I wish we could be there, but at least YouTube offers a taste of what we're missing. This is a clip from last year's festival of Papa Grows Funk, wailing away on "Fish-Eyed Fool."
Showing posts with label New Orleans. Show all posts
Showing posts with label New Orleans. Show all posts
Friday, April 24, 2009
Monday, January 26, 2009
One Sentence Perfume Review: Camellia, Hové Parfumeur
Soft and sheer as gauze, Camellia has the melancholy beauty of a bride destined for a loveless marriage.
My guess at notes: Lily of the Valley, Iris, Carnation, Rose, Ylang Ylang, Vetiver, Sandalwood
Luxury Line page at Hové
La Fiancée, Jules Joseph LeFebvre (1836-1911)
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
A long post for the perfume people
The trip to New Orleans last weekend was a pleasure, as always. This was our second trip back since Katrina, and the city was more relaxed, and a little more pulled together than the last time we were there. We stayed in the French Quarter (at this affordable little hotel), and things were reasonably lively for Halloween weekend. When we went to Jazz Fest last year, I was alarmed at how dead the Quarter seemed, but there were a respectable number of tourists around this time. Taxi drivers and hotel staff seem to have given up the habit of warning visitors about crime, which is a good thing.
Our friends' anniversary celebration was delightful. They're a smart, funny couple with a great family, and they do know how to throw a party. The people were interesting, the food was delicious and the music was perfect. Go hear Dr. Michael White if you ever get a chance. You won't be disappointed.
I hit Bourbon French and Hové on Saturday. Neither place was terribly busy, but the people who were in the shops seemed to be spending, not just sniffing. I spent my share, mostly topping up my supply of old favorites, but I did try a couple of new Hové' scents: Grandee, which is a drier, more grown-up version of Spring Fiesta; and Azalea, a delicate, faintly green soliflore.
The big perfume news on this trip was my find in a Magazine Street antique store. Actually, I should say Dave's find. Dave is my truffle pig in the search for vintage juice. This is the second time he has rooted out a great cache of old minis I would have overlooked. It's strange, because he has precious little interest in perfume, and his shopping skills are stretched to the limit by a grocery run. I think it's the combination of his desire to please and his intense boredom at being trapped in an antique store that makes him such a tenacious and successful perfume hunter.
That's a picture of our haul above, which included:
A 1/4 ounce mini of Le Dix, probably edp, though it's not labeled. The bottle has some age--I'd guess it to be at least 20 years old. The juice is a little faded, but not soured at all. The powdery drydown is still very satisfying. I am a fan of the current version, and this old stuff is surprisingly similar to it.
The bottle of very dark juice is, believe it or not, Je Reviens, and it is in amazingly good shape. The bottle suggests 50s vintage, but it could be older. There's no way it's less than 35 years old. The top notes are "crushed," as someone on POL used to say. The aldehydes are going off, just edging into olfactory nightmare territory. Fortunately, they disappear completely within a minute or so, and then you get the most exquisite classic floral imaginable. Nothing stale, sour, musty or anemic about it. It's gloriously potent and rich. Compared to the current juice, it is sweet and deep, with a wallop of narcissus that makes for a much more full-bodied character. I can't believe how good it is. It gives me a pang of longing for other ancient beauties.
The pretty gold bottle is Corday Toujours Moi, and the perfume inside it absolutely perfect. If you have only sniffed the current Dana TM, you just have a vague idea what the Corday was like. I happen to think the Dana version is perfectly nice--or at least it was until a few years ago. The last bottle I bought was very watery indeed. The original Corday, though, was a unique, vetiver-rich oriental. It was opulent, without a hint of tackiness about it. It could hold its own with the best of the Lanvins--in fact, I'd say you could almost call it My Sin's Eastern cousin. I got this lovely mini for $12, a fraction of what it would have cost me on eBay.
The Ma Griffe mini is PdT, and came with its original box. I would guess it as 70s vintage. It certainly pre-dates the 80s dilution. I have enough Ma Griffe to last the rest of my natural life, but I could not resist this little guy.
