Posts Tagged ‘Robbie Krieger’

robby krieger set the night on fire

Fifty years after Jim Morrison’s mysterious death in Paris, enough books on the Doors have been published to fill several shelves at your local bookstore. John Densmore and the late Ray Manzarek wrote their memoirs, numerous biographies are on the market, and a few months ago, a coffee-table volume of Morrison’s lyrics, poetry, and musings arrived. The one band member who’s resisted relaying his version of events is guitarist Robby Krieger, but that silence ends with the publication of “Set the Night on Fire: Living, Dying and Playing Guitar With the Doors”, co-written with Jeff Alulis. The book hits shelves on October 12th. 

In the memoir, Krieger unearths his memories on the rise of the band, Morrison’s notorious arrest for public exposure in Miami, the recording of the band’s albums — including the final, “L.A. Woman”  Morrison’s death, and how the surviving band members coped. Krieger addresses various myths and legends, including the band’s controversial appearance on The Ed Sullivan Show on September 17th, 1967. At the time, way before MTV and YouTube, Sullivan’s weekly variety show was a major outlet for pop acts looking to reach as many people as possible. But was it the calamitous appearance that legend (and Doors movies) have had it? Read on for an exclusive excerpt from Krieger’s book.

The Ed Sullivan Show was an American institution — a signpost for entertainers that read, “You Have Arrived.” Or at least that’s what it was when Elvis, the Beatles, and the Rolling Stones made their first appearances. By 1967, Ed seemed corny and out of touch. It was a show your parents watched. But it was still an institution, and still a signpost we wanted to pass.

On the outside, we played it cool, but in the privacy of our dressing room we were giddy. We were in New York City, in the CBS studios, on Broadway, about to be transmitted into millions of living rooms. We had done TV before, but only local channels. This was our first national broadcast. For some reason, I channeled all my pent-up excitement into entertaining my bandmates with my impression of Curly from the Three Stooges. I dropped to the floor and did that thing where Curly makes whooping noises and “runs” in a circle on his side. That’s when Ed Sullivan happened to walk through our dressing room door.

We had done a rehearsal earlier; Ed was stopping by to wish us luck before going on the air. Ed caught the Doors in a rare moment when our guard was down and we were all laughing. Seeing our lighter side inspired him to tell us how good we looked when we smiled, and that we should wear those same big smiles when we went live.

”Live” was what made our Sullivan appearance stand out. Most of our previous TV performances had been lip-synched, which was lame, but it was just how music shows were done back then. And all of them had been recorded ahead of time, which came in handy when Jim didn’t show up to a taping of a short-lived show called Malibu Uhosted by Ricky Nelson. Ray, John, and I were sitting on Leo Carrillo State Beach, surrounded by actors and crew members staring at us and checking their watches. A fire truck had been brought in as a backdrop and all our instruments were set up on it, but we had no lead singer. Being on TV was a big deal for us back. We couldn’t believe Jim had stood us up. After a while we faced the reality that Jim wasn’t coming, so we played “Light My Fire” while my brother Ronny faced away from the camera and did his best impersonation of Jim Morrison’s back. The next day the crew tracked down Jim and filmed him singing while wearing Ronny’s shirt. The whole incident seems more absurd every time I think about it. Can you imagine Mick Jagger not showing up for a TV taping and the Stones filming Keith Richards’s brother from behind instead?

We had also done Dick Clark’s American Bandstandwhich, like Sullivanwas struggling to stay hip as the Summer of Love changed the cultural landscape. Dick greeted us in our dressing room before the taping, and he was friendly and welcoming. But he swore like a sailor. He wasn’t angry or bitter; it was his awkward attempt to seem cool. Being on Bandstand was, overall, a surprisingly forgettable experience. But I’ll always cherish the memory of hearing Dick Clark repeatedly say “fuck.”

Since Clark and Sullivan were the old guard, we were more excited about appearing on The Jonathan Winters Show. Jonathan hadn’t built up a legacy like Sullivan or Bandstand, but we loved his frantic, unpredictable comedic style. Which is maybe why our frantic, unpredictable lead singer launched himself into a piece of scenery and tangled himself in a bunch of rubber webbing at the end of “Light My Fire.” But Jim was out-crazied that night by our host. At the end of the show, Jonathan came out and improvised a monologue for the studio audience. Among other things, he took out a folding carpenter’s ruler and bent it into different shapes like it was a balloon animal, pretending it was a puppy dog or a machine gun. It was cool to see him do some unpolished comedy, but he went on and on, and soon the crowd started to thin out. For over an hour he never let up, even though people kept leaving. We hung out and watched him out of morbid curiosity to see how long he could go. Eventually, the entire audience had disappeared. The cameras were off. He was making jokes to literally no one. I don’t even remember him stopping. As far as I know, he stayed there talking until the next week’s taping.

Our episode of Jonathan Winters aired later that month when we had a gig at the Winterland Arena in San Francisco. Back then, of course, there was no way to record a show and watch it later. So in the middle of our set, Bill Siddons brought a TV onstage. We stopped playing, put a microphone up to the TV speaker, and sat down to watch ourselves. We thought it would be a treat for the audience, but the screen was only about 19 inches wide. I doubt anyone past the first few rows could see or hear anything, so we just awkwardly watched the show and then awkwardly resumed our set. This was only a couple of weeks after our New Haven show when our fans had learned to expect the unexpected from the Doors. I don’t think any of them expected that!

When we played “Light My Fire” on Sullivan, we didn’t trash the set and we didn’t swear and we didn’t use my brother as a stand-in for Jim, and yet it was the most controversial TV appearance of all. The narrative, according to the supposedly canonical Doors biography No One Here Gets Out Alive, is that a producer told us not to sing the word “higher,” and we all conspired to contravene the order after the producer left the room. According to Oliver Stone’s movie The Doors, Jim mugged for the camera and over-enunciated the word “higher” on-air to protest the attempted censorship. According to Ray’s autobiography, the producer shouted at us after the show and told us we’d never play Sullivan again, and Jim coolly replied, “Hey, man. So what? We just did the Ed Sullivan Show.

