Kicking off the Resin Review section of the Attar Guide with the A’s – and given that amber starts with an A, there is a lot. But before you dive in, in case you missed it, why not have a glance at this brief primer on all things resiny here? It gives you the lowdown on the differences between myrrh and sweet myrrh (opoponax), what benzoin smells like, and the intricacies of the kingliest resin of them all, frankincense. It also explains what amber is, exactly.
020 (Hyde & Alchemy)
Type: concentrated perfume oil
No. 020 is orange-scented toffee rendered in liquid form, with a sprinkle of pepper for interest. A combination of patchouli, tonka, and vanilla gives the scent a waxy, fudge-like texture that muffles the high-toned brightness of the orange blossom. No. 020 bears some similarity to Hermès Ambre des Merveilles, its orangey goodness spiced with pepper instead of salt.
Absolute Amber (Clive Christian)
Type: concentrated perfume oil
Escaping the wrath of Tom Ford’s legal department by a hair, Absolute Amber is a juggernaut of an amber with a synth under-pinning so potent it could fell a horse at five paces. One sniff of this stuff was enough to cause my olfactory system to start closing up shop. But at the edges, certain elements that characterize the Clive Christian approach with these exclusive oils can still be identified.
The first characteristic element is a topnote that is Lanolin-like in its medicinal balminess, redolent of a mixture of vegetable oil, sheep’s wool, tallow, and raw silk. This is probably due to the carrier oil used in the Absolute line of perfume oils. The second element is the supersonic radiance deriving from woody amber synthetics typically used for reach, such as Iso E Super, Cedramber, and the like. The third characteristic I notice, both here and in one or two other examples in the Absolute range, is the emphasis on bringing out the sharper, more confrontational facets of the raw material being highlighted. Sweet and fluffy these oils are not.
True to type, Absolute Amber is a tremendously spicy, resinous amber with undertones of plum, raisin, and grated cinnamon bark. It is somewhat comparable in tone to Ambre Eccentrico (Armani Privé), swapping out the plush, fruity tonka bean for a somewhat bitter, aftershavey base that men might appreciate. Absolute Amber is rich without being syrupy or ‘wet in any way. In overall feel, Absolute Amber matches the synthy radiance of other rather butch amber scents such as Amouage’s Opus VI and Ambra Meditteranea by Profumi del Forte. For those unbothered by potent woody ambers, Absolute Amber would be a strong (in every sense of the word) option for winter daywear, especially under a formal suit.
Photo: My own, Omani silver frankincense
Absolute Frankincense (Clive Christian)
Type: concentrated perfume oil
Natural frankincense oil has a citrusy, pine-like freshness that is practically its main character trait, and this is precisely the characteristic that Absolute Frankincense has chosen to highlight. The scent extends the silvery bite of the resin by flanking it with a lime-like bergamot and some very natural-smelling coniferous notes. The result smells clean and high-toned – an expression of frankincense oil itself, as opposed to the burnt, smoky notes of the resin as it bubbles on a censer.
Those who love the more severe takes on frankincense such as Annick Goutal’s Encens Flamboyant will appreciate Absolute Frankincense. Just be aware that this oil is monastic in its approach, and that the green purity of the resin has been prioritized far above the smoky, resinous, or sweet notes that usually flank frankincense. This is the cold, smooth smell of the unburned resin itself, and an almost exact match to the aroma of the resin when you rub it between the palms of your hands. My criticism is that Absolute Frankincense is almost too simple – too close to the aroma of good quality frankincense oil itself – to be worth the cost of entry.
Al Masih (Mellifluence)
Al Masih means Messiah in Arabic, one of the many names for Jesus. And to a certain extent, Al Masih’s incense is more Catholic High Mass than Islamic cannon. Al Masih opens with a frankincense note as piercing as freshly-crushed pine needles, its citric edge underscored by a lemony tandem of elemi resin and petitgrain. The total effect is of a Mediterranean church with its doors thrown open to allow the soft breeze brushing over mastic to mingle with the scent of unburned resin. Cypress, cedar, and hyssop all add to its fresh, outdoorsy air, confirming that churches are not the only places where communion with a Greater Spirit takes place.
