Perfume Directory

Norne (2012)
by Slumberhouse


Norne information

Year of Launch2012
AvailabilityIn Production
Average Rating
(based on 106 votes)

People and companies

PerfumerJosh Lobb

About Norne

Norne is a masculine fragrance by Slumberhouse. The scent was launched in 2012 and the fragrance was created by perfumer Josh Lobb

Norne fragrance notes

Reviews of Norne

A perfume story: Review of Norne by Slumberhouse © 2016 Frankie Chocolate
(For Andy. My soon to be besty besty BFF)
I took the silver box down from the brown wooden shelf and laid it on my desk. Thanks Andy I said to my dog Logan who was in the office with me at the time eating his breakfast. Logan’s breakfast not Andy’s. Logan was having the same thing he had for dinner last night. I had no idea what Andy was having for breakfast in Switzerland but I’m sure it was nice.

Andy wasn’t there at the time but I had hopes… There is a bond between he and I the way there is between all great men and I suppose the mongrels who sniff at their feet hoping for crumbs of recognition. And if perchance one of those crumbs should fall, say in the form of the odd email those mongrels swoop up on it and show it all their friends intimating that they are fast friend and the mongrel is really a big deal so those private messages and they hope very public messages of how great they did on that last perfume review and friend requests and big boxes of chocolates should come roaring in.

The wantabee. Of course I’ll never know what it’s like to be one. Of course not. Ha ha. As if. Ha ha ha………… Ha!......... I can only imagine. But if I did imagine the wantabee is a sort or needy pirate, arrggh, who on his days off wore cheap Ogallala bay rum, didn’t shave, wore the same undershirt three days in a row and was typing from his dank basement in Berwyn but claimed he was just stepping out of the shower, wrapped in a thick luxurious white towel and onto his private terrace at the Four Season George V just a baguettes throw from Champs-Elysées in Paris and was anointed with Fougère Royale, the original from 1882 and not the cheap swill they offer today.

Mais bien sûrthis is all conjecture and supposition. Something I only imagined and could never ever ever ever have experienced. Those needy pirate types with their airs and pretenses. They don’t speak French like you and Moi and must resort to sites like Babelfish to cobble together poorly phrased and even poorer translated French idioms but just like you I already know, Leur nageoire sortira leur pretention.

They never fool me. Starved for attention, recognition and validation. NEVER! Bragging their hollow brags in opaque and poorly written tall tales about whom they know and who’s coming over for brunch.

Now I really only have a moment before Le maid comes in to straighten up for before our little soirée with Luca and Tania and Claire and Collin and Pure Caramel and of course Grant—sorry old bean but before I go I wanted to get back to the review.

My BFF Andy gave me this really swell ribbed top metal box and I only had to give him $130.00 USD. I used it to hold a gazillion of my perfume samples. I have the juice that came in it up on a darkened shelf in my Sanctum Santorum.

I slid the lid off the box and beheld my treasure trove. Never did Smaug look with greater pleasure upon his vast golden heap than I did upon my stash of tiny glass bottles. So many frags. So many stories to tell. I lovingly searched among the vials sifting through them, a Belgium diamond cutter sifting though a box of precious stones. Here. Here was a unique one. I held it up to the light. It was darker than any other, a rich deep green the color of the forest floor in the Cascade Mountains of Oregon…

I sat at the bar stool Brixie’s Mike Anvil’s favorite dive watering hole. On the other side of the bar was my friend Randish the ex-Army ranger part time bartender. One time I asked the Rand. “What does it mean you were a Ranger?” He told me, “It means I can kill you with my bare hands.” Ha ha ha. I backed away just to be out of reach of some flying dragon kick or whatever. Randish works for a Christian organization that picks up newly minted doctors and swaps their massive student loans for time on the field serving people in the name of Christ. I think he plays the barwipe just to keep an eye on needy pirate types. Argggh.

So how you today Francis? The ex-ranger asked moi. (That’s Frencheze for “me,” Collin)

Right as rain I told him. I wish I could say the same thing for your pine tree outside.

What’s wrong with my pine tree? It was a gift from me mudder.

What are you now, Jamaican?

I’m just trying out the accent for a while. Every ting be ire, eh Frankie?

Yeah. Tip top as soon as you switch back to English. American English.

Killjoy. That’s the problem with you Francis. You have no imagination.

Ain’t it so Dish. Ain’t it so.

He turned his back and when he turned around again he placed a tall frosty mug of Dad’s Root beer on a coaster before me. Dad’s or Barqs was my brand.

He switched back to American—with a proper Chicago nasal accent like every man wishes he could and continued.

So what’s wrong with my pine tree?

It looks like Charlie Brown’s Christmas tree. It’s stunted and bent to one side and there are a thousand cigarette butts around the base of it.

Mm. said the Dish.

You need to take better care of it. Look I broke off the tiniest of twigs to show you. I placed a small sprig of green needles with a drip of yellow sap on the coaster so I wouldn’t sticky up his bar.

