SIDE A
1. Break On Through (To The Other Side) – 2:25
2. Soul Kitchen – 3:30
3. The Crystal Ship – 2:30
4. Twentieth Century Fox – 2:30
5. Alabama Song (Whisky Bar) – 3:15
6. Light My Fire – 6:50
SIDE B
7. Back Door Man – 3:30
8. I Looked At You – 2:18
9. End Of The Night – 2:49
10. Take It As It Comes – 2:13
11. The End – 11:35
It’s probably because their star burned then exploded into supernova so quickly, but I feel like by 2021, over half a century since Jim Morrison’s death, The Doors are slowly being a little too forgotten. There was nothing like The Doors. That they had a sound both so ethereal yet so heavy in 1966 was remarkable. They are one of those few bands that anyone who knows them can recognise in an instant. There is nobody else like them and their sound is so defined and singular, almost to the point of self-parody at times, particularly on these early albums. That sound is produced simply, by a unique combination of four musicians, or really, three musicians and a poet. