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- The Doors (1967)
- Strange Days (1967)
The Doors (1967)
8.5
Break on Through (to the Other Side) / Soul Kitchen / The Crystal
Ship / Twentieth Century Fox / Alabama Song (Whisky Bar) / Light My
Fire / Back Door Man / I Looked at You / End of the Night / Take
It As It Comes / The End
The
Doors were a talented group of musicians, able to merge the most unlikely
influences thinkable at the time, but they ran out of ideas quickly, not in
the least because vocalist Jim Morison’s theatrical, self-obsessed and
tortured poet-mystique became erratic really fast.
That’s one interpretation. Others claim that The Doors were perhaps
the ultimate chroniclers of late ‘60’s pop culture and counterculture,
the first band to successfully unveil the childish optimism of the ‘Summer
of Love’ nonsense, and pioneers of rock’s darker impulses as channelled
through multi-faceted music and literary musings that owed as much to French
symbolism as they did to psychology and 19th century European philosophy (Schopenhauer,
Nietzsche). Well, of course it’s true that a lot of Morrison’s
shtick was nothing but a pose (has there been any art school
student who hasn’t been infatuated by Rimbaud, Baudelaire,
Nietzsche and Kafka at one point on his/her journey to maturity?), and that
a lot of his lyrics basically evolved around his “adolescent exhibitionism”
and were a slight version of his heroes’ art (is it surprising they
copped their name from Aldous Huxley’s The Doors of Perception,
Huxley being a prophet of mind-expanding exploration?), but you gotta give
him that he had few predecessors in the rock business. There had been a lot
of poetry volume-waving beatniks around, but they were mainly interested in
cool clubs and jazz, so Morrison’s dark vision and controversial attitude
certainly were something awkward at the time (it’s telling that Love’s
Arthur Lee allegedly had to beg Elektra chief Holzman to check them
out).
The secret to the band’s success is of course their unique approach: they didn’t have a steady bass player – even though there usually was one when they recorded their albums (in this case: Danny Labahn) and from the get-go onwards came up with an hereto unheard blend of blues, pop, jazz, Eastern influences and even classical. All this was possible because of their different backgrounds, as organist Manzarek was classically trained, guitar player Robbie Krieger a blues fanatic and drummer John Densmore a jazz buff who accidentally wound up in a rock band. Then, there’s Jim Morrison, and no matter how fake his attitude might seem today, it’s undeniable that he was a superb vocalist with a commanding baritone he used to sing, whisper, cajole and growl (which he did with style). While they’re famous because of their epics (“The End,” “Riders on the Storm,” “L.A. Woman”) there’s actually not much jamming going on here, as the majority of these songs don’t even pass the three minute-mark. “Break on Through,” the album’s first single, for instance, clocks in at a concise 2:25, and what a great 145 seconds it is, from the jazz-accented intro to Morrison’s ferocious hollering and Krieger’s greasy guitar tone, it’s one of the year’s best singles (and there were quite a lot of goodies). However, it was the second single “Light My Fire” that broke the band, and while I actually prefer the first to the second, this extended album version of the latter (more soloing, baby) might be better at stressing the band’s unique acid-drenched testosterone rock. Nowadays, Manzarek’s organ sounds completely dated, but I can imagine that the Sunset Strip boys totally loved that never-ending, mantra-like kind of stuff. The album contains a bunch of excellent tracks, several of which are finished by Morrison’s fine vocals. “The Crystal Ship,” for instance, isn’t that interesting when only listening to the music, but it gets its charms from the drugged vocal delivery. Likewise, the best part of “Twentieth Century Fox” -aside from Krieger’s short but thrilling solo – comes when Morrison rhythmically delivers lines such as “She - won’t - waste - time - on e-le-men-try – ta-halk.” The album also includes a first attempt at straight blues – Willie Dixon’s “Back Door Man” – and the result is a simple, struttin’ rendition that has “SEX” all over it. Even more than Mick Jagger, Morrison employed a degree of sleaze and vulgarity to make his point, and it works brilliantly here.
Playing the blues is something they’d actually return to when they ran out of silly ideas. It’s no surprise then that their bluesiest album would become their most consistent one. But in the meantime, there are a few excellent rockers as well: the fine “Soul Kitchen,” with its restrained verses and rocking chorus would be covered by X a dozen years later, whereas tracks like “I Looked at You” and “Take It As It Comes” – though not nearly as unique as the highlights – are fine in their conformity. In fact, I only have a (several) bone to pick with the album’s “creepy” moments: “End of the Night” (inspired by L.F. Celine’s Voyage au Bout de la Nuit? Probably) is nothing special (and that eerie slide guitar doesn't help much either), and then there’s the lauded final, “The End.” I can’t stand that song anymore. I still like the hypnotic feel of the song, especially Krieger’s supremely atmospheric playing and Densmore’s occasional outbursts, but those theatrical vocals just annoy the fuck out of me. Whereas the opera-like ambiance of the multi-part “Alabama Song” (Weill-Brecht! European! Arty! Cool!) still cracks me up, this 11-minute Oedipal tale just seems so bloated and, well, silly. Of course, it must’ve been controversial and very daring at the time, but this website isn’t (only) concerned with the innovative/controversial/influential-aspect of the music (if it were, a 10 would be unavoidable), and I can’t enjoy it because it’s an embarrassingly dated example of a defunct bullshit detector. That said, the majority of these songs here are not only unique, but also memorable tracks that show the band’s ambition and confidence already in full force.
