The Doors slam on 40 Music
Morrison’s spirit hovers over anniversary gig in L.A.
By Solvej Schou
Associated Press
“I miss Jim as a friend. Artistically, he was a great poet,” Manzarek said over the phone. “That’s why we put the band together in the first place, to marry poetry and rock ’n’ roll, like the beatniks married poetry and jazz.”
Morrison’s image, of course, will forever remain that of a hip, young voice of a generation. While impossible to know how the ensuing years might have changed that, Krieger, in a phone interview, offered his thoughts.
“Jim Morrison was not the kind of guy who would get old gracefully,” Krieger posited. “He would kind of be a mess. I wish he was still here, and I wish we were still making music.”
Self-described No. 1 Doors fan and collector Ida Miller, who runs the site www.idafan.com, stood in the VIP tent behind the Whisky watching videos of a young, lush-mouthed Morrison.
“The first time I saw Jim, I haven’t been right since,” said the smiling 59-year-old, who saw the group five times, starting in 1968. “I never got tired of the Doors.”
Twenty-one-year-old Kevin Bloomberg would agree.
The lanky, long-haired guitarist crushed into the packed Whiskey to see Krieger, who hosted a listening party earlier in the evening of the band’s new “Perception” box set, due out Nov. 21.
Wearing a ripped black Doors T-shirt, which he had Krieger sign, Bloomberg gushed about meeting the slight-of-build musician.
“It’s like my soul became one,” he said. “My parents were into the Doors, so I got into them.”
Just next to the Whisky, at the Cat Club – formerly the London Fog, where the Doors first played – a line of admirers snaked around the sidewalk to greet Manzarek, who hosted a mini-version of the Doors’ Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and Museum exhibit opening next year.
Appropriately, the night ended on musical notes.
Incense curled through the hot air as audience members sat and soaked in Densmore’s spiritually minded acoustic poetry performance.
Linkin Park singer Chester Bennington and Former Jane’s Addiction singer Perry Farrell joined in with parts of Morrison’s “An American Prayer” and other poetry, backed by members of Farrell’s new band, Satellite Party.
Later, the two singers turned up the volume at the Whisky with Krieger and Manzarek, aided by Satellite Party members and former Guns N’ Roses guitarist Slash.
As a bespectacled Manzarek pounded his keyboard, Krieger jammed on his guitar.
Though neither Bennington or Farrell could rival Morrison’s stage furor, and Densmore’s absence was felt, the joyful attempt brought the Whisky to roars of approval – mirroring earlier words of wisdom from Manzarek.
“You play music as long as you can breathe. When you stop breathing is when you stop playing rock and roll. Rock and roll will never die. It will always be, it will always go down in history.”
It was pure poetry as Doors rock Whisky
WEST HOLLYWOOD, CALIF. (Nov 10, 2006)
The Doors last played the Sunset Strip's Whisky a Go Go on Aug. 21, 1966, and lead singer Jim Morrison's rebellious, shamanistic shouts burned memories into the audience.
The group, whose sound helped define the 1960s, was fired by the famous club that night -- Morrison, keyboardist Ray Manzarek, drummer John Densmore, and guitarist Robby Krieger. They never played the Whisky again, until Wednesday.
The rock band's remaining three members, all grey-haired and in their '60s, celebrated the group's 40th anniversary, including a thunderous performance at the Whisky by Manzarek, Krieger and guest musicians. The repertoire included such Doors anthems as L.A. Woman and Light My Fire.
Densmore, estranged from his former bandmates after a lawsuit over use of the group's name, showed up at the club, but did not play.
Earlier in the night, the 61-year-old Densmore expertly beat hand drums and joyfully read snippets of Morrison's darkly sexual and quasi-political poetry down the street at Book Soup. The bookstore fills the site of Morrison's old stomping ground, Cinematique 60.
All three Doors members signed copies of the newly released coffee-table book The Doors by The Doors.
"To honour whatever creative muse came to us, gifted to us, I do these things. Ray and Robby, whether we're having a rift right now, are musical brothers. I thought if we lasted 10 years, that would be something. Forty? Really? Jeez,'' Densmore said in a recent phone interview.
Hundreds of fans, from parents toting kids to starry-eyed 21-year-olds and aging rockers, were ecstatic at meeting their idols, even without the larger-than-life presence of Morrison, who died of heart failure in 1971 at age 27 after years of hard living.