But in the dressing room, we weren’t offended by the suggestion to change our lyrics: we thought they were joking. “Light My Fire” had been number one for weeks, playing on every major radio station around the country. We had performed it on half a dozen other TV shows. No one cared about the word “higher.” They couldn’t possibly be serious. As for Jim’s delivery, the original footage is out there and you can see for yourself how he hardly moved for most of the song. Jim never moved on TV the way he did at our concerts. The bright lights and the cameras and the artificial atmosphere of a TV studio always made him feel self-conscious. We never conspired about not changing the lyric ahead of time, and we never talked about why he didn’t change it afterward, but my guess is he was just nervous. It was SullivanIt was national. It was live. He went into autopilot and sang “Light My Fire” the same way he had a million times before. He may not have even been listening when they suggested the change, but if he did do it on purpose, it was probably because he didn’t think it would be a big deal. [Doors Manager] Bill Siddons might’ve gotten scolded by the show’s staff when we weren’t around, but I don’t remember anyone yelling at us or telling us we’d never play Sullivan again, and I definitely don’t remember Jim’s perfectly scripted badass response to the frazzled, square producer. The way Ray told stories, I’m surprised his version didn’t end with us strutting in slow motion down Broadway while the CBS studios exploded in the background.

The other thing the retelling of the Sullivan Legend always gets wrong is my smirk. After Jim sang “higher,” the camera cut to a shot of me and Ray, and people have since interpreted the look on my face as a sly grin in reaction to Jim’s act of defiance. In truth, I was just the only member of the band who took Ed’s preshow advice to smile. It wasn’t until long after the show aired that I was finally able to see a clip of our performance. Ray, John, and Jim all looked so cool, playing on that historic stage with their serious, stoic faces. And there I was . . . smiling like an idiot.

X Punk Band

Last year the Los Angeles punk legends that are X returned with their first album in 27 years – and the first with the original line-up in 35 years!

“Alphabetland” was released via Fat Possum Records and is, we must admit, a brilliant ‘come-back’ album. Today, they followed it up with two unreleased songs “True Love, Pt. 3″ and “Strange Life”, both of which where recorded during Alphabetland‘s studio sessions.

True Love is a reimagining of the funk-inspired track from 1983’s Under The Big Black Sun, and Strange Life is simply a brilliant punk ‘blinder’ that features guitar from Doors legend Robbie Krieger. A different version of Strange Life made it onto Alphabetland, but this newly released rendition happened after Robbie Krieger dropped by the studio and X rather cheekily asked him to play on the song.


Krieger adds a brief outro to the song but it didn’t make it onto the album version. X’s singer Exene Cervenka said him popping in to see the band was “fitting and wondrous!” Fitting because The Doors keyboard player the late, great Ray Manzarek produced their first four albums, Los Angeles, Wild Gift, Under the Big Black Sun and More Fun in the New World. All classic album’s. 

See the source image

Dick Clark sure knew how to get his audience to dress up. This clip from American Bandstand’s heyday shows America’s oldest teenager sitting among the polite crowd, in their party dresses and jackets and ties, before introducing The Doors.

In this black-and-white Classic Video originally broadcast on July 22nd, 1967, The Doors kick things off with “The Crystal Ship.” Clark then interviews the various band members.

Clark: “Ray (Manzarek), let me start with you. How do you characterize your music? Does it have a name?” Manzarek: “Well it’s impossible, really, to put a label on it because of where we are in the music, being on the inside. You’re only of the music and all categories have to come from the outside. So someone else is going to have to say what our music is rather than us because we are our music.”

Clark to Jim Morrison: “Why is so much happening in San Francisco? You figured it out yet?” Lizard king: “Uh, the West is the best.” Clark’s reaction is priceless.

“We’ll do the thing that’s set the whole music business on fire. Ladies and gentlemen… again, the Doors!”

They finish up with “Light My Fire” which was the Number#1 single in the U.S. that week. Though both songs are performed to track, Morrison, Manzarek, Robbie Krieger and John Densmore are pretty convincing. Says Clark: “That has got to be the biggest, most fantastically successful group of the coming year.”

Dick Clark was born on November 30th, 1929. He died on April 18th, 2012, at 82 Years of age.

Available for Record Store Day Black Friday, this historic concert is presented for the first time on vinyl, with meticulously restored audio and pressed on 180-gram black vinyl. This 2-LP set contains the entire show, and was mixed from the original multi-track tapes by longtime Doors engineer / mixer / co-producer Bruce Botnick.  This set is a numbered/limited edition release of 11,000 copies worldwide.

The band appeared on stage on August 30, 1970 at 2 a.m. in front of 600,000 people. Jim Morrison’s ongoing obscenity trial was still weighing heavily on the band. Nevertheless, they delivered such staples as “Roadhouse Blues”, “Break On Through (To The Other Side)”, and “Light My Fire”. “Our set was subdued but very intense”, Manzarek later stated. “We played with a controlled fury and Jim was in fine vocal form. He sang for all he was worth, but moved nary a muscle. Dionysus had been shackled.”

The Doors Live At The Isle Of Wight Festival 1970

Doors New Haven poster

Here’s one more accolade you can posthumously give Jim Morrison: he was the first rock star to be arrested onstage. He was probably also the first rock star to be maced backstage at his own show, but no one keeps records for that.

While the opening acts played, Morrison and a young woman had slipped into a bathroom shower stall for some privacy. A policeman working backstage security came across them, and thinking the lead singer of the headlining act for an interloper, told them to “Beat it.” Morrison grabbed his crotch and told the cop to “Eat it.” The policeman pulled out a can of mace and said, “Last chance to beat it.” The Lizard King’s response: “Last chance to eat it.” The cop maced him.

The show was delayed for an hour while Morrison’s eyes were washed out. As the band took the stage there was a line of police at the front of the stage. The show proceeded normally until they launched into “Back Door Man.” According to Doors keyboard player Ray Manzarek, instead of Morrison bellowing the opening “Oh yeah! All right!” Morrison started to tell the story of what had happened to him backstage in what’s been described as an “an obscenity-laced tirade.”

Jim Morrison mug shot

The house lights came on. Police came onto the stage, took the microphone from Morrison – one of them saying into the mike: “You’ve gone too far, young man” – and arrested him, and announced that the show was over.

Morrison was charged with obscenity and inciting a riot, but the charges were later dropped. The incident inspired the later Doors song “Peace Frog.”

Live at The Isle Of Wight Festival – the last concert ever filmed of The Doors will be issued for the first time next month.

The concert footage has been restored and colour-corrected and the entire show has been mixed into 5.1 surround sound from the original multi-tracks by Bruce Botnick.

The performance was filmed in August 1970, in front of 600,000 people. Ray Manzarek described the performance as “subdued but very intense” adding, “we played with a controlled fury and Jim was in fine vocal form. He sang for all he was worth, but moved nary a muscle. Dionysus had been shackled.” This is a reference to Jim Morrison’s Miami obscenity trial which was at the time ongoing and weighing heavily on the band.

The fairly short but historic set includes such staples as Roadhouse Blues, Break On Through (To The Other Side), and Light My Fire.

