt wood, rich with resin, more conifer than birch-like.

It’s spicy, but not redolent of cinnamon, nutmeg, mace, or ginger. My nose suspects a drop of fine coriander essence. There is very likely labdanum and/ or frankincense [both are characterized as possessing spicy, “old woody” terpene balsam/ resin properties.] These contribute to the sweet, scorched, sylvan effect that characterizes this fragrance.

Ambar Gris is a polarizing aroma; either you’ll adore it, or you will detest it--but you won’t be indifferent to it.



BitterGrace: With the exception of Fleur de Nuit, the Madini white florals are all simple, single-note creations, so I’ll just give a quick thumbnail impression of each. (Four Seasons, a lily scent, could have been included on this list, but I think it deserves a real review. For my thoughts on Azahar, go here.)

Narciso: A glorious, shrieking narcissus. Do not expect the subdued gentility of Je Reviens’ narcissus, nor the smoldering mystery of Narcisse Noir. I happen to enjoy the feeling that someone has just dumped a truckload of daffodils on me, but if that thought does not appeal to you, avoid Narciso.

Gardenia: A sweet, old-fashioned, clean gardenia—basically, a corsage in a bottle. The skunky tang that many people hate is mostly absent, but it’s still a fairly aggressive scent. There’s no trace of modern wateriness, and it’s much heavier than Yves Rocher Pur Desir de Gardenia.

Nardo: First, a clarification: Contrary to Talisman’s website description, spikenard and tuberose are not the same plant, though both are used in perfumery. I’ll leave it to the sticklers for accuracy among you to decide which is the source for Madini’s Nardo. That said, most people would recognize this as a tuberose scent, and it might make a nice tuberose for the Fracas-phobic. It’s potent but never shrill, with an odd but (to me) delightful nut-like note that is also present in Bourbon French’s Tuberose.

Honeysuckle: Very sweet, slightly green. Not quite true to the flower, but still very pleasant and soothing. Takes on a slight powdery quality as it fades.

Jasmine: A true, fairly powerful jasmine. Smells like a combination of J. grandiflorum and J. sambac. Definitely not funk-free, but not the most indolic jasmine I’ve ever sniffed. Very good lasting power, and quite linear.

Fleur de Nuit: I would call this a blend of plumeria and jasmine. It’s sweet and slightly soapy. There are faint indolic notes, but if you are in the market for a “clean” jasmine, this might fit the bill.



Fumée d'Ambre Gris, John Singer Sargent, 1880. Image from Wikimedia Commons.

Narcissus illustration from Gottorfer Codex by Hans-Simon Holtzbecker, c.1649-59. Image from Wikimedia Commons.

I'm a little swamped at the moment

But I promise there's a Madini post with Chaya's review of Ambar Gris coming up, along with a few words about the white florals from me. I will resurface shortly.


Photo of a humpback whale by M. Buschmann from Wikimedia Commons.

A note to the Madini lovers

For some strange reason, Wednesday's post on Hanane and Fougere lost its identity. It was displaying on the home page of the blog, but the permalink produced just a blank screen. Weird. Anyway, if you tried to link to it and failed, it's back now. Apologies.

Also, I think Chaya and I are going to do some solos. She'll do Ambar Gris, and I think I'll work on the white florals and some of the girlier blends like Aicha Aicha. Stay tuned.

Blogging the Madinis: Hanane and Fougere

Chaya and I are doing our doubles thing again this week, with a pair of Madini's unisex creations. I made a point of not looking at Chaya's review before I scribbled down my thoughts, just to see how much we'd agree on these two scents, which we've never discussed. We turned out to be pretty nearly in sync. Me first:

BitterGrace: The phrase that comes to mind for Fougere is “sweet and clean.” I don’t mean in the contemporary sense, a la the Philosophy Grace line; Fougere has the clean sweetness of cold spring water, the rich purity of a woodland breeze. It opens with a heavy dose of Madini’s signature smooth lavender, which lacks any hint of herbal bite. Within a few minutes the lavender is complemented by a birch note, which then gives way to a soft balsam and sandalwood accord. There are very faint hints of anise and honey. Fougere has the perfectly rounded quality of that great oldie, Canoe, but to my nose it completely lacks Canoe’s lemony opening, thus saving itself from olfactory association with the barber’s chair. The final dry down has a slightly powdery quality, with a touch of vetiver and (is this just my wishful thinking?) tonka. All in all, a scent for those days when you want to seem charming and unchallenging.


