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I was sent a sample of this by a friend as a much more palatable take on Tonnare by Beaufort. Other than the smoke, and the naval, military battle references, I don't get the connection particularly. Tonnare is a brutal mess of hairspray, seaspray, oppressive smoke and antique violence, This is for sure much more palatable, yet it's not particularly great, and not my cup o tea. The smoked ham/flint sort of note, swelling and pervading then retreating and revealing a much friendlier aspect. It's labdanum and sweeter toned perfume department stuff, accented with greens and a kind of incense accord. I get why my friend likes it. It's not heavy smoke, this is predominantly a resinous perfume with birch/guaiac phenolics over the top, a way more accessible, entery level, use of the smoky stuff, but if you like that you might find it a bit wanting, craving some more balls. Frankly I like my smokey perfumes to be even more subtley suggestive than this even, I think you can conjure smoke without having to go reaching for the birch tar or cade. In anycase revolution dries down much less smoky to me, far more perfumey and familiar It's a like. I can see what Lynn Harris has done here, not an avid though.
The ambitious, possibly deranged brief for this fragrance is that it's supposed to evoke the streets of Paris during the French revolution: smoke, gunpowder, houses ablaze, crazed horses and desperate riders, the leather of boots and saddles, oil for muskets and sabres, and touch of incense from churches offering sanctuary and promising peace after the terror. That’s a lot of drama for a perfume, and it really does feel torrid, rebellious, and uncompromising, but with an undercurrent of mystery and luxury. There’s an overpowering blast of dry, woody smoke off the top that’s a little acrid but also resinous, warm, sweet, and almost savoury—it could be gunpowder and burning buildings, but it has a touch of campfire and bbq, perhaps from the aromatic elemi, angelica, and juniper, which come close to suggesting grilled meat when combined with the flinty and fleshy smells of leather, birch tar, and cade oil. (Speaking of which, the official pyramid on this perfume seems frankly misleading—how can Lyn Harris possibly be wringing all this leather and smoke out of the five listed notes here: Elemi, Angelica, Papyrus, Juniper, and Cedarwood?) Moreover, once the ashy haze starts to clear, the warm, clean sweetness of a refined liturgical incense starts to emerge (I would swear it’s olibanum) and the leathery aroma starts to feel more like the bindings of antique books or the upholstery of polished mahogany furniture. The papyrus note begins to suggests the faintly musty, tobacco-ish sweetness of aging pages. All of a sudden, you find that you’re watching the street battle at a remove, from behind the sheltering walls of an elegant monastic library. At this point, Revolution starts to feel quite similar to another Trudon fragrance, Yann Vasnier’s Mortel, which is a delicious but much more straightforward Catholic-church incense. I’m quite divided in my opinion about Revolution. On the one hand, I find the opening excessive—I really don’t want such intense smokiness, even though I find the experience of it quite intoxicating. It’s a good perfume to apply 30 minutes before you plan to be anywhere, but even in the more tranquil drydown, a touch of the ashy charcoal turmoil persists. Mortel comes close to giving you just the drydown phase of Revolution, but it lacks the mixed threat and thrill of burning and the leathery-papery suggestion of books. Both are very good, and Revolution is a seriously impressive fragrance even if I’m not sure I could wear it often.