"I miss Jim as a friend. Artistically, he was a great poet,'' Manzarek said over the phone. "That's why we put the band together in the first place, to marry poetry and rock 'n' roll, like the beatniks married poetry and jazz.''
Morrison's image will forever remain that of a hip, young voice of a generations. While impossible to know how the ensuing years might have changed that, Krieger, in a phone interview, offered his thoughts.
"Jim Morrison was not the kind of guy who would get old gracefully,'' Krieger posited. "He would kind of be a mess. I wish he was still here, and I wish we were still making music.''
Just next to the Whisky, at the Cat Club -- formerly the London Fog, where the Doors first played -- a line of admirers snaked around the sidewalk to greet Manzarek, who hosted a mini-version of the Doors' Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and Museum exhibit opening next year.
Incense curled through the hot air as audience members sat and soaked in Densmore's spiritually minded acoustic poetry performance.
Linkin Park singer Chester Bennington and Former Jane's Addiction singer Perry Farrell joined in with parts of Morrison's An American Prayer and other poetry.
Later, the two singers turned up the volume at the Whisky with Krieger and Manzarek, aided by former Guns N' Roses guitarist Slash.
As a bespectacled Manzarek pounded his keyboard, Krieger jammed on his guitar.
Though neither Bennington or Farrell could rival Morrison's stage presence, and Densmore's absence was felt, the joyful attempt brought the Whisky to roars of approval -- mirroring earlier words of wisdom from Manzarek.
"You play music as long as you can breathe. When you stop breathing is when you stop playing rock 'n' roll. Rock 'n' roll will never die. It will always be, it will always go down in history.''
Rewind the Whisky and put it on repeat
Well, I woke up this morning and I got myself a beer. The refrigerator lightbulb was flashing in the dank kitchen like a scene from a bad horror film. The ambient buzz humming in the darkness. The pre-hangover migraine threatening, I drunkenly snapped the cap off the frosty bottle and sauntered my way back up the stairs, the rails swaying to and fro to the beat of the deceptively sultry bassline snaking through the floorboards. Something's oddly reminiscent, like a sour case of dj vu. My walls aren't black.
The sign read 'V.I.P.' only. A neon circus ring was hula-hooping around my wrist while a power-hungry piss-ant in Gucci shrilled on about capacity limits. The sidewalk is putting Astaire to shame. Damned lightbulb flashes. I see the sign. The line moves. I swerve through the space in the glossy tent, strategically avoiding the clumps of mediocrely attractive, mid-level power players and posers, clinging to the misty atmosphere and frosty beer in my hand. I stir. Red licorice straw. Beer. Three hours until showtime, trapped in an entrance-only tent filled with two things: people and an open bar.
The concrete stairs are sliding like peanut butter across celery. I pull the nimble Turkish Silver out of its sleeping bag and spark. The smoking section is stifling with white burdens hanging in the grey air. I break on through to the other side, putting out the stick on the refrigerator door handle, neon flashing, people buzzing, darkness careening, music. 10:21 p.m. Four drinks, please. I leave the bigtop and head to the floor.
The Whisky. On the rocks, easy on the ice. The stage radiates a red-light district fog of sweet promise and wonder. "You stage dive, you go home." Black T-shirts abound in the sea of senior citizen hippies, dolled-up Heineken drinkers and suave rockers with studs. It's nearly pulsating now, becoming a mythical siren of energy and anticipation with CDs nearly distorting over the house PA system. It twitches. Suddenly spacetime starts to peel like wallpaper, curling at the edges. Bad jump cuts. Drink. Door handle. The lights dim. The Men in Charge shuffle dark bodies onto the glowing stage. It's so loud, you could hear a pin drop.
The calm before the storm.
Suddenly the stage explodes into "Roadhouse Blues," with my hands up on the wheel. Perry Ferrell of Jane's Addiction channels Morrison as Slash - cigarette in mouth - wails viciously on the guitar, his face hiding behind the safety of his dark curls. The cowboy hat. The jump cuts. The world peels a little more as Chester from Linkin Park splits the stage with Ferrell. But it's the music that entranced the Whisky. John Densmore was the ominous heartbeat, owning the drum kit like he was a tom-tom himself. Fortieth Anniversary reunions and open bars, all diffusing nostalgia into the electric blue sound waves though the pot-filled air. Keyboardist Ray Manzarek lights my fire with the opening keys. I melt. Then it happens. The walls peel, the music breaks, the lights explode red and white incandescence into the blissful mayhem - Robby Krieger fires up the guitar into a 10-minute jam mid-bridge. The guitars duel to the death, the toms on the brink of collapse and Ray is wrangling it all behind pounding, beige keys.