If you love galbanum (and I do dearly love it), then Hanane should be on your “must try” list. It opens with what can only be described as a blast of that wonderful super-green note, and somehow manages to make its briskness last all the way to the finish. The Talisman site describes Hanane as a balsamic-galbanum combination, but this is in no way a marriage of equals. I get barely a hint of balsamic sweetness, though I do get a mellower herbal/green note—sage perhaps?—and I would swear there is a gardenia lurking in there somewhere. In fact, Hanane reminds me very distinctly of the heart of vintage Ma Griffe, after the bergamot has mostly fled, and before the styrax makes itself known. Unlike Fougere, Hanane doesn’t develop much on me, just slowly fades to a pleasant tanginess on my skin. I’d call this a scent for green addicts only, though any perfumista with a respect for classic chypres might want to invest in it, given that the true chypre is rapidly going the way of the dinosaur.

Now, Chaya's turn:

Chayaruchama: Today ‘s Madinis are night and day...And which represents night or day is utterly subjective…

Madini Hanane is a scent I often overlook, simply because I’ve too many. This morning when I applied it, I was immediately stricken by its powerful resemblance to vintage Piguet Bandit, minus the leather. Not trusting my nose or instincts, I compared the notes available. To quote Madini: Hanane is “ an elegant Balsamic composition. A galbanum base carries tuberose, red rose, jasmine, clove, santal blanc, and patchouli with a hint of amber and musk.” Notes listed for Bandit are: galbanum, orange, neroli, jasmine, rose, tuberose, ‘leather’, patchouli, oakmoss, and musk. Nice to know you’re not being fooled, quoth I !

Hanane is very clearly chypric: elegant sophistication, ‘bon marche’. It opens up with a citrus-y top of what appears to be bergamot with a big dose of galbanum. The effect is very fresh and green, reminiscent of other great chypres: Y, Rive Gauche, Bandit, Scherrer. The rose and jasmine follow seamlessly on its heels. Clove is a sleight-of-hand, a parlor trick, barely perceptible. Tuberose is softly insinuated, more for its animalic quality than its floralcy, hence creating the illusion of a leathery note similar to Bandit.
The base is far more crafty--the santal blanc is as subtle as can be, cushioning only the barest suggestion of patchouli. Ambre is hinted at only when it all dries down, and then one senses whispers of musk.

Fougere is a completely different matter. Described on the Talisman site as “ferns, grasses and mosses. A fresh woodsy clean and dry composition.” I find Fougere to be woefully misconstrued. I’m certain, not on purpose. Perhaps there is a cultural perceptual variance at work. There is very little ‘woodsy’ about it, as I would recognize it. It feels very creamy and satiny to me, which I don’t associate with “clean and dry.” [Australian sandalwood is clean and dry; Virginia cedar is clean and dry, myrtle and pine are clean and dry!] Nonetheless, it follows a formula similar to classic fougeres: Lime or citron on top, lavender in the middle, and a vanillic base , laden with what smells suspiciously like opoponax to me. Possibly musks with tonka / benzoin , too. If the woodsiness is supposed to include patchouli, I find little olfactory evidence- but I suspect it must be in there, somewhere.

The closest cousin I recall is Guerlain’s Jicky or Mouchoir de Monsieur, except that they are far edgier, with a glorious dose of honking civet in the base. [Extremely animalic, verging on deliciously dirty, which I never perceive in Madini’s Fougere.] Caron’s Troisieme Homme is a distant relative, but it is very much MORE grassy and mossy, woody, and herbal/dry, due to the presence of rosemary, anise, moss, cedarwood, and patchouli. The top in Caron is bergamot--more commonly used--but the amber, musk, tonka and vanilla are in there, as well.

Bottom line: Whether you agree with the website’s definition or not, Fougere is a thoroughly delightful, lingering, creamy/spicy, softly herbaceous scent. It is delicate and comforting, although not complex, and wonderful for either gender.


Illustrations of fern and galbanum from Koehler's Medicinal Plants, 1887, via Wikimedia Commons.

Blogging the Madinis: Papillon

As promised, BG Notes is inaugurating a series of reviews of the Madini oils. Since friend-of-the-blog Chayaruchama loves the line as much as I do, I invited her to join me. We’re going to steal a page from the folks at Perfume Posse and do she said/she said paired reviews, along with some solos from each of us.