This release is available as both blu-ray+CD and DVD+CD combo packs, although annoyingly, it looks like the former is exclusive to North America/Canada. Standalone Blu-ray and DVD are also available and all the DVD and Blu-ray elements contain a bonus feature This Is The End, with interviews conducted by the film’s original director Murray Lerner with Krieger, Densmore, original Doors manager Bill Siddons and archival interview footage of Manzarek from 2002.

New York, NY (December 14, 2017) — The historic last concert ever filmed of The Doors is now available for the first time. Eagle Rock Entertainment proudly presents The Doors: Live At The Isle Of Wight Festival 1970 on DVD+CD, Blu-ray+CD and Digital Video on February 23, 2018.

This is the last known unseen performance of The Doors in existence, The Doors: Live At The Isle Of Wight Festival 1970 has been completely recut and remixed, from the original film footage. Fully approved by The Doors, this previously unreleased concert was meticulously restored via the latest 21st century technology, color correcting and visually upgrading the original footage. The entire concert, which is now presented in 5.1 Dolby Digital sound, was mixed from the original multi-track audio by longtime Doors engineer / mixer / co-producer Bruce Botnick. Fans may have caught a glimpse of this performance in the 1997 Isle of Wight film Message To Love, however this DVD presents The Doors’ set with the full-length songs in maximum visual and sound quality.

The scene is August 1970… Frontman Jim Morrison’s ongoing obscenity trial, from an incident a year prior in Miami, weighs heavily on the band. “The Last Great Festival” is taking place in England, which boasted a venerable who’s who of 1970’s top acts: Jimi Hendrix, The Who, Miles Davis, Joni Mitchell, Joan Baez, and more… The band touches down on the Isle of Wight. The show must go on.

The Doors: Live At The Isle Of Wight Festival 1970 captures and showcases the essence of this poignant performance, as well as offering a snapshot of the era, with footage of fans (over 600,000 in attendance) tearing down barriers and crashing the gates to gain access to the event.

The Doors hit the stage at 2:00AM on August 30, 1970, delivering a set that further proved the musical power that marked them as a beacon of the Summer of Love. In this 84-minute DVD, Morrison, organist Ray Manzarek, guitarist Robby Krieger, and drummer John Densmore traverse such staples as “Roadhouse Blues”, “Break On Through (To The Other Side)”, and “Light My Fire”. Illuminated by a mere red spotlight (the band wasn’t informed that they needed to bring their own lighting equipment) gave the show an eerie crimson hue, almost echoing the figurative weight of the trial.

“Our set was subdued but very intense”, Manzarek later stated. “We played with a controlled fury and Jim was in fine vocal form. He sang for all he was worth, but moved nary a muscle.

The DVD is completed with bonus featurette “This Is The End” – 17 minutes of interviews conducted by the film’s original director, Academy Award-winning Murray Lerner with KriegerDensmore, and original Doors manager Bill Siddons. Additional archival interview footage with Manzarek from 2002 is also included in the featurette.

The Doors made an enormous impact on the music world in their few years of existence before Jim Morrison’s passing in 1971. The Doors: Live At The Isle Of Wight Festival 1970, which joins Eagle Rock Entertainment’s rich canon of The Doors’ films (Classic Albums: The Doors; When You’re Strange; Live At The Bowl ’68 ; Feast Of Friends ; R-Evolution ; Live In Europe 1968 ; Mr. Mojo Risin’: The Story Of L.A. Woman , No One Here Gets Out Alive – The Doors’ Tribute To Jim Morrison ; and Soundstage Performances ), captures a pivotal moment in their history.

On the inside of the original gatefold is the following statement: “This album was compiled from live performances recorded in cities throughout the United States between August 1969 and June 1970. Aside from the editing necessary to assemble the music into album form, the recording is an organic documentary and absolutely live!”

However according to Paul Rothchild, the band’s long time producer, the album had to be virtually stitched together from numerous performances, simply because he couldn’t get complete takes of any of the songs, and therefore had to do a lot of splicing and editing to create a necessary master. Yet when the surviving band members eventually began opening the vaults, releasing these shows in far more complete form, they would prove to utterly contradict Rothchild’s claim that “There must have been 2000 edits on that album”. In fact it turns out that not only was each performance left relatively intact, but that the majority of songs selected were recorded over two nights at The Felt Forum, in January 1970.

We begin with the emcee imploring the crowd, who are chanting “we want The Doors”, to “sit down and go back to your seats”, lest the local fire authorities decide to cancel the show. It’s a terrific way to draw the listener in, creating a sense of actually being in the audience, capturing that sense of excitement and anticipation which must have been rippling through those in attendance.

Instead of “Roadhouse Blues” or some other popular number, they choose to open the set with a powerful and particularly psychedelic cover of Bo Diddley’s “Who Do You Love”, thanks mainly to Robby Krieger’s hallucinatory slide guitar and Manzarek’s acid-Baroque keyboards. Next is a tune that I’m sure was close to Jim Morrison’s heart, “Alabama Song (Whiskey Bar)”, before seamlessly segueing into a raw and dirty “Back Door Man”, during which Morrison slips in a few verses of “Love Hides”, a song the band never recorded much less attempted to complete based on what we have here. The medley concludes with an urgent, almost primordial reading of “Five to One”, a call to arms if there ever was, although something tells me that by 1970 Jim had become weary of the whole ‘rock prophet’ phenomenon.

The bluesy “Build Me A Woman” portends the sort of style of song writing the band would go on to explore further with L.A. Woman, the band’s final LP with Morrison. Now if you need to go to the toilet, I recommend that the listener do so immediately before the epic, majestically dark and twisted “When the Music’s Over” kicks off. Through headphones one can discern the odd subtle edit here and there, no doubt due to the limits of vinyl. Well, either that or Rothchild made an executive decision in cutting out a minute or two of music he felt was superfluous to a piece that already runs for nearly fifteen minutes.

The band perform a rather perfunctory rendition of Willie Dixon’s “Close to You”, with Ray Manzarek on lead vocals (for better or worse), followed by “Universal Mind”, a sort of pop-jazz number, on which Morrison expresses the lyrics in seemingly half-interested fashion. Jim manages to offend half the Catholic diocese with his introduction to “Break On Through (to the Other Side)”, and while the band are playing at full tilt, apart from the poetry and theatrics, I somehow get the feeling Jim just wasn’t into it anywhere near as much as he was a couple years earlier. Still, it remains an exciting example of rock at its atavistic best.

