The other night, my friends and I got into a conversation about what band we’d love to see, dead or alive. A few of us mentioned Led Zeppelin. But, The Doors were a close second in my book. On an average night at a Doors concert, Jim Morrison was known to wildly leap out on stage, drunk and full of intensity and energy, taunting the crowd, shouting lyrical poetry, and finding new and amusing ways to shock his audience with his crazy and unexplained behavior.
The Doors started out at small venues like the London Fog on the Sunset Strip. Jim grew a fondness for the booking agent at the infamous dive club, Whisky A-Go-Go, also on the Strip, and The Doors found a semi-permanent spot at the club, among up and coming musicians hoping to land a record deal and make it big. Word about Jim at the Whisky began to increase. The Daily Bruin, UCLA’s student paper, published an upbeat review. Then the Los Angeles Times wrote a piece on Jim when they opened for the Turtles at the Whisky. All of this exposure really gave the band the chance to perform anywhere they wanted, in large arena venues, as opposed to small bars and hot spot clubs in L.A.
The group went on tour, traveling all over the states and in Europe, where they brought along a film crew to document some of their best and most notable performances. They were the first band to establish “arena rock”, where one band had the ability to sell out tens of thousands of seats in any city at any time of year. He was one of the most sought after and publicized figures of the ’60s, a rock star, an addict, a poet, and a symbol. Without even knowing it, when you consider Laurel Canyon, leather pants, the girl Neil Young may or may not have sung about, The Ed Sullivan Show, and drunken rock & roll debauchery, you’re recognizing Jim Morrison, Mr. Mojo Risin’.
Side note: I was in Paris in 2005 and dragged my family to the Père Lachaise Cemetery. Inside, it’s a maze of stone over 200 years old. Two types of tourists frequent the cemetary – those seeking Oscar Wilde’s tomb, and Jim Morrison fanatics. Benches and trees are covered in graffiti the closer you find yourself to his grave site, arrows and carvings pointing, “This way to Jim.” We were there 3 days after the anniversary of his death and there was a decent crowd, including a man who tried to hurdle the metal barricades surrounding the headstone. An angry Parison security guard emerged from behind another grave and seized him, while people continued to play guitar, sing, laugh, and place flowers and cigarettes at the foot of his grave.
This was the closest I’ll ever get to Jim Morrison, and the crazy antics he brought to life. I have a fondness for him that is difficult to measure. He was an innovative artist, inspired by past musicians, film, literature, heritage, mythical creatures, muses, and well, booze. He lived a short life, like several other artists of that same era. You have to wonder what would have become of him if he were still on stage today.
Even though Morrison faded out, a burly man with a beard, we picture him when he was at his best. We have recognizable images of rock musicians that passed too early: Buddy Holly, Janis Joplin, John Lennon, Jimi Hendrix…steady reminders of distinctive voices and beats in music. Okay, so this just got all sappy and turned into a “appreciation for dead artists” blog. Cue Don McLean…