The drydown is a surprise. The sharp brightness of the herbs and resins softens, collapsing into the sensual creaminess of sandalwood. The sandalwood lends a golden, wholesome texture to the scent, recalling the bounty of the harvest and all the good things to eat in the cellar. This series of transitions has the effect of shifting the scene from the wildness of the maquis to a soft and homely devotion scaled to domestic proportions. At once evocative and pleasing, Al Masih might strike a chord for lovers of piney, outdoorsy incense, as well as those who love the ‘medicinal unguent’ bent of modern Italian artisanal perfumery – think Bogue and O’Driu, albeit far, far simpler.
Amber Absolute (Mr. Perfume)
Type: dupe, concentrated perfume oil
I have to put my hand up here and admit that I like almost every dupe of Amber Absolute that has crossed my desk. I would wear any of them quite happily in the place of the Tom Ford, because they are invariably lighter, thinner, and don’t quite feel like the twenty-four-hour marathon that the real deal entails. That said, every single Amber Absolute dupe, when worn side by side with the real Amber Absolute, suffers greatly in comparison.
And this is no different. The dupe is satisfying and rich on its own but, worn in proximity to the great Tom Ford, reveals itself to fall far short of the mark. Amber Absolute has an enormously thick and heavy labdanum note, possibly Ambreine, a smoky, caramelized labdanum material (natural) owned by Biolandes. This produces an intoxicating brew of caramelized toffee, leather, and burning incense. It is thick and bittersweet, puffed up on all sides by a singed marshmallow note that makes it as hefty as a sleeping toddler. As a perfume experience, it is remarkably well-balanced.
This dupe – like most others – does not feature that special thick furriness of labdanum or the vanillic cushion of benzoin. The textural density is not right, therefore. The bitterness of the incense notes has been replicated well, but compared to the original, the resins appear watered down. Additionally, there is a minty freshness to the amber absent in the original, whose amber is more richly toffee-like, with whiskyish undertones. In fact, the tart herbal twinge brings the dupe closer to Ambre Sultan than Amber Absolute (although the Serge Lutens is itself far thicker, more resinous, and more full-bodied).
In time, this dupe settles into a plain incense amber that, while nice, is nothing to write home about. It subtlety and near-translucence compared to the Tom Ford means that it might make for a good option for summer or for those occasions when you want a nip of amber rather than the full jeroboam. Not a great dupe, therefore, but not a bad all-purpose amber oil.
Amber Absolute (Universal Perfumes & Cosmetics)
Type: dupe, concentrated perfume oil
Woody Allen once said that ‘Pizza is a lot like sex. When it is good, it is really good. When it is bad, it is still pretty good’. The same could be said for Amber Absolute dupes. Even at their worst, they still smell absolutely fantastic.
Even though it is not a hundred percent accurate, this is the best dupe for Tom Ford’s Amber Absolute that I have personally experienced. It lacks the essential herbal-bitter depth of the incense component that makes the original so ‘tasty’, and as with all dupes of resin-heavy fragrances, there is a thickness missing in the body of the dupe. In particular, the expensive lushness of high quality labdanum and benzoin is just not there. The smoky marshmallow note is also missing, and there is a weird mintiness to the amber that does not feature in the original.
Despite these niggles, however, this dupe manages to nail the essential fruitcake-like deliciousness of the original. It gets you about two-thirds of the way to the real Amber Absolute, and for me personally, that is good enough.
Photo by Nazar Strutynsky on Unsplash
Amber Afghani (Abdul Karim Al Faransi/Maison Anthony Marmin)
Amber Afghani is in many ways a traditional Eastern take on amber – dusty, vegetal, and medicinal, with an undercurrent of iodine provided by saffron and henna. This is an amber that walks on the dry, leathery side of labdanum, rather than its unctuously sheep-fatty one. In style and feel, Amber Afghani is similar to Royal Amber Blend by ASAQ, albeit greener and spicier. Although floral notes and spices are listed, only saffron is perceptible, although there is a touch of the oily coolness of black pepper further on.
