Hey, get that couple dancing. Her latin rhythms hot and slippery as a bourbon kiss, his rock energy thrusting towards her like an ICBM. They’re one explosive unit; the floor can scarcely hold ‘em. Something’s gonna give for sure. “Break On Through (To The Other Side)”.
“Soul Kitchen” is a lush with a couple too many brandies blurring the pain of one-night regret. Eyeliner smudged, lipstick smeared, she’s swirling, swaying slightly behind the beat of a Booker T & The MGs knock-off.
Peace, brother. “Crystal Ship” is a priestly acolyte, all white robes and beatific smile but that bright-eyed stare is somehow unsettling; there but not here. Take a trip on android acid.
Strolling down Sunset, late afternoon, check those legs! It’s “Twentieth Century Fox”, red leather boots and matching shoulder bag swinging. Decked out in groovy clothes and basking in the heat of possessive misogyny, still she’s not gonna take it lying down. Go girl.
Wanna channel Bertolt Brecht and Kurt Weil? Get some carousel keyboard, clangy six-string, loose backing chorus. Part skipping celebration, part drunken lurch, “Alabama Song (Whiskey Bar)” is a patron to be avoided. Bowie done it better.
Here’s the fire-juggling circus shaman, spinning his keyboard arc-flames mesmerisingly yet still managing to leer at the ladies in the front row. C’mon baby, “Light My Fire”. He’s skilled and insistent; you’ll take him on his own sleight of hand terms or not at all. If you’re not exhausted at the end of the show, his caravan is just behind the reptile cage.
Oh Yeah, we’re the real thing. White boys playin’ the blues just like it should be played. In the sticky nights of mid-sixties LA. Chopping organ, studied guitar riff, dramatic wails out front. Oh honey, I’m your “Back Door Man”. Trust me.
“I Looked At You” and you looked at me and we wrote a pop song full of vacuous lyrics, forgotten quicker than our brief romance.
You’re not sure how much of what you’ve ingested. Things are mellow and woozy; there’s a sweet heady smell drifting in through the open patio doors. Might be Havana Gold, might be magnolia. Your head is kinda undulating. Someone’s playing soulful slide in the next room. Or is it a record? The sky is blushing; it’s the “End Of The Night”.
Are you spontaneous? Do you “Take It As It Comes”? Or maybe just another lonely person dancing to a nameless song at the disco, hoping you’ll find the courage to do something new but knowing you won’t. You won’t.
Transcended by an apocalyptic future, “The End” truly is the beginning. A psychotic fugue of portents and pretence; no-one knows who is the real magician and who the pretender. Eastern guitar and Asian images inseparable from this song, this terminal debut.
The Doors - The Doors Label: Elektra Released: January 4, 1967 Duration: 43:05
JIM MORRISON vocals RAY MANZAREK organ, piano, bass ROBBY KRIEDGER guitar JOHN DENSMORE drums FRANCIS F. COPPOLA cultural heft
The Doors is a powerful debut. Confession: I don’t particularly like the band, yet I really enjoyed revisiting this album. A 1967 LP that still talks the talk and swaggeringly walks the walk.