You destroyed my mom’s pine tree?

The tiniest bit. I didn’t destroy nothing.


Rrr nothing. Pick it up and smell it. What does it remind you of?

The Dish picked it up and sniffed.


You have such a way with words I told the bar keep, sliding back a few inches just in case he had some sort of judo chop he could administer across a three foot bar.

I picked it up, closed my eyes, breathed deeply, wafting my hand in front of it in circular motions like I was trying to evoke all the subtle nuances and notes it had to offer. And yes you’re right Claire. I was a pretentious wanker but you already knew that about me—I mean moi.

Can you hear it Randish? It’s speaking to you.

All’s I can hear is the water going down the toilet behind us in the men’s room. I think someone was in there and just finishing up.

No. It’s speaking to us of the high Cascades. I was young. Nineteen. Living in a commune. We were based outta Eugene and every day for work we’d drive two hours high up into the Cascades to replant the logged off areas that Weyerhaeuser had cleared the year before. We were up so high the clouds made the tops of the mountains look like islands in a sea of white smoke. We would plant these seedling trees from pouches on our backs. They were so heavy the belt that supported them would cut into our hips giving us rose hips. It was each man’s earnest desire to get those seedlings out of their bag and into the ground. Back then we got a nickel a tree so if you put a thousand in the ground you made $50.00 a day.

When was this the Paleozoic area?

Yes, just before then in the seventies before electricity.

We were planting one day on a south ridge and we were making pretty good time when something flashed and I mean flashed by me. I only caught a glimpse but I saw a tree bag, a long beard and bare skin.

Big foot right out of the shower?

I wish. And Big Foot has got fur or a pelt or something something. This thing was stark naked.

What was it?

It was Yogurt.

What is yogurt?

I really resisted giving him a dozen pithy snarky answers on that one Andy. I really did and it was hard when they lob these marshmallows at you in slow-mo.

The essence of self-control had nothing on me as I replied, Yogurt was the name of the hippy freak that planted buck naked except for his jet-black mink oiled Vasque boots and merino wool socks. He only ate yogurt hence the name.

The planting inspector who dogged our steps and made sure we planted em deep and not j-root or too shallow told us Yogurt had planted ten season and there was no one who could match his speed and accuracy. He planted naked because it freed him up from binding and chaffing. Dude. Stay away from black berry vines.

Yogurt flashed back and forth that day then we collectively breathed a sigh of relief as he vanished into the top of an extinct volcano. I think he lived in it.

Coming back to the bar I sniffed the branch and told the dish. This sprig smells like Norne by Slumberhouse

If I refuse to ask what is a Slumberhouse you’re gonna tell me anyway aren’t you? Said the Dish.

Exactamudo Braniac! Slumberhouse is a boutique fragrance label based in the heart of Portland, Oregon which is close to or in the Cascades—I forget which. Self-taught Josh Lobb is the nose behind their creations. I got a decant of it in the car. Let me go get it.

I went and got it, came back and allowed the Dish to sniff it.

Pine he said again.

You really have a gift. Could you dig a little deeper?

He snifftered again. I smell deep wet campfire. Ash. The color is green so I smell something green. Ash. A deep incense. Thick crisp boughs of fir. Something smooth and calming…and pine.

Dude. That was eloquent. Collin himself couldn’t have done better.

Really? You mean that?

No. C.M. would have nailed it. He would have soared through the clouds and heaven’s gates would have opened up if he gave his review of this juice.

Maybe he did already?

Maybe he did but do you want to slough through all of them and find out?


Me either but let me have a crack at it would ya?

He passed the snifter over to me and I plunged in. It is the smell of wet campfire ash Randish and even more of the wet stones that held it. Here were the ashes of countless fires and the stone that had absorbed the pitch and resin from countless sputtering pine branches till the stones themselves gave off the odor of amber and pine and the green boughs that covered them.

It is the smell of the past not the future. It is a record of past deeds not future ones. Here are men of old wearing thick buffalo plaid shirts worn out jeans and brown boots with clods of dark brown clay filling the lugs sitting around the camp fires smoking and drinking and telling stories. They were barbers and soldiers and schoolteachers who for a time left the trapping of civilization loaded up the old woody and drove into the mountains for a weekend away. Maybe a bottle of Pappy Van Winkle found its way up there and was being poured out in blue enameled tin cups around the fire. Maybe it was cheap rotgut. It didn’t matter. What mattered was they were all up there like they had been for years and now maybe this was the last time so they had to make it good. Make it special because the memory had to last them the rest of their lives. They drank their whisky and the smoke and pine permeated their clothes and skin and they were men.

Frankie that was moving.

Thanks Randish. I uncorked the vial one more time and snifftered it for a final inspiration.

This smell so much like a pine tree I’m going to lavish it all over.

You only got this little vial.