Whether the listener can sit through the entirety of “Celebration of the Lizard” obviously depends on the extent of one’s devotion to all things Doors, not to mention level of tolerance, because at more than fourteen minutes in length, you’re going to need a lot of it (either that or a lot of drugs). A studio version was attempted though discarded during the making of Waiting For The Sun, and probably for good reason. Most of it is little more than poetry as performance art, and the sort of ‘poetry-meets-music’ experimentation that would ultimately inspire Patti Smith, another rebel poet of rock. Manzarek himself put it rather pointedly in his autobiography: “(Jim) loved his confrontational theatre. And then the idea struck him. He was going to confront his audiences with these cries for freedom.”

Morrison’s vocals are a touch shaky (disinterested?) on “Soul Kitchen”, the album’s final song, although no less engaging for it. Obviously the scotch and ciggies had by then begun to take their toll, or maybe it was a symptom of Jim’s very soul, or overall state of mind.

Apart from the odd dodgy bootleg, until the 1990’s live albums by the Doors were something of a rarity. There was The Hollywood Bowl (all fifteen minutes of it), and the excellent Alive She Cried, released in 1983, but that was about it – meaning that Absolutely Live was for many years the most authoritative document of what it was like to be at one of their concerts, and about the closest someone of my generation was ever going to get.

<em>Strange Days</em> (1967)

On the 21st August in 1967: The Doors began recording their second album, ‘Strange Days’, at Sunset Sound Studios in Hollywood, California; its commercial success was middling, along with a series of under performing singles the album contains some of the group’s most psychedelic songs – “Strange Days,” “People Are Strange,” “Love Me Two Times” and “When the Music’s Over” are now all considered classics within The Doors‘ canon; the chorus from single “People Are Strange” inspired the name of the 2010 Doors documentary, ‘When You’re Strange’…

The Doors started their career with an overabundance of riches. Strange Days followed their self-titled debut later in 1967, and was made up of a bunch of stuff that hadn’t made it onto its predecessor. While “Love Me Two Times” and “People Are Strange” are two of the lesser tracks you’d find on any Doors compilation.

Strange Days is packed with album cuts that are stunning. This is where they committed to a more psychedelic sound in a more thorough and sustained way than at any other point. Tracks like “Strange Days,” “Unhappy Girl,” and “Moonlight Drive” are lush, but that lushness — like the synthesizers in the title track or Krieger’s slide work on “Moonlight Drive” is ever so off-kilter, a little sea-sick. It sounds like some kind of underwater nightclub. But even as Strange Days is loaded with great textures, it’s also a punchy and efficient album; aside from the titan closer “When The Music’s Over,” no song on the album reached the three and a half minute mark. Overall, it’s also their least bluesy album (though it may be equal with Waiting For The Sun in that regard).

The Doors perfect their brand of psychedelic pop, a brand that has their trademark muscularity but trades in relentless hooks rather than the blues sprawl of some of their later work. That’s the case for “Moonlight Drive,” but also for a hidden gem like “My Eyes Have Seen You,” where Morrison delivers the infectious chorus in that awesomely ragged yell he could just leap right into. The Doors came out swinging with the self-titled and Strange Days back to back, and while this wound up being a semi-outlier in their catalogue, it deserves its reputation as one of the finest documents of ’60s rock.

The Doors 1967 self-titled debut would soon make the band immortal, thanks to songs like “Break on Through (to the Other Side),” “The End” and the immortal “Light My Fire.”

With the new ‘London Fog 1966’ box set out, Robby Krieger and John Densmore look back at their debut release.

Fresh from their gig as the house band at the Sunset Strip’s Whisky a Go Go – where they were fired for performing a profanity-laced riff on Oedipus Rex during “The End” – poet/vocalist Jim Morrison, keyboardist Ray Manzarek, guitarist Robbie Krieger and drummer John Densmore spent a week at Sunset Sound Recorders documenting the act that had vaulted them to the top of the Los Angeles scene in less than a year. “The first album is basically the Doors live,” Manzarek says in the documentary Classic Albums: The Doors. “There are very few overdubs. It’s ‘The Doors: Live from the Whisky a Go Go’ … except in a recording studio.”

The Doors captured for eternity the raw, vital, hypnotic excitement of four fearless artists. In honor of the album’s 50th anniversary, here are 10 little-known facts about the record’s conception and reception.

“Light My Fire” was the first song Robby Krieger ever wrote.

The Doors‘ guitarist may have had the greatest beginner’s luck in rock history. Having never completed a song, the 20-year-old composed “Light My Fire,” the Number One smash that continues to evoke the Summer of Love’s sensual heat.
“That was the first one I wrote, because up until then Jim had been writing the songs,” he told Reverb Magazine in 2016. “But we realized we didn’t have enough originals, so Jim said, ‘Why don’t you write some? Why do I have to do all the work!?’ So I said, ‘OK, what should I write about?’ And he goes, ‘Write about something universal. Write about something that will last, not just about today.’ So I decided I’d write about [either] earth, air, fire or water.” Citing “Play With Fire” as one of his favorite Rolling Stones songs, he settled on fire.
Krieger labored over the song for several days, determined to conjure up something more than a standard rock progression. “Up until then the Doors were doing three-chord type songs that were pretty simple, like ‘I Looked at You’ or ‘End of the Night.'” he told Clash Music. “I wanted to write something more adventurous. I decided I was going to put every chord I knew into this song – and I did! There’s about 14 different chords in there.” For a melody, he looked to “Hey Joe,” then a recent hit for Los Angeles band the Leaves.
With a verse and chorus under his belt, he brought the work-in-progress before his bandmates. The song had a folk-rock flair in this early state, leading some in the group to derisively compare it to a Sonny and Cher number. But Morrison saw its potential and offered to contribute some extra lyrics. “Jim came up with the second verse about the funeral pyre,” Kreiger remembered in Classic Albums. “I said, ‘Jim, why is it always about death? Why do you always have to do that?’ And he said, ‘No man, it’ll be perfect. You’ll have the love part of it and then you’ll have that death part of it.’ And he was right.”
Manzarek added the cartwheeling Bach-like introduction and bass line (borrowed from Fats Domino’s “Blueberry Hill”) while Densmore lent the Latin rhythm. When it was released the following year, the song would be jointly credited to the Doors.

The Doors [Explicit]
Before recording their debut, the Doors provided backing music to a Ford Motor Company training film.

In the early spring of 1966, the Doors‘ were dropped from a preliminary Columbia Records contract with little warning – and little to show for it. Lacking representation and struggling financially, the band took an unglamorous gig at Parthenon Pictures providing incidental music for a Ford Motor Company customer service training film titled Love Thy Customer.