Amber Afghani is more monolithic than complex, and not something I would ever call refined. However, if you’re in the market for a basic vegetal amber, and you’re more cowboy than cowgirl, then this is a pleasant and reasonably-priced option. To add interest, I suggest layering it with rose and oud oils, or underneath Western (spray) soliflores such as Dame Perfumery’s Gardenia or Tuberose.
Amber Ash Sheikh (Abdul Karim Al Faransi/Maison Anthony Marmin)
Amber Ash Sheikh is a potent labdanum bomb with the feral honk of freshly-pored road tar and hot ash. Subtle it is most certainly not, but if you are a fan of smoky tobacco fragrances such as Jeke, Tribute, and Patchouli 24, and want a current of sweet, molasses-like amber running beneath, then Amber Ash Sheikh is a must-try.
On my skin, it is mostly a fearsomely smoky labdanum bomb. Labdanum is a resin from the rockrose plant that can read as ashy, tobacco-ish, and leathery, or alternatively, as wet, unctuous, and caramelic. The way the resin will read in any given scenario depends on the direction the perfumer decides to take it in.
The direction taken here, with Amber Ash Sheikh, is firmly that of the ashy, dry leather. The opening is so parched it sucks all the moisture out of one’s mouth, but there’s a molasses note hiding behind the ash, bringing a bitter, tarry edge for depth and texture. It is somewhat like the play on ashy and wet seen in Soleil de Jeddah by Stephane Humbert Lucas. But unlike that perfume, there are no bright fruit notes in Amber Ash Sheikh with which to relieve the unrelenting dryness.
Over time – and this is an oil that plays out on the skin over the course of a day or more if you don’t shower (heck, even if you do shower) – the bittersweet molasses note emerges from the shadows, imbuing the blend with a ‘black’ note pitched halfway between soft black licorice and buckwheat honey. The stickiness of this accord is leavened by sour, dusty wood notes, which have a mitti-like pungency to them. Later, the mukhallat smoothes out into a more traditionally buttery version of labdanum, nicely granulated with a gritty, bittersweet resin that recalls both the incensey amber in Amber Absolute by Tom Ford and the dried-fruit, copal bitterness of Norma Kamali Incense. Highly recommended.
Photo by Isabella and Zsa Fischer on Unsplash
Amber Chocolate (La Via del Profumo/ Abdes Salaam Attar)
Who on earth could possibly dislike something that smells so delicious? Amber Chocolate is roasted tonka bean shaved into a cup of the creamiest hot chocolate you can imagine. It is spiced with a touch of cinnamon, black pepper, or even chili providing a little burn at the back of your tongue. Thankfully, the spice element has been carefully calibrated to merely texturize the surface of the scent a little, not turn it into a niche-style freak show with curry or B.O. hiding out in the gourmandise, waiting to spring a nasty little surprise on you.
Amber Chocolate is a very thick, fluffy scent, and almost entirely linear. In fact, it is remarkably similar to the yummy but simple goodness of Café Cacao by En Voyage. If you love the smell of dark chocolate with a caramelized ‘condensed milk’ edge, then you’ll love Amber Chocolate. If you don’t, or if you’re hoping it will evolve into something drier or less obviously edible, then you’re out of luck.
The attar format has much better longevity and duration than the eau de parfum, which fixes the common complaint that most people had with the original. In fact, when it comes to the attar, it is as if the scent refuses to die. It comes as a very dark, thick liquid that goes on like tar and stains the skin. The drydown is finely textured, with hints of toasted bitter almond, hay, and an accord like burnt coffee grounds. For me, Amber Chocolate lives up to the name of ‘delicious tonka bean’ better than Fève Délicieuse does, but I guess Dior got there first.