Strange Days (1967)
8
Strange Days / You're Lost Little Girl / Love Me Two Times / Unhappy
Girl / Horse Latitudes / Moonlight Drive / People Are Strange / My
Eyes Have Seen You / I Can't See Your Face in My Mind / When the Music's
Over
"The
Stones were dirty, but The Doors were dead." Lester Bangs was often full
of shit, but occasionally his ramblings could make sense. Even though Morrison's
antics (and he surely was the one responsible for all the gossip and seedy
stories according to Danny Sugerland's Wonderland Avenue, which contains
the appropriate sub-title Tales of Glamour and Excess) are quite ridiculous
in hindsight, he was an innovative rock performer with a notorious preference
for all things obscure, disproportionate and estranged. Even though Strange
Days hardly makes the same instant impact as the shockingly "different"
debut album, because of the lack of immediately striking songs (no celebratory,
delirious rock like "Break on Through," no flat-out theatricality like "Alabama
Song," no oedipal nightmare like "The End"), it's basically a continuation
of the debut's concern with estrangement and alienation during an era when
boundless optimism and naiveté were still reigning. Of course, the putrid
smell of decay and disappointment was making its way into the music of artists
who managed to probe beneath the shiny surface as well. Not much earlier,
Love's Forever Changes - almost note-perfect and ridiculously beautiful
on the surface - also betrayed hints of a darkness not recognized by the general
Summer of Love-partygoers. While Morrison's 'larger-than-life'-posturing
(Nietzsche's übermensch put to practice) could make you oversee the
downside of the music's triumphant tone, the less striking acid-rock makes
its point in a more subtle way. Even though the album contains a pretty consistent
batch of songs, it'll take several listens before its vibe starts to sink
in, as most of these cuts feature quite poppy, almost cute melodic arrangements
("Unhappy Girl," "You're Lost Little Girl") that aren't very likely to upset
anyone. Because of the brevity of many of the cuts, there's not as much unwarranted
jammin', giving a very economical impression, with Ray Manzarek's playing
getting an even more important role, as Krieger often limits himself to adding
classy slide effects, punctuations and bluesy licks that add more to
the music than that they dominate it. It's not that the entire album is concerned
with dark and depressing themes ("Love Me Two Times" and "My Eyes Have Seen
You" are fairly vague and perhaps suggestive), but their hides a lot of less
cheerful stuff beneath the accessible arrangements, whether it's the eeriness
of "Strange Days," the feelings of isolation in "Unhappy Girl" and "I Can't
See Your Face in My Mind" or the sudden violence at the end of "Moonlight
Drive" ("Baby gonna drown tonight, goin' dow, down, down"). It's the subtle
interaction between the lyrics and the music that makes this album (for the
most part), the least pompous and irritating of all their early releases.
The title track kicks off the album on an appropriately unsettling note, with
Manzarek's hypnotic organ line, Densmore's restrained - almost primal - drumming
and Morrison's carefully pronounced, ominous announcements. The rather dark
start is continued by the bass line that opens "You're Lost Little Girl,"
which develops a dream-like atmosphere, with delicate contributions from all
members (Krieger's ultra-brief solo is especially enchanting). There are more
ditties like this one, songs that would pass by unnoticed if you wouldn't
pay attention, but that somehow retain a certain aura of mystique, even after
several listens. "Unhappy Girl" and "I Can't See Your Face in My Mind" manage
to recreate exactly the same, hazy vibe. Of course the album's mainly known
because of two songs (which are also the only two that are stabs at greatness):
the cocky "Love Me Two Times" is a 3-minute slice of blues featuring one of
the best harpsichord-solos (!) you'll ever hear on a rock album, while "People
Are Strange" basically is this album's Euro-tribute, a slightly theatrical
folk song with an Brecht/Weill-ambiance and drunk saloon-piano. The prominence
of keyboards also reoccurs in "Moonlight Drive," a song that soon develops
into a more rocking affair, but for a song like that, there's also a more
conventional song like "My Eyes Have Seen You." Like The Doors, this
album also ends with an extended epic - the 11-minute "When the Music's Over"
- and again, I think it brings the consistency and fun of the album down.
It's in no way the self-conscious slab of psycho-babble that "The End" is,
but it can't keep up its momentum either (and if you think this is 60's psych-jammin'
at a peak, just check out the Butterfield Blues Band's "East-West" for some
truly bad-ass groovin'). It's refreshing to hear them take off in a
different direction, with awkward drum accents and a forcefully awakening
guitar roar and "solo" (well, the sounds he makes three minutes into the song
are pretty nifty), but soon after that it seems to derail and continue like
another mediocre jam centred around Morrison's ramblings. Fortunately, the
intensity and focus pick up towards the end of the song, so that you'll be
left behind with a good feeling after all. It's a smart thing they didn't
tack the self-important piece of nightmare-poetry "Horse Latitudes" (a.k.a.
"Mute Nostril Agony") to the end, which would've ended the album on a bummer.
Now, I can live with it and it doesn't detract from the fact that Strange
Days is still the most restrained (a good thing here!) and accessible
Doors album available. The end.