I’ll lavish lightly.

Yeah well I’m go outside and clean up them butts around the tree give it a couple of Jobe tree spikes and put up a little fence around it and tell these hoodlums to keep their butts outta my mom’s tree.

Good man Stan. I’ll lavish lightly then I’m gonna then stand out side stiff like a pine tree. Mable wants squab for dinner and I think I can trick a few pigeons to land on me. Wish me luck. I should maybe get an extra few just in case Darvant or the Pope wants to swing by for a late supper.


How was that Randish?
Good idea said the bar tender through his perfectly flossed teeth. The end.
23rd January, 2016
Ahhh...pine. So very difficult to find a true pine scent that is satisfying like Norne. I wore Original Polo back in the early 80's, and loved the pine note that was present in it's compilation. Unfortunately, Polo changed and is a pale shadow of it's former self. There is nothing pale however about Norne. It reaches out and grabs my need for pine from the first spray in the morning until late in the evening after a hard day of work. The first time I put this fragrance on I was transported back to my youth. Camping in the high pine forests with my father sitting by the campfire. It almost brought a tear to my eye, and not because of the smoke from the campfire. This is such a fabulous fragrance. I am so glad I heard about Norne. Thanks to the recommendations I received right here from Bassnotes! Norne is truly a magical journey...
11th January, 2016
I've been wearing this for about 2 years now. It's the most impressive, realistic version of a deep, northern forest that I've ever come across. Dark resins and smokey wood, rich pine and conifers, and brown and green mosses come together naturally to recreate this sacred space. I have the original EDP of Norne, so I can't comment on the current extrait, however the projection and longevity is through the roof. I apply one spray and I'm set. What I really love about Norne is that despite the heavy materials and the realism behind it, it's also quite wearable. It fits the typically masculine mossy-woody-pine mold, but has so much more depth and naturalness to it. I spend part of my summer in New England, in a cabin deep in a pine forest. Norne reminds me of the cool mornings there gathering wood and lighting it in the fireplace. It brings all of those elements into perfect focus. 5 stars for my favorite offering from one of my favorite houses.

(originally written October, 2014)
26th September, 2015
Immediately this became one of my very favorites. Firstly, I've read that this is a fragrance one can only enjoy in the polite company of solitude. Respectfully, 1. Unless you're wearing Eau de Merde or positively bathing in eleventeen sprays of whatever it is you're wearing, don't worry about it. 2. The wife liked it!

Anyway, this strikes me as a mature fragrance. Not in the Matlock sense, but... it certainly doesn't say, "I'm trying to get layed in a club by wearing something unisex", but it's also neither macho nor "badass". The maturity I perceive in it is found in its depth, quality and character. Mind you, regarding those descriptors, I sincerely don't have the knowledge or experience of the many more seasoned and educated noses on here to disect and comment on the intricacies of a fragrance. This fragrance simply is what it is. It's.... Perhaps this thought simply comes from my affinity for these, but it's like this fragrance, within a wonderful family, could be the eldest brother to Polo "Green" and Esencia Loewe. Take nothing away from either, but have them go through more in life, gain more experience, spend more time out in the woods and building and fixing things but also more time in church, and there ya go. It's got woods, it's got incense.... It's... a powerful presence in its depth, as opposed to being in your face. It doesn't flex its muscles because it's neither inclined nor does it need to.

That's my take on it. Tried Jeke, wasn't big on it, but this one... it's one of those fragrances that makes me wish I had the knowledge and experience of many of the members on this site in order to speak more eloquently and with more specificity as to what exactly I'm smelling, but I just had to write something to pay humble tribute to it. Magnificent fragrance. Perhaps not for the faint of heart, but not for the tank top chest hairs and gold chain crowd either. If you feel any intrigue towards this one, at least treat yourself to a sample spray, and I hope you'll enjoy it as much as I do. Happy scenting!
26th September, 2015
From that place are girls of much wisdom,
Every day they are weaving faith and boredom!

They are alone and three, from those cold cold waters
they are sisters of a tree, and of the world are daughters.

The First young girl creates runes on a rough deal table,
the Second write the law for a legendary fable!

The Third of them knows life and reigns onto the fortunes!
They all are playing a theme in the roots of any emotions...

The tree of life they put at the center of the cosmos,
you can smell it in mind and with your heart just for osmose!

by your amazing "interesting man in conflict"

This reviewer may have conflicts of interest

22nd June, 2015
Excellent reviews here on Norne. Like other reviewers, I find Norne quite similar to Serge Lutens’ Fille en Aiguilles, which I own. Compared one to one, I think Norne is more complex and a bit better smelling. Norne has even fewer of the sweet references than Fille en Aiguilles has, and Norne is more realistic – I know because I live in a pine-spruce-fir forest. Norne is an excellent fragrance... quality materials, noteworthy performance... a daring composition. It is a must try for anyone interested in conifer fragrances.
03rd May, 2015

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