Amber & Frankincense / Amber Oudh #3 With Frankincense (Aloes of Ish)
Although this quarter tola bottle came to me labeled as ‘Amber & Frankincense’, I am reasonably certain that this is Amber Oudh #3 With Frankincense, based on what I can discern of the notes. The first portion of this oil is pleasant if a little predictable – a dry, vegetal Indian-style amber with lots of raw, rubbery saffron and the lime-peel astringency of frankincense. So far, so traditional. Medicinal and severe, this Indian style of amber accord sits in direct opposition to souk-style ambers, which are focused on sweet, creamy combinations of labdanum, benzoin, and vanilla.
However, soon one notices the distinct presence of ambergris – salty, bright, and ozonic – which alleviates the dourness of the Indian amber accord, blowing gusts of sea air up its skirt. The amber/ambergris accord becomes flushed with a thin layer of rubbery smoke, like a lump of resin seen through the haze of steam from a samovar. Like most ambergris-laden affairs, there is also a note of charred leather, reminiscent of choya nakh, the destructive distillation of roasted seashells that many attar makers use to give their perfumes a salty, leathery pungency.
The heart is amber and smoky black tea, elevated by a transparent texture, like sugar water, vodka, or even champagne running through the pores of the resin, making it possible for the wearer to smell each note clearly. This is unusual in an attar, because the natural density of oil tends to compress more than it aerates. It is a quieter, more translucent take on the smoky booze, black tea, and dried fruit of Ambre Russe by Parfum d’Empire.
At one stage, there is a fleeting impression of the mint-leaf freshness of a Borneo-style oud, but this soon recedes into the smoky, rubbery black tea accent. The drydown is a pleasurable affair of smoky, sweet resins and vanilla, approaching the singed marshmallow delight of Amber Absolute. This is the little mukhallat that could. Belying its low price, it walks you confidently through several styles of amber, starting off with the saffron-tinged medicinal amber of India, then shifting into a more Arabic ambergris-amber accord, then a Russian samovar (boozy, black tea) amber, to finally, a Western style amber in the incensey mold of Amber Absolute. A prize at any price.
Amber Musc (Universal Perfumes & Cosmetics)
Type: dupe, concentrated perfume oil
Amber Musc by Narciso Rodriguez riffs on the basic framework of the original Narciso Rodriguez For Her EDT (sweet orange blossom, musk, and patchouli) by adding amber and oud notes to spin it off into a more oriental direction. The result? A fragrance that retains the clean skin sexiness of the original while gaining a vaguely soukish exoticism.
The dupe oil is virtually identical, down to the antiseptic cleanliness of the musk and the stiffening breeze of Iso E Super in the drydown. The dupe more than adequately stands in for the original, which costs over two hundred dollars for the big bottle at full retail.
When a fragrance is constructed from entirely synthetic ingredients such as white musk, Maltol, and oud replacers anyway, you begin to wonder what exactly you are shelling out the big bucks for. The special raw materials? Nah. Past a certain price point, you are paying for the brand name and the perceived exclusivity or rarity of the scent. Given that Amber Musc is such a basic bitch to begin with, you might as well just buy the dupe and be done with it.
Photo by Andrea Donato on Unsplash
Amberosia (Sultan Pasha Attars)
Amberosia is a parched amber with the texture of paper singed briefly at the edges with a blowtorch. Picture the driftwood amber note subtracted from L’Air du Desert Marocain fused with aromatic rosewood, and that’s the basic character of this mukhallat. Herbs and roses play second fiddle here, stepping back to let that austere, slightly cowboy-ish woody amber take the stage. People who love, for example, the desert-dry woods, amber, and restrained rose in Czech and Speake’s No. 88 or Dior’s Ambre Nuit, will also appreciate Amberosia.