The Doors piled into a cramped screening room at Los Angeles’ Rampart Studios, where they viewed the 25-minute clip on a small monitor. They composed a soundtrack largely on the spot, jamming live as the scenes flickered past. Fragments of what later became “I Looked at You,” “Build Me a Woman,” and “The Soft Parade” can be heard in the finished product. Though they played only instrumental passages, Morrison is said to have contributed percussion and additional sound effects. The day of work earned them $200.

Believed to be lost for decades, Love Thy Customer was discovered in the UCLA film vaults in 2002 and released on the 2014 Doors rarities DVD R-Evolution. However, the original soundtrack session tapes have yet to be located.

“Break on Through (to the Other Side)” owes a large debt to a Paul Butterfield Blues Band song, and Ray Charles’ song “What’d I Say.”

“If it hadn’t been for Butterfield going electric, I probably wouldn’t have gone into rock & roll,” Robby Krieger recently admitted on his website. The Doors guitarist spent his early years emulating flamenco masters like Mario Escudero, Carlos Montoya, and Sabicas before moving into the blues. From there he discovered the raw Chicago sound of the Paul Butterfield Blues Band, bolstered by the searing twin guitars of Mike Bloomfield and Elvin Bishop. Their work would have a marked influence on his playing style, particularly on the track “Break on Through (to the Other Side).”
When the Doors began arranging the Morrison composition, Krieger found a familiar line falling out of his guitar. “I got the idea for the riff from the Paul Butterfield song ‘Shake Your Money-Maker,’ which was one of my favorites,” he says in Classic Albums. “We just changed the beat around.” The Butterfield version of the song – first recorded by Elmore James in 1961 – was a track off their self-titled 1965 debut, produced by future Doors collaborator Paul Rothchild.
In the same documentary Manzarek also demonstrates how he lifted the keyboard bass line from Ray Charles’ “What’d I Say,” as well as elements of his organ solo. “We’d steal from anybody!”
The first two songs they recorded were shelved, but alternate versions surfaced on future Doors albums.

“Moonlight Drive” is the quintessential Doors song: bluesy, nocturnal and dripping with doomed romanticism. The bewitching combination provided the spark that led to the band’s creation in July 1965, when Morrison and Manzarek, former classmates at UCLA’s film school, bumped into each other on the sands of Venice Beach.
The friends hadn’t seen each other since graduating that spring, and it was a welcome reunion. “I said, ‘Well, what have you been up to?'” Manzarek told NPR’s Fresh Air in 1998. “And he said, ‘Well, I’ve been living up on Dennis Jacobs’ rooftop, consuming a bit of LSD and writing songs.'” After some convincing, he persuaded the then shy Morrison to sing him one.
“He sat down on the beach, dug his hands into the sand, and the sand started streaming out in little rivulets. He kind of closed his eyes, and began to sing in a Chet Baker, haunted whisper kind of voice. He began to sing ‘Moonlight Drive,‘ and when I heard that first stanza ‘Let’s swim to the moon, let’s climb through the tide, penetrate the evening that the city sleeps to hide’  I thought ‘Ooh, spooky and cool, man.'” At that moment, together they decided to start a rock band.
The song featured prominently in the nascent Doors’ early sets, and was even included on a demo recorded that September at Trans World Pacific Studios. Krieger had yet to join the band Manzarek’s brothers Jim and Rick handled guitar and harmonica parts. When the four Doors finally members came together, rehearsing at a friend’s garage behind a Santa Monica bus depot, “Moonlight Drive” was the first number they played.
“I knew instantly we had found ‘it,’ that indefinable, transcendent something that Kerouac refers to,” Manzarek told in 2011. “We all looked at each other and went, ‘Man, what have we just done? Oh, my. Are we allowed to do that on this planet?’ That was it. ‘Moonlight Drive.’ At that point, everybody knew. We all just sort of nodded our heads and that was it. That was the birth of the Doors. Right there.”
When the band convened in Sunset Sound studios to record the The Doors in August 1966, “Moonlight Drive” seemed like an appropriate starting point. “When we went to record the first album, the first one we did was ‘Moonlight Drive,'” Krieger told People in 2016. But inhibited by the unfamiliar studio setting, they were unable to recapture the magic of their first rehearsal. “It just sounded too mysterious and kind of dark. So we rearranged it for the second album [1967’s Strange Days] and made it a little more wild.” The original version, which Krieger dubs “the very first recording we ever did as the Doors,” was shelved and lost for a time, before surfacing on a box set in 1997.

The second song they worked on that day, “Indian Summer,” also failed to make the cut. “It wasn’t that we thought they weren’t good enough for the first album, but we had to pick and choose,” says Krieger. “A lot of good ones didn’t make it.” A re-recorded version would be included on 1970’s Morrison Hotel.

After recording “The End,” Jim Morrison returned to the studio on LSD and hosed the band’s equipment with a fire extinguisher.

“The End” was the Doors’ showstopper, an extended tour de force that blurred the lines between music and theater. The piece was especially exhausting for Morrison, who delivered a lengthy mid-song poem inspired by the Greek tragedy Oedipus Rex. Performing “The End” before a live audience was enough of a challenge, but summoning the energy in a sterile recording studio took considerable effort on the part of the band, producer Paul Rothchild and engineer Bruce Botnick.

“The lights had been dimmed and the candles were burning right next to Jim, whose back was to the control room,” Rothchild remembers in Stephen Davis’ Jim Morrison: Life, Death, Legend. “The only other illumination came from the lights on the VU meters. The studio was very dark.” To further set the mood, Morrison apparently took a tab of LSD.

At first the hallucinogen had an overall positive effect on the performance, but during the playback it became apparent that Morrison was, by Krieger’s estimation, “too high to continue the session.” Three of the Doors decided to continue work the following day. Morrison had a different idea.

“He trashed the studio after we did ‘The End,'” Krieger told author Mick Houghton. “Jim was on a lot of acid, and when we finished recording, he didn’t want to go home. The rest of us left, but he snuck back into the studio and got pissed off that there was no one else around, so he sprayed the place down with a foaming fire extinguisher.”

Botnick elaborates on the episode in Mick Wall’s Love Becomes a Funeral Pyre. “[Jim had] gone across the street to the Blessed Sacrament, a Catholic Church, and he had an epiphany over there. He came back to the studio and the gate was locked. He climbed over the gate, got in, but he couldn’t get into the control room. That was locked. But the studio was open and the red lights were on.” The red-hued work lights seemingly registered as a fire in Morrison’s psychedelicized brain. “He thought it was on fire, so he grabbed a fire extinguisher and knocked over the ashtrays that were full of sand and tried to put out the fire.”