We’re going to begin with Papillon, a gorgeous scent that doesn’t seem to get much love. Chaya pointed out that there are no notes or reviews to be found for it, not even on Basenotes. That needs correcting. Chaya, please start us off:

Chayaruchama: According to the Talisman website, Suleiman Madini is the “heir of a perfume dynasty 14 generations old “- 400 years in existence. Goodness knows, if one can’t find a Madini to suit, then you are simply not looking. I counted, and re-counted--93 on the site. Just to be sure. They run the gamut: spicy, floral, citrus, herbal, woody, watery, arid, incendiary, cooling…you name it. I’m not sure exactly how many of these I own--wait, I’ll count ’em up. 46 bottles. Exactly.

Papillon is listed under the ‘spicy’ category. It clearly ain’t for the timid--that is a classic understatement: It’s a powerhouse in a 3ml rollerball bottle. Talisman cites as: “Exotic flowers and spices to capture those elusive reveries of the Shalamar [sic] Gardens of Lahore.” Tigerflag describes it a bit differently : “An oriental blend with exotic flowers, warm spices and amber. Somewhat similar to Olive Flowers, but a little brighter. For men and women, Papillon is a cheerful fragrance that radiates an aura of kindness and optimism.”

BRIGHT ? Oh, yeah, this is bright, all right. Loud, even. An extremely base-heavy, resinous , sweet beyond-measure scent, it nods to the extraits of L’Heure Bleue, Shalimar, and Bois de Copaiba in its balsamic intensity. There are echoes of other Madini oeuvres as well: Olive Flowers (opoponax–laden), and Musk Pierre (unctuous and velvety, creamy.)

The spice feels as if the sweet myrrh--aka opoponax--is mainly responsible, with its nutmeggy quality. If frankincense is in here, it is deftly rendered with a light hand. I sense the presence of Tolu balsam, vanilla, perhaps tonka bean in the base, along with a profoundly resinous amber - and not withheld. Big lashings, all around. Unctuous.

The top notes might well include citrus--bergamot/ lemon, I suspect aldehydes, too. With heart notes, possibly, of nard, exotics like a plumeria, and most definitely ylang ylang (or its less costly cousin, cananga.)

I tend to feel that the use of the word ‘reverie’ isn’t inaccurate, at all--far more descriptive than ‘cheerful, and optimistic.’ JEAN NATE is cheerful and optimistic. Daisy is cheerful and optimistic. Papillon is an odalisque, smoking a hookah, for chrissakes. Scantily clad, at that. Eunuchs waving vetiver fans are seedily present, edentulous grins revealing their blackened gums from chewing betelnut leaves…THAT’S what we’re talkin’ about here, folks. Now, I’m dying to know how my sister-in-sin feels about this one….

BitterGrace: First of all, I’m astonished to discover that I am even more of a Madini addict than Chaya. My bottle count runs to 52, along with a half dozen sample vials. It could take years to cover all these!

But getting back to Papillon, I’m going to be contrary and say I tend to agree with Tigerflag’s description of this beautiful oriental. I find no scantily-clad, hookah-smoking odalisque in my bottle. Not a eunuch in sight. For me, Papillon is a soft-skinned, laughing beauty with sparkling dark eyes. It is rich, without a doubt, but it also conveys a sense of buoyancy and joy. In fact, I’d say it perfectly suits its name. Like a butterfly, it’s graceful, extraordinary, and somehow embodies happiness.

That said, Chaya’s dissection of the notes seems right on target. Bergamot, ylang ylang, opoponax, Tolu balsam—all are very distinctly present along with vetiver, creating a wonderfully smooth character with just enough floral spark to add interest. (Madini's signature rose is nestled in there somewhere.) Amber is in evidence, but not terribly heavy to my nose. What I do get in abundance, lucky me, is tonka--a note I love. Its unique, lightly sweet nuttiness is always comforting, yet never dulling, as benzoin or amber can be.

Chaya’s reference to L’Heure Bleue is very apt, but if I had to pick a classic that Papillon brings to mind, it would be the original 1957 L’Interdit. (See the review at Bois de Jasmin.) Though Papillon lacks the subdued fruity notes of L'Interdit--except for a possible hint of peach--it has the same seamless blend of rich flowers, roots and resins. They all add up to a light-hearted, sophisticated fragrance that would have suited Audrey Hepburn as perfectly as the divine Givenchy creation. Papillon could have been the signature scent of the fiery, delicate Reggie Lampert in Charade.



Butterflies, Wilhelm von Kaulbach, c.1860. Image from Wikimedia Commons.