Towards the end of its life, Amberosia takes on a surprisingly barbershop-like quality. You can almost taste the dry slap of a leather shaving strap against a freshly-shaved jaw. There is a touch of soap, steam, herbs, and a tantalizing whiff of clean male skin. These barbershoppy notes rough up the amber and wipe out any lingering traces of rose. At this point, Amberosia is reminiscent of hairy-chested retro masculines such as Sahara by Mekkanische Rose, Ker by Bogue Profumo, and even somewhat, the far drydown of Peety by O’Driu. Fans of gentlemanly colognes, wet shaving, and the traditional grooming art of the barbershop will adore this one.
Amber Oud (Mr. Perfume)
Type: dupe, concentrated perfume oil
The original By Kilian Amber Oud is a refined take on a Western-style amber – leathery, woody, and ever-so-slightly-characterless. There’s a whiff of campfire smoke at the edges, but its unique selling point is really its politeness. An amber that merely hints at the spice and roughness of other ambers, and an oud that is non-existent. I am always surprised at this scent’s popularity until I remember that it is the perfect solution for people who dislike both amber and oud.
The dupe gets the basic scent profile right. But where the original is discreet, the dupe is faint to the point of being undetectable. Oils are generally closer-wearing than sprays, so one expects the volume to be a bit lower. But in exchange for quietness, there should be a certain level of richness to compensate, and this fails to deliver. A nice aroma, therefore, but in a concentration more suited to a body massage oil than a perfume.
Amber Oudh (Rasasi)
Amber Oudh is a waxy ‘coddled fruit’ amber with a chaser of rose and saffron for that essential taste of exotica. Many a nose will interpret the astringency of the saffron or henna as oud, which is exactly how lower-end mukhallats achieve that oudy, medicinal feel without charging for the real stuff.
Credit where credit is due, Amber Oudh is no better or worse than any other ambery mukhallat on the low end of the scale. It doesn’t read as overly synthetic, and I would recommend it quite happily as part of a beginner’s starter pack on mukhallats. However, it doesn’t hold up to close inspection, collapsing quickly into the soapy white musk that seems to be the natural end of most Rasasi oils.
Amber Paste (Kuumba Made)
Type: concentrated perfume oil
Amber Paste is the breakout star of the Kuumba Made collection, garnering rave reviews and fierce customer loyalty from people who don’t even wear perfume on the regular. The fact that Kuumba Made is sold in Wholefoods and other emporia means that it is accessible to broad cross-section of people. There is something pleasingly democratic about the line, with Amber Paste flying the flag for the brand in a big way.
They weren’t kidding with the name, though. Amber Paste is definitely a paste rather than an oil, its sticky texture making it more difficult to apply to skin than the other blends in the line. However, the slight fussiness of application is more than worth it because this amber satisfies with its balance between dark, herbaceous topnotes, and golden basenotes. There is even some similarity, briefly, between Amber Paste and that bellwether of ambers, Ambre Sultan by Serge Lutens, although Amber Paste is less complex from every angle.
Amber Paste quickly settles into a powdery vanilla once the initial roar of resin and bay leaf has abated, developing a certain waxen blandness that makes it perfect for casual wear or for layering under more complex amber fragrances. It may not satisfy the niche hound, but for everyone else, this is a great amber option.
Photo by Ravi Patel on Unsplash
Ambre Cuir (Henry Jacques)
Type: concentrated perfume oil
Ambre Cuir (‘Amber Leather’) exerts the sort of soapy, traditional shaving-cream appeal that will seduce men nostalgic for the feel of the leather strap and hot towel against their skin. Ambre Cuir proved to be the most praised Henry Jacques among the men of Basenotes during a 2018 Henry Jacques sample pass, and with good reason – it has one of the most natural opoponax notes I’ve smelled in oil form.
Opoponax is a rather medicinal-smelling resin that smells partially cool, like herbal shaving foam, and partially warm, with an intensely spicy, balsamic underbite similar to cinnamon and clove. Here, the resin has been pulled in the direction of cool by way of lavender absolute up top and a stony frankincense-iris pairing in the heart.