Finally, the precious Jolie Madame parfum was not part of my NOLA booty. It's a recent gift from a very kind and generous perfume buddy. I just wanted to show it off, because I'm so thrilled to have it, and it looked pretty sitting up there with the others.
I'm going to make a point of wearing all these great oldies, instead of letting them sit lonely on the shelf. The Je Reviens especially needs to be enjoyed before it goes south completely. I'm not going to let my good fortune and the talents of my truffle pig go to waste. If any of you would like to engage Dave's services as a personal perfume shopper, let me know. I think he will work for food, especially birria tacos and red velvet cake.
Our friends' anniversary celebration was delightful. They're a smart, funny couple with a great family, and they do know how to throw a party. The people were interesting, the food was delicious and the music was perfect. Go hear Dr. Michael White if you ever get a chance. You won't be disappointed.
I hit Bourbon French and Hové on Saturday. Neither place was terribly busy, but the people who were in the shops seemed to be spending, not just sniffing. I spent my share, mostly topping up my supply of old favorites, but I did try a couple of new Hové' scents: Grandee, which is a drier, more grown-up version of Spring Fiesta; and Azalea, a delicate, faintly green soliflore.
The big perfume news on this trip was my find in a Magazine Street antique store. Actually, I should say Dave's find. Dave is my truffle pig in the search for vintage juice. This is the second time he has rooted out a great cache of old minis I would have overlooked. It's strange, because he has precious little interest in perfume, and his shopping skills are stretched to the limit by a grocery run. I think it's the combination of his desire to please and his intense boredom at being trapped in an antique store that makes him such a tenacious and successful perfume hunter.
That's a picture of our haul above, which included:
A 1/4 ounce mini of Le Dix, probably edp, though it's not labeled. The bottle has some age--I'd guess it to be at least 20 years old. The juice is a little faded, but not soured at all. The powdery drydown is still very satisfying. I am a fan of the current version, and this old stuff is surprisingly similar to it.
The bottle of very dark juice is, believe it or not, Je Reviens, and it is in amazingly good shape. The bottle suggests 50s vintage, but it could be older. There's no way it's less than 35 years old. The top notes are "crushed," as someone on POL used to say. The aldehydes are going off, just edging into olfactory nightmare territory. Fortunately, they disappear completely within a minute or so, and then you get the most exquisite classic floral imaginable. Nothing stale, sour, musty or anemic about it. It's gloriously potent and rich. Compared to the current juice, it is sweet and deep, with a wallop of narcissus that makes for a much more full-bodied character. I can't believe how good it is. It gives me a pang of longing for other ancient beauties.
The pretty gold bottle is Corday Toujours Moi, and the perfume inside it absolutely perfect. If you have only sniffed the current Dana TM, you just have a vague idea what the Corday was like. I happen to think the Dana version is perfectly nice--or at least it was until a few years ago. The last bottle I bought was very watery indeed. The original Corday, though, was a unique, vetiver-rich oriental. It was opulent, without a hint of tackiness about it. It could hold its own with the best of the Lanvins--in fact, I'd say you could almost call it My Sin's Eastern cousin. I got this lovely mini for $12, a fraction of what it would have cost me on eBay.
The Ma Griffe mini is PdT, and came with its original box. I would guess it as 70s vintage. It certainly pre-dates the 80s dilution. I have enough Ma Griffe to last the rest of my natural life, but I could not resist this little guy.
Finally, the precious Jolie Madame parfum was not part of my NOLA booty. It's a recent gift from a very kind and generous perfume buddy. I just wanted to show it off, because I'm so thrilled to have it, and it looked pretty sitting up there with the others.
I'm going to make a point of wearing all these great oldies, instead of letting them sit lonely on the shelf. The Je Reviens especially needs to be enjoyed before it goes south completely. I'm not going to let my good fortune and the talents of my truffle pig go to waste. If any of you would like to engage Dave's services as a personal perfume shopper, let me know. I think he will work for food, especially birria tacos and red velvet cake.
