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Some feel that Pierre Bourdon's Kouros should've been quarantined to the 80s. While it arrives like a hairy-knuckled punch to the face, indignant cries that it's rude and repellant are overlooking the elegance of its drama – a duel between the comely florals and spices (rose, carnation, cinnamon, clove) and its stinky animalics (civet, musks). Bourdon exploits here the implicit confession in a bar of soap: I'm dirty in the first place. A prominent honey note undulates between the floral-sweet and urinous-sour, while a hushed incense offers the fragrance a churchy inflection and vaguely Manichean air, as if there's more at stake than personal hygiene.
03rd August, 2012