Handsome and acerbic, Ambre Cuir smells old-school in the most elegant way possible. Fans of Dia Man (Amouage) will likely love Ambre Cuir, as it possesses something of the same silvery, soapy refinement, and a similar way of grinding rough, sticky resins into a bone-pale powder using Florentine orris as grist.
Ambrecuir (Sultan Pasha Attars)
I would say that Ambrecuir is one of my favorites from the Sultan Pasha stable of mukhallats, but given the quality of his work, that is like throwing a pebble onto the beach and hoping to hit sand. Ambrecuir is essentially a plush ‘white’ leather crème cut here and there with the sour, fruity funk of castoreum. In theme, it riffs on the elegance of the contrast between the cool, powdered whiteness of orris butter and the rough blackness of varnished shoe leather as pioneered by Cuir Ottoman by Parfum d’Empire.
Where these fragrances diverge is in the drydown, when all traces of the creamy, iris suede have melted away. While Cuir Ottoman goes on to develop a rich, powdery hay-amber accord that makes one think of brocaded liveries and pompadours of Versailles, the sour castoreum pulsing through Ambrecuir’s amber keep us firmly in the souk, pressed up against the heaving mass of bodies. Indeed, fans of Rania J.’s Ambre Loup might appreciate Ambrecuir, as might lovers of Serge Lutens’ spicy Cuir Mauresque.
Something to note here – a pleasingly antiseptic saffron darts in and out of Ambrecuir’s base, cutting the richness of the other notes like a knife worth’s of dried blood and iodine. Without this spicy, medicinal note, Ambrecuir might have become as bloated as a corpse after a hot day in the river. It is this balance of sweet and medicinal notes that gives Ambrecuir its curious delicacy and refinement. The saffron-tinged amber also gives the mukhallat an ancestral link to the sternly vegetal, iodine-tinged ambers of Northern India, a category of fragrance that is one hundred percent sugar- and vanilla-free.
A rich dulce de leche base brings it all home, though, turning away from Mother India and back towards Paris. Anyone familiar with the ridiculously rich dried-fruit amber and benzoin duet in Tom Ford’s Amber Absolute may feel tears come to their eyes. A gorgeous bastard child of leather and amber, Ambrecuir is for those who take their leather with a side of cream.
Ambre Narcotique (Sultan Pasha Attars)
Ambre Narcotique will induce a state of bliss in anyone who loves thick, spicy labdanum bombs such as Amber Absolute, Ambre Sultan, or Ambre Loup. It opens with the bitter, leathery aroma of labdanum resin, introducing an animalic dark chocolate note that gets my Spidey senses tingling. From that point onwards, however, this pleasantly bitter note is masked by a thick sieving of dusty benzoin, sweet myrrh (opoponax), and vanilla. If you love incensey ambers with spices, herbs, and rosy notes operating at a more subliminal level, then it doesn’t get much better than this.
Ambre Sauvage (Sultan Pasha Attars)
Ambre Sauvage is a smooth-as-silk amber with a nutty, slightly plasticized leather undertone to balance out the sweetness. In contrast to the dark, smoky incense of Ambre Narcotique, this amber showcases the buttery pleasure that is the marriage between a toffee-rich amber and a spanking new pair of leather brogues. Not terribly complex, but like a caramel mocha latte, it goes down so easily it is hard to begrudge its simplicity. Fans of L’Artisan Parfumeur’s L’Eau d’Ambre Extreme or Histoires de Parfums’ Ambre 114 will find their bliss here.
Photo by Klara Kulikova on Unsplash
Âme Sombre Series (Sultan Pasha Attars)
The Âme Sombre series (Âme Sombre Oud Infusion, Âme Sombre Grade 1, and Âme Sombre Grade II) was conceived as a tribute to, well, Tribute – the landmark frankincense-cedar attar from Amouage that has such a cult following that people are willing to pay hundreds of dollars for even a sample of it. Naturally, when Amouage discontinued its line of attars, the desire for Tribute increased even further. Nothing enhances Holy Grail status for a scent like unattainability, scarcity, and the huge amounts of trouble one must go to in order to secure it. Luckily for us all, Sultan Pasha has stepped in with his take on the original Tribute.
All the Âme Sombre variations revolve around a beguilingly rich, dark frankincense note redolent of the pine-like smoke from the censer at High Mass. This frankincense is surrounded by a very good rose otto and voluptuous jasmine. The florals never succeed in speaking over the soaring voice of that dark, burnt lime peel frankincense – they simply add a buttery floral softness that pierces the gloom like sunlight through a stained glass window.
In the base, there is a growl of dark tobacco, ancient balsams, resins, and gums, which joined with cedar, provides a smoky bitterness, like burning driftwood and funeral pyres. The bitterness is alleviated somewhat by a low hum of amber and rock rose in the background, but never dies away completely.
Âme Sombre Infusion Oud is the most expensive and opulent version of Âme Sombre. It rivals or even surpasses the cost of the original Tribute, due to the time-consuming and messy task of infusing a small quantity of Âme Sombre Grade I with smoke from sinking grade oud wood chips, which Sultan heated on a burner directly underneath the attar itself.
The Oud Infusion version therefore contains the uniquely clean, resinous aroma that comes from heating oud wood (as opposed to the fermented, ‘overripe’ aroma of pure oud oil). The oud infusion doubles down on the rich smokiness of the frankincense, but also offers a slightly green sweetness that serves to soften the essentially bitter character of the scent. This version, although expensive and now also possibly discontinued, is the most balanced version of Tribute, and my personal favorite.
Âme Sombre Grade I and Âme Sombre Oud Infusion both relate closely to the original Tribute (albeit with a bigger emphasis on rose), and either would be an excellent substitute for the now discontinued attar. Âme Sombre Grade II differs quite dramatically from both the Oud Infusion and Grade I, but I like it a lot as a standalone scent and wish it had been marketed separately.
Âme Sombre Grade I begins with an incredibly lush, lemony rose that has the effect of flooding the gloomy church corridors with light and air. Rose is usually added to oud to give it a sweet juiciness to counteract its sour, stark woodiness, and here it plays that role both for the austere, pine-like frankincense and the sourish cedar. Then a clutch of dark, balmy resins and leather notes moves in to draw a black velvet cloak over the bright, sourish rose, rendering the tone of the attar somber and serious. Grade I is slightly darker, more phenolic, and more sour-rosy in feel than the Oud Infusion, which draws sweet woodsmoke notes from the agarwood infusion. Grade I employs more of a focus on balmy leather notes than the other versions.
Overall, Âme Sombre Grade I feels more Northern in tone than Middle-Eastern. There is a fresh juniper note in the background that further bolsters this ‘Orthodox Church in a chilly Northern forest’ tonality. In terms of overall approach, Âme Sombre Grade I is perhaps the closest to the original Tribute with its stark, smoky cedar-frankincense combination. It is also intensely powerful, lasting on my skin all day and well beyond a shower.
Âme Sombre Grade II is more tobacco-focused than Ame Sombre Grade I and has a sharper rose element. When compared directly to Grade I, it reveals a big-boned, souk-ish amber-rose combination not a million miles away from sweet mukhallat-style fragrances like Raghba, Lateefa, and 24 Gold. Not that this style doesn’t have a rough-hued, sexy charm of its own, you understand. It is just that nobody in their right mind would pay Sultan Pasha prices for the kind of thing that sells for $30-$40 on eBay for 100 milliliters shipped.
The tobacco, powered by the super-powerful synthetic Kephalis, is dry, papery, and rather strident. Unlike Âme Sombre Oud Infusion and Âme Sombre Grade I, Ame Sombre Grade II contains a small quantity of synthetic aromachemicals. In some circles, this piece of information seems to have sunk this version of the attar as being low-quality or inferior to the other versions. I would argue mildly against that categorization because, although it contains some synthetics, it does not smell terribly inferior in quality. Admittedly, it does lack the smoky, aquiline mystery of the other two versions.