Manzarek recalled the story slightly differently. In his memoir, Light My Fire, he claims that Morrison began ranting about a fire while being driven home from the studio by his girlfriend, Pamela Courson. He was so persistent that Courson reluctantly returned to the studio, and Morrison immediately bounded over the fence. “He took the fire extinguisher and hosed the whole place down,” Manzarek told Houghton. “Not in the control room, thank God, just in the area where the band was … just blasted the whole place man, just to cool it down.” Much of the band’s equipment was ruined, including a full sized harpsichord.

The following day, a single boot, belonging to Morrison, was found among the destruction. “The studio people just absolutely freaked,” says Manzarek. “Paul [Rothchild] said, ‘Uh, don’t worry, don’t worry, Elektra will pay for it. No reason to call the police.’ He knew right away who did it, you know. We all knew right away what had happened.” The only one who claimed ignorance was, predictably, Morrison himself. “I did that? Come on, really?” Densmore recalls him saying over breakfast the next day.

Elektra head Jac Holzman immediately cut a very large check to studio owner Tutti Camarata. “I rushed over and said, ‘I agree, it’s out of control. I’ll pay for the damages,” he told Mojo. The incident was smoothed over, but Krieger felt the moment marked a turning point in Morrison’s psyche. “I thought Jim [felt], ‘Well, I got away with that, I can get away with anything.”

The Doors used a secret bass player in the studio – Wrecking Crew session legend and future Bread member Larry Knetchel.

Instead of a bassist, the Doors famously relied on Ray Manzarek’s left hand to hold down the low end with a Fender Rhodes Piano Bass keyboard. The role originally fell to him out of necessity when the band first began to coalesce. “We auditioned quite a few bass players,” he recalled in the Classic Albums documentary. “We auditioned one bass player and we sounded like the Rolling Stones. Then we auditioned another bass player and we sounded like the Animals.” Unwilling to come across as imitators – or, worse yet, traditional – the Doors simply did without. “Adding a bass made us sound like every other rock & roll band,” Densmore wrote in his memoir, Riders on the Storm. “We were determined to do almost anything to sound different.”

The absence of a bassist became a crucial element of the Doors live sound, but Rothchild felt that the recordings needed a stronger bass attack than the occasionally “mushy” Rhodes could provide. He quietly hired Larry Knechtel, of the ubiquitous gang of Los Angeles session players known as the Wrecking Crew, to thicken the sound. Knechtel had already appeared on hits by the Beach Boys, Elvis Presley and the Byrds by the time he was booked to overdub bass lines on six of the record’s 11 tracks, including “Light My Fire” and the swaggering “Soul Kitchen.”

Knechtel’s work on The Doors went uncredited at the time, and it was years before the extent of his contributions were known. Some criticized the band for seemingly airbrushing the player out of the Doors‘ story, but Densmore clarifed the decision in a 2015 Facebook post. “Larry Knechtel wasn’t credited because he duplicated Ray’s left hand bass lines exactly. He didn’t record with us on the tracks, he overdubbed later. This was a time before Moog synthesizers, and Rothchild felt (correctly) that Ray’s lines needed more sonic punch from a string plucked in addition to a keyboard.”

Knechtel would not play on any future Doors sessions, but he did reportedly record bass on Jose Feliciano’s flamenco version of “Light My Fire,” which became a Number Three hit in the United States in 1968.

To promote the album, Elektra Records purchased the first “rock billboard” in history.
Sessions for The Doors were complete by the end of the summer, but Holzman decided to hold the album’s release until the following January to avoid the crush of albums earmarked for the Christmas market. If the band were disappointed by the delay, they were soothed by Holzman’s ingenious promotional scheme: a massive billboard looming over the Sunset Strip. The medium had traditionally been used to push films, food, cigarettes and a host of other products, and this was the first time a rock band would appear on one.

“BREAK ON THROUGH WITH AN ELECTRIFYING NEW ALBUM,” proclaimed the ad, complete with Joel Brodsky’s arresting image of the group that graced the sleeve’s back cover. Located next to the Chateau Marmont, a short distance from the club scene where the Doors cut their teeth just a year earlier, the prime location cost a whopping $1,200 a month. The venture was, according to Holzman, “a calling card for the artist, but it was a very large calling card.” He believed the ad would catch the attention of Los Angeles DJs on their way to work and piqué their interest. He was right, giving birth to a whole new field of artist promotion. Rock billboards would soon dot the Strip and beyond.

According to Densmore, the extravagance earned the band some good-natured ribbing. “Radio broadcaster Bill Erwin had interviewed us at the new billboard, and was teasing us about the ad,” he writes in Riders on the Storm. “‘This is kind of a strange way of using a billboard, guys. I mean, you really can’t hear a billboard. And nobody’s heard of the Doors yet.'”

Jim Morrison falsely claimed that his parents were dead in the press bio that accompanied the album.

The infamous “Father, I want to kill you,” passage from “The End” was inspired by Oedipus, but the theme had a personal resonance for Morrison. His complex relationship with authoritarian parents precipitated the inner turmoil that characterized his adult life, inspiring both his finest music and his madness.

On the rare occasions that Morrison spoke of his childhood, he described it as “an open sore” – painful and best kept under wraps. His father, George Stephen Morrison, was a high-ranking career naval officer. It was he who gave Morrison the middle name “Douglas” after General Douglas MacArthur, in hopes that his son would follow in his footsteps. On that score, he would be severely disappointed.

The family moved often, and Morrison’s father was frequently absent on tours of duty. When he was home, he had little patience for youthful disobedience. Though Morrison’s younger brother Andy tells author Jerry Hopkins that he, Jim and sister Anne rarely received physical discipline, he says they were routinely subjected to the military punishment known as “dressing down,” wherein the culprit would be berated into submissive tears.

Ultimately promoted to Rear Admiral, Morrison’s father was something of a military Zelig. In 1941 he witnessed the bombing of Pearl Harbor. Two decades later, aboard the USS Bon Homme Richard aircraft carrier, he commanded American naval forces during the Gulf of Tonkin incident, a military clash that led to a dramatic escalation of the war in Vietnam. He was a familiar face around Cape Canaveral, the Pentagon and the Naval Golf Course.

After learning of his son’s desire to become a rock singer, the elder Morrison wrote a letter urging him “to give up any idea of singing or any connection with a music group because of what I consider to be a complete lack of talent in this direction.” Morrison effectively severed all contact with his father thereafter, and they never saw one another again. “His reluctance to communicate with me again is to me quite understandable,” Admiral Morrison admitted privately in 1970.

