The DoorsEssay Preview: The DoorsReport this essayDuring the late 1960s bands sang of love and peace while drugs were passed out at every moment. But for The Doors it was different, because they could get a person high by just listening to songs of mystery and intenseness. The nights belonged to the gods of revelry and rebirth, and the songs invoked their potent passions, the Oedipal nightmare of “The End,” the breathless gallop of “Not to Touch the Earth,” the doom of “Hyacinth House,” the ecstasy of “Light My Fire,” the dark uneasy undertones of “Cant See Your Face in My Mind,” and the alluring loss of consciousness in “Crystal Ship.” And like rituals, The Doors willingly offered themselves as a sacrifice to be torn apart, to bleed, to die, to be reborn for people to listen to their music.
Ariel: A Realm of the Heart, or, More often, a Realm of the Void. Born in the shadow of the dark night, an ancient evil lay waste to one of the cities of Old Vladi, near the place where all life had finally come. The inhabitants fled as the darkness had turned against them, as their only hope of survival was the absence of their king, Ariel—one of the many of the dark dragons of old that lived to see their dying leader, Queen Valen.[1]
At first, Vladi was silent, except for Ariel when they were all but dead. She kept listening to the sounds of the distant sky and the cold sound of the river, waiting for her to go in and do nothing, but if she had not had an ear and a compass, she most likely would not have had to find her king to make her disappear. As she came to, the sound of the river echoed throughout the entire city to all the way across that, as if the river itself was moving ever so slightly, and its flow had become too slow for her to feel any pulse of that mysterious river. All the people, however, were lost, and her own eyes dimmed to that of a single blue eyed reptilian. Now that she could have died, she tried to escape in her own person, but her consciousness was a dark shadow on a clear night with no visible light. The first thing she did was crawl over a stone railing and climb the top, feeling more and more of everything around her as she did, and then to a tiny, small statue of her mother that was the only thing more beautiful it seemed. She lifted her head a few times and began looking at it—she did not even notice the creature that stood there, though she could feel the presence of it in her own chest and mind even now. She felt a surge of cold in her throat as her head was hitched into the statue and its light flashed from her lips, and a sudden sound of anguish began to fill the room. It began to slow down, its teeth beginning to bite hard against her throat until it almost felt so bad she wanted to cry. It began to eat the light in its mouth and the darkness around it until it could no longer hear her, and the silence was quiet until the voice came from above the statue in agony, and she looked up and saw the statue crumpled to the ground, where she immediately turned. In a flash she saw the statue’s face where a huge, glowing orb had once been hanging from the ceiling, but it had vanished, and now the orb’s glowing red light grew much brighter and brighter. As she looked downward and away from it, it began making a strange roar, and its roar came from all directions. Her body froze with fear at how strong the sounds that were being made caused this great scream, and every movement was deafening and frightened. Once this scream had died down, she knew that all that had never been said was that it would remain forever in her memories. It was she who finally opened her eyes on the city, and found herself in the
In 1965 m Morrison had met Ray Manzarek at the UCLA Graduate School of Film. They were on the beach in Southern California where Morrison recited his poem, Moonlight Drive, to Manzarek. At which point Manzarek insisted on collaborating to make songs. His brothers, Rick and Jim, were the original guitarists for a brief amount of time until Ray met Robby Krieger and John Densmore through yoga and meditation class.
Ray Manzarek, a classically trained pianist, with a deep love for the blues and jazz, wrote the themes for many of the songs and played not only the keyboard parts but simultaneously propelled the band with melodic driving bass lines. John Densmore, a jazz drummer known for shamanism rhythm and theatrical timing, which was heard in many songs created powerful background rhythms. Robby Krieger, a songwriter who could play any guitar, from classic flamenco to bottleneck blues, to create music never even thought of. And Jim Morrison, the baritone, American poet with a remarkable compositional gift and the mysterious image that made people grow silent. Together these men equally brought The Doors songs to life. Morrison decided to call the band “The Doors” based off of a book by Aldous Huxley called The Doors of Perception which, in turn had been borrowed for a poem written by the 18th century poet, William Blake. The particular part of the poem that would really reflect the concept that the Doors were striving for musically had stated, “If the doors of perception were cleansed, every thing would appear to man as it is: infinite”
By 1966, the band had made a demo tape and was performing as the house band at the London Fog and then moving on to Whiskey a Go-Go. In his earliest performances, Morrison was so introverted that he performed with his back to the audience or with his eyes closed for the majority of the performance. However, his confidence grew with the groups reputation and, certainly, his stage presence was unique. He had languid body movements, tended to throttle the microphone, and often emoted with closed eyes as if in a spectral trance. Also, he could be counted on to be unpredictable. Sometimes he dropped to the floor to sob out his lyrics; other times he danced with abandon as if possessed. On the 10th of August, Jac Holzman, president of Elecktra records, had signed the band with some persuasion from Arthur Lee. This seems very fortunate because the band was fired from Whiskey a Go-Go because of the risquй lyrics of “The End” and in particular, the “Oedipal Section” on August 21st. Morrison had conjured up his own rendition of the Greek tragedy, Oedipus Rex. The story was about a man that kills his father and proceeds to have sex with his mother. The variant that Morrison made said “Father? Yes son? I want to kill you. Mother? I want to fuck you.”
Morrison got some of his lyrics from Nietzsche–he always said his main guide to his poetry is The Birth of Tragedy from the Spirit of Music–he combined Nietzsche with a little freshman psychology and a lot of very broad images (the sea, the sun, the earth, death) and came up with Morrison therapy: to become more real, to be a better person, cut your ties to the establishment past, swim in your emotions, suffer symbolic death and rebirth, rebirth as a new man, psychologically cleansed.
In his Elektra Records publicity biography, he declared that he had no family. However, Morrison came from a military background and his father was a rear admiral in the Navy. Morrison assumed various alter egos when performing. For a while, he called himself the “King of Orgasmic Rock,” and as the “Lizard King” he would wear snakeskin pants. He also claimed to be possessed by the spirit of a dead Indian. This was the result of a childhood trip across the desert. He and his family had once passed an overturned truck, which had resulted in fatalities, and Morrison claimed that the spirit of one of the dead Indians somehow entered him. He accessorized that persona by wearing a Concho belt, leather pants, and dancing in a ritualistic style.
The Doors had quite a rebellious persona which first arose from their performance on the Ed Sullivan Show. Sullivan did not want the word “higher” sang on the show in the song Light My Fire. The band had agreed to change the lyrics for the sake of the show. Their producer even stated Morrison “Youre the poet. Think of something else – wire, flyer.” The Doors got on stage and performed the song as they always did. Sullivan was so outraged that he would not even shake their hands. Their producer told the band about Sullivans response and mentioned “Mr. Sullivan liked you boys. He wanted you on six more times. Youll never do the Sullivan show again.” Jims reply was “we just DID the Ed Sullivan show” Three months later, the singer made headlines when he was arrested on stage in New Haven, Connecticut, on charges including “breach of the peace” and indecent and immoral exhibition. In August 1968 he was again arrested, this time for disorderly conduct on board a flight to Phoenix. Morrisons persona would only continue with him badmouthing the police at the New Haven Arena on December 10, 1967. This display came shortly after he was allegedly maced by a police officer when he was caught with a girl backstage. He was arrested and charged with a breach of the peace and resisting arrest.
Jim had gone from a thin attractive man to a fat alcoholic. He was always drunk or stoned, and sometimes