Still, you get what you pay for, and who knows, you might just be in the market for a sweeter, friendlier version of Tribute. The severity of the original does not sit well with quite a few women, for example, so this version might be the right pick. In short, Âme Sombre Grade II is a pleasing rose-tobacco blend that would work well for people who like Wardasina or any of the Lateefa or 24 Gold scents – somewhat loud, rosy ambers that project a clear message of affability from a distance, thus perfect for clubbing.
Type: concentrated perfume oil
Company description: Egyptian Kyphi, Egyptian Amber, Egyptian Musk, Darkness of the Dead
Kyphi is a type of compacted incense used by the ancient Egyptians, consisting of herbs, gums, resins, and woods powdered down into dust, bound with wine and honey to form briquettes of incense, and subsequently burned on ceremonial censers.
Kyphi differs from other forms of incense and bakhoor mainly in its inclusion of unusual aromatics such as mastic, juniper berry, turpentine (pine resin), calamus, and rush reeds, as well as its binding agents of honey, raisins, and wine. Nowadays, scents referencing kyphi will normally use medicinal, bitter, or green resin notes that are not often seen in other types of incense. They will often include a wine, honey, or raisin facet too.
Anubis opens with the same vegetable oil-like note noticeable in almost all the NAVA blends. Once this dissipates, the bitter herbaciousness of the kyphi rises to the fore, mingling with a low key amber-resin accord for body, and an attractively musty, medicinal undertone. True to the original raison d’être of kyphi, the blend smells purifying, albeit in a wispy, barely-there manner. In other words, this is not a heavy or rich blend. Its essential character is peppery and green – subtly bitter even.
Anubis does get sweeter and muskier as time goes on, picking up a not entirely unpleasant headshoppiness in the process (I assume that the Darkness of the Dead accord has something to do with patchouli). Good, but I think I’d prefer this in an oil burner than as a personal fragrance.
Attar al Kaaba (Al Haramain)
This is one of Al Haramain’s bestsellers, and justifiably so. A fabulously thick, potent oil featuring a fruity pink rose, creamy sandalwood, and sweet amber, it paints a picture of eastern exotica in very broad brushstrokes. No oud, either real or fake, no matter what you think you may be smelling. However, there is a woodsy, almost coffee-like note swimming around in the syrup that’s deliberately open to misinterpretation, so if you want to close your eyes and pretend, then who am I to say otherwise?
Attar al Kaaba is a great starter ambery mukhallat. A simple, and accessible and quite lovely rendition of the typical ‘attar’ smell, it will do the trick when you want to smell exotic and alluring in a slightly ‘foreign’ way. It is quite sweet, syrupy even, so don’t say I didn’t warn you.
About Me: A two-time Jasmine Award winner for excellence in perfume journalism, I write a blog (this one!) and have authored many guides, articles, and interviews for Basenotes. (My day-to-day work is in the scientific research for development world). Thanks to the generosity of friends and acquaintances in the perfume business, I have been privileged enough to smell the raw materials that go into perfumes and learn about the role they play in both Western and Eastern perfumery. Artisans have sent vials of the most precious materials on earth such as ambergris, deer musk, and oud. But I have also spent thousands of my own money, buying oud oils directly from artisans and tons of dodgy (and possibly illegal) stuff on eBay. In the reviews sections, I will always tell you where my sample came from and whether I paid for it or not.
Source of samples: I purchased my samples of Maison Anthony Marmin, Hyde & Alchemy, Mellifluence, Kuumba Made, Rasasi, Mr. Perfume, Al Haramain, NAVA and Universal Perfumes & Cosmetics. My samples of oils from Clive Christian, Abdes Salaam Attar and Sultan Pasha Attars were sent to me by the brands. The Aloes of Ish and Henry Jacques samples were sent to me by two separate but equally kind Basenotes friends.
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Cover Image: Photo by Krystal Ng on Unsplash