Be on the lookout for a new feature coming very soon called, “The Song Guides Present…” I asked my paid subscribers to be the guides to my seeker and help direct me where to go next with some deep dive listening of artists that maybe you and I aren’t as familiar with as we should be. I got a couple of great suggestions to start, so I can’t wait to write about my experiences communing with these artists’ works! And if you’d like to play along, start listening to the catalogs of Jason Ringenberg and Daisy the Great! It should be a lot of fun. It may be a minute before I get to publishing these, because I really want to delve into their work before I write anything, so thanks for your patience. And if you want to be a guide, sign up for a paid subscription and send me your suggestions!
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I follow a lot of Facebook groups related to The Band. And inevitably the debate that comes up every so often is, “Who do you side with? Robbie or Levon?”
Yes, this post will be about The Doors, but let’s first do a quick recap of how everything became a mess with The Band and eventually we’ll connect it to Jim and Co.
The first three albums by The Band are up there as one of the greatest three album runs, as well as one of the greatest first three albums, in the history of rock and roll music. They honed their craft and became a tight unit supporting rockabilly legend Ronnie Hawkins. And they continued on as The Hawks without him for awhile and ended up famously backing Dylan on his chaotic first electric dates.
And when it came time to get off the road and hang with Dylan up in the Catskills, making music that started in familiar territories of ancient folk songs, they also began to trod new territory…finding their own identity, drawing on all of their experiences and influences. They largely created those first three albums as one unit, one Band.
Do you remember that VH1 show, “Behind the Music”? Every episode was pretty much the same. A band rises to prominence through grit and brotherhood and builds a following and has a few hit records. Then…cue the B roll footage of mountains of coke…fame tears its ugly head and the bands fall apart. It usually includes some sound bites from a rundown looking former member or two, speaking both wistfully and bitterly about it all. The Band’s story very well could be the template for this series.
Levon wrote a bitter account of the downfall of The Band in his memoir, This Wheel’s On Fire. It basically characterizes Robbie Robertson as a selfish, thoughtless villain who unfairly took all songwriting credits for himself, pursuing his Hollywood ambitions and leaving the brotherhood in the dust.
Robbie told a different story in his memoir, Testimony, which basically said that he would have kept going but the others were just too distracted by drugs. And that he gave credit for the songs where it was due, but in reality, he was doing all of the heavy lifting while the others self-destructed. He broke up The Band for the health of The Band and himself.
Levon famously said “I Ain’t in it for My Health”, and Ain’t in it For My Health became the title of a posthumously released documentary about his celebrated later life second act. A lot of the documentary has a triumphant feel to it, but much of it is pretty heavy. And it doesn’t shy away from the fact that he was still pretty bitter about The Band.
Robbie also released a documentary, which was largely about the rise and fall of The Band, called, Once Were Brothers. He speaks with a bit of both sadness and nostalgia about The Band, but also with an air of, “I did what I had to do for self-preservation.”
Both are really great films that I recommend highly. And I suppose there’s truth to be found in both of their accounts. There’s probably also a bit of exaggeration and/or ego shielding in both accounts. It’s hard to say where the real truth lands. Sadly it doesn’t matter anymore. They are both gone now.
And here’s where we start to transition to The Doors, because what bothers me most about Robbie’s film is that apart from Garth Hudson, who seemed to stay out of the drama, the other members of The Band weren’t alive to defend themselves. It’s easy to seem like the authority on a situation when the other key players have nothing more to add.
And yeah, it was Robbie’s story to tell, so if he wasn’t ready until that moment, he wasn’t ready until that moment. That’s his prerogative. It doesn’t make it any less uncomfortable though.
And here’s where Oliver Stone did ol’ Jim dirty. His ‘90s biopic, The Doors is an unequivocal hatchet job on Morrison’s legacy. I’d argue it was the beginning of the end for the legacy of the group, who up until that point and for slightly afterwards too, was absolutely everywhere.
Stone painted him as a violent, sadistic egomaniac, whose artistic endeavors were just smug, self-serving acts of an insecure fame-seeker. It paints him as a two dimensional cartoon character. And it paints him at the end as a sad, isolated addict, posing as a poet, but actually inhabiting the broken body of a washed up fraud.
Keyboardist Ray Manzarek said that he watched the film and had no idea who the character of Jim was, because it bore zero resemblance to the person he knew—a sensitive artist, a gentle soul, a boundary pushing artist, an actual poet. He tried to clarify that much of what Jim was purported to have done in the movie never actually happened.
