The moment I smelled it, I knew the character.
For years I had been searching for this particular style of old Malaysian oud. I had experienced something similar only in a few exceptional oils from high-end artisanal perfumers, and I always wanted to have that character in my own collection.
So when she finally offered it to me, I bought everything she was willing to sell.
The oil had already been distilled in 2008, from what I understand to be wild Malaysian agarwood.
Today, after eighteen years of aging, its character is even more remarkable.
Don’t expect the bright sweetness commonly associated with many Malaysian oils.
This is darker.
There is fruit, but it is a dark, bitter fruitiness rather than sweetness. There is smoke, an almost tobacco-like depth, and underneath it all, a beautiful powderiness that age has slowly rounded.
But there is one description that always comes back to me whenever I smell it.
It doesn’t smell like oil.
It smells like dark resin.
Dense, bitter, smoky resin, almost as though the resinous heart of an old piece of wild Malaysian agarwood had somehow been liquefied and placed inside the bottle.
That character has become increasingly difficult for me to find.
I don’t know the exact forest or region in Malaysia where this wood originated, and I would rather leave that unknown than create a story around something I cannot confirm.
What I do know is what is inside the bottle.
And after all these years of smelling Malaysian oud, I am confident that finding this same old-school character today has become extraordinarily difficult.
This oil also became the foundation of Malaysian Jusk. When I wanted an oud capable of standing beside deer musk, jasmine and orris, this was the Malaysian I chose.
But by itself, it tells an even simpler story.
Wild Malaysian oud.
Distilled in 2008.
Kept for years.
Passed to me through someone who once supplied my father.
And a smell that, to me, is becoming increasingly difficult to find again.
Not simply oud oil. Dark Malaysian resin, preserved in time.