Friday, October 31, 2008
Flyin' to New Orleans
I went into the bank this morning to cash a check. In honor of Halloween, all the bank employees were in costume--except for the managers, who were wearing standard manager garb. They reminded me of Dave's college buddy who liked to show up at Halloween parties in a blazer and tie, and say he was a capitalist.
The choice of costumes among the non-capitalists at the bank included an angel, Sarah Palin, and prison stripes. The convict look was very popular--at least three people were wearing it. The lady in line ahead of me said she wasn't sure about people handling her money pretending to be criminals. I told her it was okay, it's the ones who aren't in jail you have to worry about. She agreed that was probably right.
One of the faux jailbirds, a chubby white lady, was wearing a big black Afro wig. While I stood there marveling at her, a black employee--the only one in the bank, I think--walked by. She's a very pretty woman, and she was wearing a gown and a jeweled headdress, a la Cleopatra. She looked fabulous. I wondered what she thought about the Afro.
The Sarah Palin wannabe's up-do was perfect. Her glasses weren't quite right, but a bank teller would be hard-pressed to afford the pricey frames the real barracuda wears. While Sarah was counting out the twenties, a pair of oversized TV screens behind her were treating us to the uplifting AM programming of Fox News. They were interviewing some author, who was saying Gee, he hoped race wouldn't be a factor in the presidential election, but we have to acknowledge that racism exists. As I listened to him, I looked around at the pretend Palin, the Afro lady, the black Cleopatra,the loafing bank bosses--and thought, This is the weirdest fucking Halloween moment I have ever had. I got my money and fled.
Fortunately, we have a fun weekend ahead to put all that out of my mind. Our friends Robert and Jean* in New Orleans are celebrating their 25th anniversary, and we've been invited to the bash. In addition to the party, the NOLA agenda includes seeing Prospect .1, and of course, visits to Bourbon French and Hové, where I plan to do my bit to stimulate the economy.
Dr. Michael White, a great traditional jazz artist, is going to play at the party. It should be a treat. I found this nice video of his band on Youtube. White is the one on clarinet. He's got a fine solo about halfway through.
*Shameless friend promotion: Jean makes the best pralines on Earth, and you can buy some here, just in time for the holidays!
The choice of costumes among the non-capitalists at the bank included an angel, Sarah Palin, and prison stripes. The convict look was very popular--at least three people were wearing it. The lady in line ahead of me said she wasn't sure about people handling her money pretending to be criminals. I told her it was okay, it's the ones who aren't in jail you have to worry about. She agreed that was probably right.
One of the faux jailbirds, a chubby white lady, was wearing a big black Afro wig. While I stood there marveling at her, a black employee--the only one in the bank, I think--walked by. She's a very pretty woman, and she was wearing a gown and a jeweled headdress, a la Cleopatra. She looked fabulous. I wondered what she thought about the Afro.
The Sarah Palin wannabe's up-do was perfect. Her glasses weren't quite right, but a bank teller would be hard-pressed to afford the pricey frames the real barracuda wears. While Sarah was counting out the twenties, a pair of oversized TV screens behind her were treating us to the uplifting AM programming of Fox News. They were interviewing some author, who was saying Gee, he hoped race wouldn't be a factor in the presidential election, but we have to acknowledge that racism exists. As I listened to him, I looked around at the pretend Palin, the Afro lady, the black Cleopatra,the loafing bank bosses--and thought, This is the weirdest fucking Halloween moment I have ever had. I got my money and fled.
Fortunately, we have a fun weekend ahead to put all that out of my mind. Our friends Robert and Jean* in New Orleans are celebrating their 25th anniversary, and we've been invited to the bash. In addition to the party, the NOLA agenda includes seeing Prospect .1, and of course, visits to Bourbon French and Hové, where I plan to do my bit to stimulate the economy.
Dr. Michael White, a great traditional jazz artist, is going to play at the party. It should be a treat. I found this nice video of his band on Youtube. White is the one on clarinet. He's got a fine solo about halfway through.
*Shameless friend promotion: Jean makes the best pralines on Earth, and you can buy some here, just in time for the holidays!
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