And let’s face it, every biopic takes some creative license with the story of the subject(s) in order to serve the narrative of the film. Stone wasn’t the first to do it and certainly wasn’t the last.
But one of the things that Oliver Stone did that you really have no business doing with your creative license, is he not only changed the timeline and the details of the events, but he did so in a way that served HIS story, and not the subject’s actual character. He changed the particulars, but also the person.
Look, I’m not here to say Jim was a saint. He wasn’t. The shirtless, beaded, Christ-pose Morrison became a trope for rock and roll excess and egoism, while also becoming the blueprint for deifying rock stars, which is icky to say the least.
And yes, Morrison got pulled into his addictions and was surrounded by enablers and hanger-oners who never had his best interests at heart. He died in a bathtub in Paris of a heart attack, undoubtedly tied to years of substance abuse. Although there is a faction that would tell you he faked his death to become an unknown poet and now lives on a secluded island with Tupac and Kurt Cobain.
Jim Morrison became a clown in the public eye. So when the Lester Bangs character in Almost Famous says, “Jim Morrison was a drunken buffoon,” it is already accepted as so and merely serves to reinforce the dead man’s public persona.
Jim couldn’t defend himself. His bandmates could and certainly tried to, but the power of film can’t be denied. No one really talks about Jim anymore. The Doors aren’t on the radio like they once were. They are more like a rock and roll punchline. Cut to the VH1 B Roll of a stumbling frontman slurring terrible poetry before collapsing and cutting to B Roll of ambulance lights.
The Doors were one of my, if not my very favorite band, for much of my late teens and early 20s. They just seemed so different than anything else I’d heard. The one guy is playing blues riffs, and the drummer is playing jazz and bossa nova beats, and that organ sounds straight out of a Beach Boys song. But then the growling, screaming singer is singing about death, destruction, and Dionysian depravity. It was so uncomfortable, but so intriguing for a young small town kid just coming into his own and curious about the worlds and ideas that lived in a different dimension than the smallness of rural Illinois.
Because of The Doors, I became interested in literature and poetry. Say what you will about the quality of some of Jim’s attempts at poetry, it was still poetry and it still gave kids entry into different worlds from their own. And at least he was brave enough to lay it out on the page. Artists make a lot of shitty work in addition to the great stuff. Due to Jim’s superstardom and how he died as a young man, we just happen to have access to pretty much all of it because people loved The Doors and the mythology of Jim.
That first Doors album is an absolute masterpiece. And their whole catalog doesn’t get the love it deserves. I suppose Jim’s “antics” and his demise overshadowed the work.
But let me speak to the “antics” for a bit. Jim was an artist in every sense of the word. He committed his life to breaking boundaries and exposing (no pun intended…if you don’t get it, do a quick search of “Jim Morrison, Miami”) the depths of the human condition.
At one point he became fascinated with confrontational art, which maybe rock and roll crowds weren’t ready for. You buy tickets to a rock and roll show and you want to hear the band play, “Light My Fire” and now the frontman is calling you a fucking idiot. He’s egging you on. He’s not going to give you your radio hit, but is prodding you, challenging you, “What are you gonna do about it “
America has a weird relationship, historically speaking with art and artists. Some of the great art of the last few centuries comes from America, but many would rather their tax dollars fund endless wars than help fund arts and artists. Many will claim to be defenders of the Constitution, but when their sensibilities are upset by a controversial piece of art, they suddenly jump to fascist inclinations that say, “nah…is free speech really that important? Let’s ban what we don’t like!”
Jim Morrison got caught in the crosshairs of those opposing tendencies. And on top of that, it was the ‘60s, when a lot of traditional American values were rapidly changing, so it was an absolute powder keg ready to blow. And partly, the push back he received from the public and from law enforcement folks, is partly what led to his decline. No, you can’t blame it all on that. Unfortunately he pushed the boundaries of substances way farther than any human ever should. But it’s worth noting that there are accounts of his depression related to the Miami obscenity charges (see exposure reference above).
From everything I’ve read about Morrison, and I’ve read a fair amount, is that at his core he was a shy, sensitive, curious artist. Like many a famous public tragic figures, I don’t think it’s a stretch to speculate that some of his substance abuse was related to the need to feel the confidence boost that drugs and alcohol provide. Yes, obviously he was a fan of Blake and his ilk and their philosophy of the obliteration of the senses to find the real truths of the universe. But sensitive people fall into the traps of substances because they need to occasionally dull the pain of human life and all of the insecurity that comes with it. I think Jim had both impulses inside of him.
