I found this fragrance by John Pegg to be a disconcerting and strangely affecting scent. I have sampled all of his work to date and enjoyed his tenacity and olfactive alchemy. Not everything has come off; you can sense the experimentation and challenges in the blends of materials and creativity. Certain notes smell untamed, clawing away from themes and structures. Some formulae feel a little too grainy and unfinished. But John’s imagination is an extraordinary thing, building scent upon scent in his self-taught mind and just doing it, fuck opinion. Dirty Flower Factory, his most floral and unusual composition to date is a compelling blend of blue-collar romance, yearning and acquiescence.
It is the guy heading homeward after a long shift on the car
assembly line. It’s late; he’s exhausted, stained and craving love and quiet
comfort. He buys flowers, any flowers on the way, from some small late night
brightly lit store and heads back home to his girl. She kisses his rough, ashen
face and holds the blooms to her nose. In the subdued light of their traffic
lit rooms, she smells oil, grease, dirt on petal and stem.
‘…All flowers should smell
like this…’ she says, touching his weary skin.