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 | marcelpilman
17 Jan 2012, 8:46 | Pop Music: Swimming To The Moon
Jan 24 1967
“I’m interested in anything about revolt, disorder, chaos, especially activity that appears to have no meaning. It seems to me to be the road toward freedom.” This twenty three year old Jim Morrison states the philosophy behind The Doors, the rock group for which he is chief songwriter and singer.
Not surprisingly, The Doors are based in Los Angeles, where they find their peciular mysticism perversely congenial. “This city is looking for a ritual to join its fragments,” says Morrison. The Doors are looking for such a ritual too – in Morrison’s words, “a sort of electric wedding.”
The search takes them not only past such familiar landmarks of the youthful odyssey as alienation and sex, but into symbolic realms of the unconscious – eerie night worlds filled with throbbing rhythms, shivery metallic tones, unsettling images. Swim to the moon, they sing, and “penetrate the evening that the city sleeps to hide.”
Preaching passion of both the metaphysical and physical order, The Doors have a style at once more plaintive and dramatic than the droning, hypnotic waves of sound such as the Jefferson Airplane and Grateful Dead. They startle and bemuse with a uniquely mournful and moody tone that shade’s Morrison’s dusky voice seamlessly into a dark textured background; the haunting organ, piano and bass of Ray Manzarek, twenty four; the sinous guitar of Robby Krieger, twenty one; the nimble drums of John Densmore, twenty two.
When The Doors finally bring of their electric wedding it may well take the form of a small scale musical play. The prototype is “The End,” their enigmatic, eleven and half minute string of visions apparently revolving around an Oedipus situation, in which Morrison portrays several roles – some behind a red mask. Last week, opening and engagement at San Francisco’s Fillmore Auditorium, they introduced “The Unknown Soldier,” and anti-war philippic with martial music, shouted commands, the loading click of a rifle, and shots mixed in with instrumental passages.
The Doors ultimately envision music with “the structure of poetic drama.” Such a forbidding structure could cramp their financial fortunes, which at the moment are wide open: Both of their albums, The Doors and Strange Days are among the top five on the sales charts; “Light My Fire” has been one of the smash singles of the year. But they don’t seem worried, since the more complex forms come closer to fulfilling their apocalyptic imagination. Says Morrison, “We hide ourselves in the music to reveal ourselves.”
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| | marcelpilman
17 Jan 2012, 8:50 | Arizona Republic
November 7 1968
Doors Rock Coliseum – But Literally
By John Sargent
The Doors swung the Memorial Coliseum wide open last night in the heaviest musical attraction during the 1968 State Fair.
Sharing the spotlight were Albert King and Sweetwater.
Phoenix pop patrons, normally a quiet and appreciative audience, last night were in constant motion until the introduction of The Doors.
Suddenly, for the first time during the night, everyone devoted their attention toward the stage.
The Doors have developed a following not commonly found by American groups. Their message remains simple but always demandingly loud.
APPEARING in shabby clothing, their presence depends on heavily upon a definite surliness. The dramatic impact of the quartets belligerence affects youth in a way demanding of respect and occasionally borders on fear.
The message of The Doors’ lyrical attitude with such songs as “Light My Fire,” and a pulsating opening ditty entitled, “Follow Me.”
While the group was playing “Light My Fire,” some members of the audience of about 10,000 threw sparklers from the balcony. Several landed on the stage, nearly hitting the performers. A young man emerged from behind the stage with a fire extinguisher and put them out.
Shortly after lead singer, Jim Morrison urged the audience to get out of their seats and clap their hands. The audience piled out of the balconies and joined others on the floor. As The Doors began playing “The Unknown Soldier,” a antiwar song, the spectators started pushing to get to the stage. Police kept them back, and the audience began showering the stage with articles of clothing.
Morrison threw many of the items back into the audience to girlish shrieks. Flowers and victory signs appeared, the microphones were briefly turned off, the Coliseum lights were turned on, The Doors completed the song and left the stage, ending the performance.
THE AUDIENCE, mostly teenagers filed out peacefully.
Musically, The Doors are unique by the very simplicity of their compositions. Consisting of guitar, organ, drums and voice, they avoid complex intricate leads, substituting strong single melody lines.
Starting off the evening was the Sweetwater gathering. The eight member unit is getting into some different musical interpretations that could prove to be a heavy winner for them.
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| | marcelpilman
17 Jan 2012, 14:29 | Denver Post
April 13 1970
By Jim Pagliasotti
6,000 At Rock Performance
IT’S ALL IN THE ACTING TO DOORS’ MORRISON
An overflow crowd of 6,000 young theatre-goers was treated to a two hour production of The Doors Sunday night at the University of Denver Arena.
Although it was billed as a concert, the show was long in drama and rather short in music. There were moments when the theatrics seemed to be a dramatization of every parent’s nightmare fantasy about rock music bands and their effect on young people.
There was this singer on stage named Jim Morrison who had been arrested for indecent exposure during a performance in Miami Beach. He didn’t do anything like that in Denver, but it added to the drama, you see.
ON HIS BACK
He began by leaping onto the stage, grunting out two lines of “Back Door Man,” spinning and falling flat on his back (whether by accident or design, he later repeated in purposely) as if struck by all the gathered voltage in the mountain amplifiers behind him, then rising in the red and purple light with a high pitched evil laugh and singing. He never missed a beat.
And out of the darkness, the audience of young girls and young men loved every minute of it. It went on like that for two hours, and the audience clapped, shouted and stomped feet and screamed for more. I’ve seen The Doors six times in the past three years and the audience reaction has been the same each time.
And I still don’t know why.
OVERWHELMING SENSUALITY
It’s all a bit like reviewing puberty rites. There is a sensuality that is nearly overwhelming, at the same time terribly ludicrous. Morrison has a charisma about him. It is his thing, an aura he has carefully nurtured. The band behind him is good support. Their music is one dimensional – rhythm for the sake of tension and release it provides Morrison, and thereby, the audience.
“The singer, not the song” is a fitting line. The Doors without Morrison would be a fairly good trio, Robby Krieger plays sparse, interesting guitar lines, Ray Manzarek is a competent organist, and John Densmore bangs out heavy, driving rhythms on drums. With Morrison, they are a lesser band but a great one.
THEATRICAL ACTOR
Jim Morrison is something for the world to behold, and contemplate. He writers terribly pretentious lyrics, (“Before I slip into the Big Sleep – I want to hear the scream of the butterfly” is one of the milder examples), his voice has a range of perhaps three quarters of an octave, his phrasing isn’t particularly good and he doesn’t even move well.
What he does is simply put it all out front. He is crude in the extreme, drinking beer on stage in huge gulps, belching into the mike, screaming indistinguishable lyrics while going through spastic contortions, straddling the mike, strangling it in a death grip, falling to the floor in agony-ecstasy throes of passion, then as quickly changing the tempo to a slow, whispered, intensely felt interpretation.
Above all, he is dramatic. It is truly theatre, with music as its pulse. He acts out the role of rock music star, larger than life, the collective emotion of a hypertense generation. The concert as catharsis.
For the parents I mentioned earlier, I should offer the opinion that it’s all completely harmless.
The Doors do a song that goes, “Break on through, break on through to the other side.” Most groups in rock have done just that, and all of us are trying. The Doors are stationary, hung in the frame of their own theatrics, but all of us, at one time or another, must pass through The Doors to get to the other side.
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