I don’t think Jim was a clown or a buffoon or a violent egomaniac. By most accounts, though he did become unpredictable and unstable in his later years, he was trying to make his way as an artist and an imperfect being who now had to live with the realities of his choices and a world that maybe didn’t understand him. As I’ve said, he wasn’t perfect, by any means, but I don’t think the broad brush that has been used to create a Jim-esque caricature of the man comes close to being truthful or fair.
Do with The Doors what you like, but do it based on the music. I’m not The Doors fan I once was, it’s true. I think they are a great band to discover in your teens and twenties because they can help you into a path of discovery that can serve as an introduction to what larger artistic worlds have to offer. It’s maybe not as challenging as say, starting with The Velvet Underground, but more challenging than say, Led Zeppelin or something. Do kids care about any of these bands anymore? Maybe I’m dating myself.
But at the same time, I think I’m being influenced by the common things people say about The Doors. Maybe it’s time to revisit it and see how I relate to it. Maybe it actually is still poetic. Maybe there are traces of that intriguing darkness coming out of the California sun that is still relevant and exciting.
Here’s what I do know that maybe has been the point that has always been overshadowed due to the question of Jim and, “was he an actual poet or just a drunken buffoon”…
These were some supremely talented and creative musicians. When they clicked as a unit, they could transport you into a groove that few others then and since have been able to do. It’s all of those styles of the individual musicians that, though very different, somehow came together in an exciting fashion. It was so unique and singular of a sound that I can’t think of anyone remotely similar.
The song “Peace Frog” is the only one I hear with any regularity anymore, which is odd. It’s sort of the phenomenon of Queen’s song, “Don’t Stop Me Know”. I didn’t hear these songs ever when I was younger, but then they sort of just appeared. And now they’re the ones that are enduring the most.
But “Peace Frog” is a great illustration of a full band song, rather than just a Jim showcase. It’s so funky. And it’s hard to be funky when you don’t have a bass player, but Ray had those two keyboards on the organ and could play the melody and the bass part at the same time. And the sound of that organ! You hear two notes and know it’s The Doors.
Robby Krieger’s solo on this song is so weird, but shows his incredible technique. He’s the only member of The Doors that I’ve ever seen live, and man, what a player. The guy has the chops to play just about anything. These notes have no business sounding good together, but somehow they do.
John Densmore propels the funky rhythm forward and is the perfect ensemble player. In the fashion of a jazz cat, he listens and finds a way to accent and emphasize his bandmates, rather than being showy. It doesn’t mean he isn’t spectacular. He doesn’t get the credit he deserves.
And Jim is in great voice and is singing about “blood in the streets” and the voice cuts through the generations. Partly you have no idea what he’s singing about, and partly you know exactly what he’s singing about. It’s mysterious, but obvious. It’s dark, but danceable. It’s joy mixed with a creeping sense of unease. If that isn’t the story of America, I don’t know what is.
And with all of their contradictions, it makes The Doors the perfect representation of the highs and lows of America and the American Dream. Of course they’re from LA. Of course there’s poetry. But of course there’s tragedy. Of course it’s cool. Of course it’s cringey. She lives on Love Street around strange people during strange days. Mr. Mojo Risin’? I am the Lizard King? What sort of nonsense is that? But still it’s sort of cool when he says it.
It’s all a mess of contradiction that won’t ever truly resolve itself. What happened? Who knows? What could have been? Maybe nothing more than what was already said.
What do we do with Jim Morrison and The Doors? I don’t really know other than to say, let’s strip away the mythology and tired tropes and just listen. I believe there’s still something there to hear.
I was also a big Doors fan in college, but hadn't listened to them in ages. When we were in Petrified National Forest a few years ago, we were driving through the landscape just before sunset and saw a large rainstorm sweeping across the horizon. Ray said "can you put on Riders in the Storm?" so we queued it up, and man did that song hit absolutely perfect in that moment. This was a great writeup and now I'm gonna revisit more of their songs.
We had that first Doors album. They made a real impression on me as a kid, and I was heartbroken when Jim Morrison died. I never saw the Stone movie, so I never saw him as a buffoon, just another performer gone too soon, like Janis and Jimi. As I was reading this, I thought about another performer, Gordon Lightfoot, whose alcohol abuse profoundly affected his behavior and nearly destroyed his legacy before he got sober (some cringeworthy interactions with audiences--he was a mean drunk). We still tend to not see addiction as a disease rather than a character flaw.