Nick at Nite (Round 4)
scent of the day: Hyrax, by Zoologist
Hyrax (2018, Antonio Gardoni)—a muskier sibling of Rien Intense and Anubis and One Man Show Oud Edition (all four with that nag-champa fog over dirty suede) albeit perhaps the worst of these (yes, even One Man Show), and worse than the other heavy hitter animalic Zoologists too (Camel and Civet besting this in compositional skill and, for me, olfactory properties)—
gives us a quadrifecta of leathery-sooty notes (creosotic castoreum, iodine-latex saffron, mineralic hyraceum, apothecary-like styrax) lifted by a quadrifecta of sunny-astringent notes (lemony elemi, grapefruity pink pepper, citronella-geranium rose, urinous-pickly civet) that together yield an impression of tarred-hide draped over bleached rock and baking under an African sun,
a lovely aromatic scene but unfortunately marred by what seems a Gardoni signature amberwoods fixative that has started to annoy me so much that I might be open to sell this and other Gardoni releases like Risk one day (an amberwoods fixative, ambroxan or something more sinister perhaps, giving a water-meets-metal feel we find at the base of Sacred Scarab, although there at least it serves to reinforce imagery of ceremony near the Nile)—
the overall result being a modern animalic leather fragrance that, with its dirty musty vibe of ancient suede and incense, sits close to Anubis both in vintage aura and literal aroma (think: Anubis with a shot of Sacred Scarab), close enough that highlighting their differences lets us better understand each at higher resolution:
(1) while both are unabashedly animalic with their embrace of castoreum and hyraceum (Anubis’s official pyramid lists neither notes, but that does not seem correct to my nose or to Liz Moore’s stated love for hyraceum and use of it in Salome), Hyrax reads as more feral and harsh and untamed (radiating not only a rawhide element of unwashed pelt, but also a urinous and sweaty and even animal-fat quality from the civet) whereas Anubis reads as more refined and inviting and intimate (especially given the delicate honey from the pink lotus and the narcotic sensuality from the Egyptian jasmine, a jasmine whose sweet florality blanaces its indolic depth);
(2) while both evoke a dry and dusty ancient archaeological atmosphere (and so will remind many in texture to LDDM), Hyrax (more animalic and mineralic, its brassy bite one of the starkest single differences between the two scents) more easily evokes naturalistic images of fossilized bones and petrified animal secretions and musky pelt (and makes me think of hyraceum as a sort of desert ambergris) whereas Anubis (more incensey and sooty) more easily evokes ceremonial images of sacred ash and brittle parchment and powdery suede;
(3) while both have a boozy quality, Hyrax is sharper and more whiskey-driven (think: a barrel-aged peat whiskey, an acrid high-proof booze closer to the smoky-medicinality we get in Profumum Roma’s Fumidous) whereas Anubis is smoother and more liqueur-like (the immortelle and labdanum creating a dark syrupy spirit that feels more like an herbal digestif such as Benedictine);
(4) while both have a velvety suede and an ambery glow, Hyrax feels more sharp and angular (this due in part to it leaning more in a more pissy mineralic direction) whereas Anubis feels smoother and gooier (this due in part to its syrupy immortelle, labdanum, and myrrh);
(5) while both stand away from Taylor Swift commercialism, Hyrax has that noticeable amberwoods aromachemical base that I feel spoils Hyrax (especially since now my nose is trained to smell it right from the start) as well as several other Gardoni releases (like Risk) and can also be annoyingly found in some Prins (like the Anatolia series) whereas Anubis feels (like so much of Liz Moore’s work) made more of materials that would have been around regardless of mankind (although that is, obviously, not the case).
Nick at Nite
Fun Dip was to keep us at the TV (Mom staggering to her room despite an oniony man
slurring “Let em see some pussy”) but, peeking hard through Dad’s old fist hole hidden
by macaroni art, we giggle-peed as she retched on a pistol to moans of “Try me, bitch!”
