Dead Air fragrance notes
Head
- violet leaf, davana, freesia
Heart
- daffodil, lovage, cistus, salt accord
Base
- dates, oakwood, opoponax, vetiver, patchouli, cedarwood
Latest Reviews of Dead Air
When I was five years old, I would wait at the window for my friend Matt to cross my street to come over to play. I would stare out to my front yard, my teeth gnawing ever so slightly at the sill, leaving tiny indentations. I remember the taste of the paint and dust—not to worry, no lead poisoning here, even though it was the 80s. I recall thinking how brave it was that Matt would cross the street all by himself.
My parents never discovered those indentations on that yellow window sill.
Dead Air somehow brought up this memory. It suggests this beautiful stagnancy, the smell of an abandoned apparatus of time: a little sweet, a little saline, muzzy and not clearly defined, in a corner, undisturbed. I immediately recognized davana oil in its opening, one of my favorite materials. It smells of dried fruit fermented into liqueur: currants, elderberries, prunes. Then the herbaceous, woody camphor, which is in the bloodline of the artemisia family plants to which Davana belongs, starts to surface. In Dead Air, it blurs into the licorice-fennel-celeriac scent of lovage root. Then there is oakwood absolute, giving the impression of an old wooden barrel that once stored whiskey. Fresh or stale? It doesn't matter, I like it.
Whatever that is floral here is not strongly outlined enough to be immediately recognizable, and it lends to the satisfying obscurity of Dear Air. There is nothing to really hold onto, and I find it perfectly acceptable, the elements drifting in a haze, sort of like when you notice floaters in your vision when looking up to a clear blue sky. I am then reminded of these ivy--patterned drapes that were in my living room (we called it the "parlor" here in Massachusetts), hiding in them, imagining I was hiding in a maze of vines. Or the smell of these peculiar plastic fake flowers that my mother owned—the petals so rigid, so unlike the real ones. Also, the way the old Zenith TV set we owned smelled as I would get close to the screen and examine its static. I still remember the way each knob felt, depending on whether I was turning the VHF or UHF channels. Obviously that's from the opoponax resin (just kidding).
Remember, kids:
Natural fragrant materials may give the perception of synthetic smells.
Synthetic fragrant materials may give the perception of natural smells.
My parents never discovered those indentations on that yellow window sill.
Dead Air somehow brought up this memory. It suggests this beautiful stagnancy, the smell of an abandoned apparatus of time: a little sweet, a little saline, muzzy and not clearly defined, in a corner, undisturbed. I immediately recognized davana oil in its opening, one of my favorite materials. It smells of dried fruit fermented into liqueur: currants, elderberries, prunes. Then the herbaceous, woody camphor, which is in the bloodline of the artemisia family plants to which Davana belongs, starts to surface. In Dead Air, it blurs into the licorice-fennel-celeriac scent of lovage root. Then there is oakwood absolute, giving the impression of an old wooden barrel that once stored whiskey. Fresh or stale? It doesn't matter, I like it.
Whatever that is floral here is not strongly outlined enough to be immediately recognizable, and it lends to the satisfying obscurity of Dear Air. There is nothing to really hold onto, and I find it perfectly acceptable, the elements drifting in a haze, sort of like when you notice floaters in your vision when looking up to a clear blue sky. I am then reminded of these ivy--patterned drapes that were in my living room (we called it the "parlor" here in Massachusetts), hiding in them, imagining I was hiding in a maze of vines. Or the smell of these peculiar plastic fake flowers that my mother owned—the petals so rigid, so unlike the real ones. Also, the way the old Zenith TV set we owned smelled as I would get close to the screen and examine its static. I still remember the way each knob felt, depending on whether I was turning the VHF or UHF channels. Obviously that's from the opoponax resin (just kidding).
Remember, kids:
Natural fragrant materials may give the perception of synthetic smells.
Synthetic fragrant materials may give the perception of natural smells.
A niche fragrance that I am happy to pay a high price tag for. The longevity is solid, and the sillage is moderate. It is ultra versatile, sweet yet clean, marine foward but not fishy, and very unique. Though if I must make a comparison, the combination of juicy, fruity and clean unisex fragrance like this reminds me of MFK gentle fluidity silver, not similar at all, but they serve the same purpose.
