The Doors and this particular album reside near and dear to my heart. As soon as that intro to "Roadhouse Blues" hits, the world tilts on an axis and takes you to a time when music, lizards, and poets intertwined seamlessly in the warm glow of the California sun. Jim Morrisons spirit slithers and lingers in the air wherever his voice resonates.
Given that this record came later in their career, Jim's vocals have matured, complementing the upbeat bluesy sound The Doors explored, which marks a different area from their earlier work. The lyrics of the tracks, of course, always capture the psychedelic rock genius that Jim was. The American poet wove his inspiration from the tapestry of his thoughts and experiences. Among his many musings, one childhood memory was often referenced in his lyrics—a moment when he witnessed a tragic accident on the highway, where a Native American family lay injured and bleeding. For reasons known only to Jim, he believed their spirits had jumped into his body, lingering for the remainder of his life.
"Indians scattered on dawn's highway bleeding
Ghosts crowd the young child's fragile eggshell mind."
- Peace Frog
Although Morrison and the band were dealing with some issues due to Jim's onstage outbursts and his recent "exposure stunt" in Miami, the album received a ton of praise from critics and their fans. There was one negative review I never got around the understanding from Rolling Stone magazine stating this album was going downhill with the exception of "Roadhouse Blues". Referring to Ray Manzareks "carnival-calliope organ work and whorehouse piano", lamenting it could have been a great album, but instead created a problem for The Doors. Weird take from Lester Bangs, who penned the review in 1970. Many of us would strongly disagree!
"Waiting for the Sun" and "You Make Me Real" were always repeat worthy to me. I feel like I am in a desert bar, the air thick in sorrow, soaked in whiskey and soul. This is where the line is drawn between the boys and the men. True artists drag you into their world, whether you want to go there or not.
As usual, you are left with the delightful Doors aftertaste when "Maggie McGill" fades. The rooms of Morrison's mind, and "bloody red sun of fantastic L.A".
With Love,
Midnight Mama
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