The soul kitchen staircase flinches like it has a case of the goose bumps. I polish off breakfast, recycling the bottle as I walk out the front door into reality. Flash. The plastic wristband reminds how far The Doors can swing open on an unassuming Wednesday in Tinseltown.
Kaitlyn Thornton's column, "Carnivorous Posies," runs Fridays. To comment on this article, e-mail opinions@dailytrojan.com.
Feuding band Doors reunites to promote CDs, book
The Doors' drummer John Densmore (L) and Satellite Party guitarist Nuno Bettencourt (2nd R) and Perry Farrell (R) perform at a Hollywood bookstore during The Doors 40th anniversary celebration in Hollywood November 8, 2006
By Dean Goodman Tue Nov 7, 3:27 PM ET
LOS ANGELES (Reuters) - Just like the Doors song, these are some "Strange Days" for the feuding survivors of the 1960s rock band, who are celebrating the 40th anniversary of their first album while waging a protracted legal battle.
ADVERTISEMENT
Drummer
John Densmore, guitarist
Robby Krieger and keyboardist
Ray Manzarek will temporarily bury the hatchet on Wednesday. They have agreed to promote jointly a new book and CD boxed set during separate appearances at three locations on the Sunset Strip in Los Angeles, their old stomping grounds.
Densmore, who successfully sued Manzarek and Krieger to stop them touring as The Doors of the 21st Century, will be at a book store on one side of the street, his estranged colleagues at clubs on the other side.
If they agree on one thing, it's that it is a coincidence they aren't scheduled to appear together. Still, it does seem a metaphor for the split in a band that along with charismatic late singer Jim Morrison embraced the peace and love ethos of the '60s
Densmore, 61, and Manzarek, 67, said in separate interviews that they do not communicate with each other. (A publicist declined to make Krieger, 60, available.)
"These things happen in a rock 'n' roll band. If you stay together long enough in a rock 'n' roll band, something will go wrong," said Manzarek, who lives the life of a country gentleman in the Napa Valley, near San Francisco.
Densmore said there's no bad blood at his end, "... but yeah, on his ..."
He was referring to an appeal filed by Manzarek, along with Krieger, of last year's Los Angeles court decision that ordered the pair not only to stop touring as the Doors of the 21st Century -- they now call themselves Riders of the Storm, after another Doors song -- but to turn over all touring profits to the original Doors partnership.
The partnership includes the three survivors, as well as the estates of Morrison and his common-law wife Pamela Courson, who died in 1971 and 1974, respectively.
"Time is an incredible healer," Densmore said. "The stupid appeal should wind up in a year or so."
CLOSE THE DOORS
Densmore said he only wanted to ensure the sanctity of the Doors name. He did not want it to be associated with an oldies act playing county fairs. He also wields his veto to block lucrative deals to license Doors songs, such as "Break On Through," for TV commercials.
He wouldn't mind getting a settlement check from the other two, just so that he can pay his legal bills.
Manzarek declined to discuss the litigation in detail, but said the democratic arrangement of the Doors partnership, instituted at Morrison's behest in their early days, benefits Densmore in other ways. All songwriting royalties are split evenly four ways, and Densmore was a non-songwriter.
"That's the way it is, man," Manzarek said.
Densmore describes himself as "an ensemble guy" who allowed Morrison to shine during his poetic ramblings on such songs as "The End," Five to One" and "When the Music's Over."
To be sure, the infighting in the Doors does not exactly rival the festering hostility within the Beatles organization or the Beach Boys. And the fans don't seem to mind. A spokeswoman said the Doors sell between 1 million and 2 million albums worldwide annually, and cumulative sales approach 90 million units.
The new boxed set, "Perception," due in stores November 21, boasts six CDs and six DVDs. Among the previously unreleased gems is video footage of the Doors recording their cover of bluesman John Lee Hooker's "Crawling King Snake" in 1971.
The newly released book, "The Doors by the Doors," features a "Rashomon" view of the band, both from its members, and from outsiders. Morrison's father, retired
U.S. Navy Adm. George Morrison, who joined Densmore in his lawsuit, even breaks his lifelong silence to contribute some musings about his son.