Iranzol (1975)
by Bruno Acampora

Iranzol belongs firmly in the category of perfumes that you have to ‘get’ – that is, it makes no concessions to mainstream impressions of smelling good (while smelling exceedingly good to my nose) or how perfumes should smell. Much is made of its animalic musks but even here it busts out of the mould – I can’t think of a vintage ‘dirty’ perfume that is remotely like it. So, voyager, you’re out on the choppier reaches of the perfumed seas with this one – and if that’s a fearful prospect, do stay at home.
Opening with the scent of spring-turning-to-summer undergrowth, Iranzol has that simultaneously, bitter green-dry-fatty quality of crushed weeds, with a mulchy mushroomy scent in the background. The tonal variation is great and yes, there are florals in there – jasmine giving the oily sheen to it, the sweet throb of rose – but they are so disguised in its rugged wilderness that they matter less. Indeed many of the mentioned notes (apart from the galbanum) seem to be in disguise – is that mushroom aura really the patchouli doing its thing? – and it doesn’t matter in the least. Hints of sweaty cumin dart in and out of the broken foliage, the poisonous lactones of weed sap likewise, resins are dry and crumbly and go grrr, but in the background. Over time an impression of hay builds along with the muskiness, the wearer must provide the tumble. This is the scent of carnal nature expressing itself openly under the warming sun, it’s ragged and addictive – and, most surprisingly, through composed rather than thrown together.
(Review is for the EdP.)