When Elektra approached the Doors to pen press bios for their debut album, Jim took the opportunity to edit his own history. Asked to name his parents and siblings, he simply wrote, “Deceased.” For a time, even his close friends believed him to be an orphan.

Morrison’s split from him family was total; they didn’t even realize he was in a band. His brother Andy only found out when a classmate showed him the Doors album cover and pointed out his resemblance to the lead singer. “A friend of mine brought me the album,” he told Hopkins. “I’d been listening to ‘Light My Fire’ for months and didn’t know. That’s how we found out. We hadn’t seen Jim or heard from him in two years. I played the album for my parents the day I got it, the day after my friend told me about it. Dad knows music. He plays piano and clarinet. Dad likes strong melody. He hates electric guitars. He likes the old ballads. He doesn’t like rock. He listened to the album and afterwards he didn’t say a thing. Not a thing.”

Morrison’s mother Clara made attempts to contact him through Elektra Records, but the newly minted rock star kept her at arms length. He barred her from visiting him backstage during a gig in Washington, D.C., but did give her a front row seat for the concert. Those in attendance later said that the Oedipal section in “The End” packed an extra strong punch that night.

Throughout the band’s travels, Morrison managed to keep in touch with Andy, who was just 19 in 1967. “I told him that mom felt really bad when he refused to see her. He told me if he called once, they’d expect calls every month or so. He said, ‘Either you break it, or you’re part of the family – there’s no halfway point. Either you talk all the time, or not at all.'” Morrison chose not at all.

Admiral Morrison declined to speak publicly about his son until the end of his life. “We look back on him with great delight,” he said in Tom DiCillo’s documentary When You’re Strange, taped just before his death in 2008. “I had the feeling that he felt we’d just as soon not be associated with his career. He knew I didn’t think rock music was the best goal for him. Maybe he was trying to protect us.”

Densmore proposed another reason in his memoir. “Personally, I think the opposite is true, that Jim did it to proclaim independence and cut the umbilical cord once and for all.”

The word “high” caused several headaches for the band.

The Doors’ September 17th, 1967, appearance on the The Ed Sullivan Show infamously resulted in a lifetime ban after Morrison disobeyed the CBS Standards and Practices department and sang the original lyric to “Light My Fire” – “Girl we couldn’t get much higher” – instead of their decidedly lackluster suggestion/demand: “Girl, we couldn’t get much better.” Producers and network executives were infuriated, and a stone-faced Sullivan denied Morrison the traditional post-performance handshake, instead cutting straight to a commercial for Purina Dog Chow.

The band was unbothered by the incident. “They said, ‘You’ll never do this show again!'” recalled Densmore in the Classic Albums documentary. “And we said, ‘Well, we just did it. We only wanted to do it once. Cheers!'”

An earlier attempt at censorship had been more successful. “Break on Through (to the Other Side),” the opening track on The Doors, seemed like an obvious choice for the band’s first single. But Rothchild was concerned that the song’s “She get high” refrain would limit its airplay potential. “He said, ‘You know, we’re not going to be able to get this played, so we really should cut that out,'” Densmore told Forbes in 2015. “We reluctantly agreed.” The offending line was edited down to a repeated “She get!” followed by Morrison’s guttural wail.

Though lyrically meaningless, the abrupt passage became a familiar part of the song. When Botnick restored the missing “high” as part of the 1999 remaster of The Doors, some rock purists were outraged.

The Doors minus Morrison agreed to license “Light My Fire” for a Buick ad. When Morrison found out, he threatened to smash a Buick during every Doors concert.
After the band’s 1968 European tour concluded in Sweden on September 20th, Morrison decided to stay in London with girlfriend Pamela Courson and work on his poetry under the encouraging guidance of writer Michael McClure. It seemed like a great plan, except for the fact that his bandmates knew next to nothing about it. This proved problematic when representatives from Buick contacted the Doors, offering them $75,000 to license “Light My Fire” for an ad campaign featuring the memorable slogan, “Come on Buick, light my fire!”

“I thought it was an interesting idea,” Manzarek later told Patricia Butler and Jerry Hopkins in their book Angels Dance and Angels Die: The Tragic Romance of Pamela and Jim Morrison. “The car they wanted to use it for was the Opel, a small little ecologically correct car, a little four-cylinder, two-seater automobile they worked on with the German Opel company. It wasn’t obviously a big Buick or anything like that.” (Some reports claim the vehicle in question was the less-than-eco-friendly Gran Sports GS455.)

The Doors had always vowed to split both profits and decisions equally, but Morrison was out of contact and Buick needed an answer. “Jim left town and didn’t show any of us the respect to tell us that he was leaving, how long he would be gone, when he was coming home – he just disappeared,” the band’s road manager, Bill Siddons, told Butler and Hopkins. “So Buick came up, offered us a bunch of money, unheard-of money, to do something with a song that Robby wrote, and they all kind of went, ‘Well, gee. We’d really like to have have Jim’s vote here, but it’s a lot of money and it’s really big and could be important, so fuck it, let’s go!” Lawyer Max Fink held Morrison’s power of attorney, and inked the deal along with the three other Doors.

Morrison was apoplectic when he learned of the decision after returning home that November. “Jim told us he couldn’t trust us anymore,” Densmore told Rolling Stone in 2013. “We had agreed that we would never use our music in any commercial, but the money Buick offered us had been hard to refuse. Jim accused us of making a deal with the devil and said he would smash a Buick with a sledgehammer onstage if we let them [change the lyrics].”

One apocryphal story has Morrison angrily ramming 16 Buicks parked on the Sunset Strip, totaling his own Porsche in the process. True or not, he vociferously expressed his frustrations to Siddons, Holzman and others in the band’s management, demanding that the contract be rescinded. “They couldn’t take it back, they’d already agreed to it,” says Siddons. An elaborate radio, television and print campaign was already underway, including a billboard within sight of the Doors‘ offices.

But it came to nothing. In the end, Buick scrapped the concept. They claimed that they merely decided to go in a different creative direction, but perhaps a few words with an enraged Lizard King set them off the idea. Whatever the reason, the Buick incident irreparably damaged the brotherhood of the Doors. “That was the end of the dream,” says Siddons. “That was the end of that era of Jim’s relationship with the other members of the band; from then on it was business. That was the day Jim said, ‘I don’t have partners anymore; I have associates.'”



It has been called one of the defining albums of a generation. It was released on January. 4th, 1967 that The Doors released their debut album, “The Doors.” The LP was recorded in August 1966 and it was originally released in different stereo and mono mixes. It features the breakthrough single “Light My Fire”, extended with an instrumental section mostly omitted on the single release, and the lengthy song featured the band with Jim Morrison, The Doors, John Densmore, Ray Manzarek and Robbie Krieger.

When the Doors’ debut album came out during the first week of 1967, it sounded little like the other pop music that was getting airplay alongside its breakthrough single, “Light My Fire.” No bassist, an organ player who pretty much dominated every song and a singer who often came off like he was a drunken poet in search of an open mic and a drink – who would have thought they’d become of rock’s most significant bands? Featuring a mix of blues, cabaret and originals that were a little bit of both plus a dash of the emerging psychedelic scene, ‘The Doors’ – one of the best debut albums ever made – still resonates as deftly played and arranged art-rock disguised as classic rock ‘n’ roll.

The Doors self-titled debut album, which was released 50 years ago today, will mark its golden anniversary with a three-disc deluxe edition.

The Doors: 50th Anniversary Deluxe Edition will be released by Rhino on March 31st and will include remastered stereo and mono mixes of the original album plus a disc of live recordings from a concert at San Francisco’s Matrix on March 7, 1967.

The package will also include an LP version of the original album in the newly remastered mono mix. You can see the full track listing for the set below. (The Doors: 50th Anniversary Deluxe Edition will also be available digitally.)

This will be the first time the album’s original mono mix appears on CD. The album’s original stereo mix also gets an upgrade for the first time in 30 years. The eight live tracks – all originally from the debut album – appear in new forms too. The songs were first released in 2008, but the new versions come from the original tapes, which were thought to be lost. The earlier tracks were taken from a third-generation tape.

The Doors: 50th Anniversary Deluxe Edition‘s announcement comes on the Day Of The Doors. Los Angeles will honor the band today with a public event at the intersection of Pacific and Windward avenues, the site of the “Venice” sign. Surviving Doors members John Densmore and Robbie Kreiger will be on hand at the event with members of the late Ray Manzarek and Jim Morrison’s families.

The liner notes to the 40th Anniversary edition of The Doors’ debut has an introduction by Bruce Botnick, who engineered the original sessions back in 1966, where he states: “When the album was mixed at Elektra studios in New York, either the 4-track playback recorder was running slow, or the stereo 2-track was running fast. So now with the new mixes, you will hear the entire album at the correct speed and the correct pitch.

The newly released set is unquestionably the best sounding version I have ever heard.

Break On Through (To the Other Side)” is the intense first track, and after nearly fifty years the song has incredibly lost none of its edge. And in only two and a half minutes it packs a serious punch the likes of which many rock bands today can only dream of. Fresh and edgy, there is an almost controlled element of violence and danger contained within its grooves, as well as a certain degree of urgency in the band’s delivery. Forget about “Good Vibrations”, now there was a new, more malevolent force in town.

Next is “Soul Kitchen”, which was maybe an attempt by The Doors at writing a pop song. The 60’s were strange times, and when you had tunes such as Pink Floyd’s “See Emily Play” doing well in the charts a song like this doesn’t seem so weird after all. Manzarek’s keyboard introduction foreshadows “When the Music’s Over”, from their second album, while guitarist Robby Krieger weaves his spidery webs, as Morrison croons in his usual hazardous and foreboding manner.

“The Crystal Ship” would serve as a mature template for the sort of ballads Morrison was to compose in future. Although extremely short in length (by today’s standards), in those days less was more, and if you couldn’t say everything you wanted in under three minutes, then it probably wasn’t worth recording. “Twentieth Century Fox” is another fine tune and a worthy if somewhat cynical commentary by Morrison on the fashion scene back then, a time when people put a little more effort into how they looked. And just to spice things up, we have some German Cabaret, in the form of a cover of Brecht and Weill’s “Alabama Song”, here titled “Alabama Song (Whisky Bar)”. It’s an unusual choice for a rock group, but then The Doors were certainly not your ordinary rock band.

Ending side one is the song everybody knows. “Light My Fire” was actually written by Robbie Krieger, although Morrison did also  contribute some of the lyrics, and Ray Manzarek certainly added a little magic of his own. When they released “Break On Through” as their first single it failed to find an audience. However all that would change with their next single, which proved to be a monumental hit, and would help to propel the album into the American charts.

“Light My Fire” was a grandiose statement, of The Doors at their very peak as a creative unit. Manzarek’s Baroque inspired keyboard solo is absolutely glorious, as is Krieger’s guitar playing. And form 1967, there was nothing else like it.

Side two kicks off with the Willie Dixon classic “Backdoor Man”, just to prove that the blues was just as integral to their sound as Bach. Morrison snarls his way through the lyrics, while the other members whack away on their instruments, as if to punish them for some alleged sin they may or may not have committed.

“I Looked at You” is your typical mid 60’s jangly pop song. The moody “End of the Night” is at least atmospheric, while “Take It as It Comes” reminds me of Jefferson Airplane for some reason, which means that it’s a decent album track, but not much more than that.

Finally we come to “The End”, what is undoubtedly the band’s magnum opus, and a grandiloquent musical statement if there ever was, at least from a rock band. Producer Paul A. Rothchild described the song’s recording as “the most awe-inspiring thing I’d ever witnessed in a studio”. And when one sees footage of them performing it live, much of the audience looked fairly ‘awe-inspired’ too. The track itself is part existential journey than anything else, something which can either hypnotize you, terrify you, or both simultaneously. With Manzarek’s spooky organ, Krieger’s woozy spaced out guitar and John Densmore’s sharp as knives drumming, all provide a thrilling, near cinematic backdrop for Morrison’s dystopian lyrics. Certainly nothing like this had ever before been attempted in popular music.

When released in January 1967, The Doors was a landmark LP , A band who were as innovative as they were dangerous.

‘The Doors: 50th Anniversary Deluxe Edition’ Track Listing
Disc One (Original Stereo Mix)
Disc Two (Original Mono Mix)
1. “Break On Through (To The Other Side)”
2. “Soul Kitchen”
3. “The Crystal Ship”
4. “Twentieth Century Fox”
5. “Alabama Song (Whisky Bar)”
6. “Light My Fire”
7. “Back Door Man”
8. “I Looked At You”
9. “End Of The Night”
10. “Take It As It Comes”
11. “The End”

Disc Three: Live At The Matrix, March 7th, 1967
1. “Break On Through (To The Other Side)”
2. “Soul Kitchen”
3. “The Crystal Ship”
4. “Twentieth Century Fox”
5. “Alabama Song (Whisky Bar)”
6. “Light My Fire”
7. “Back Door Man”
8. “The End”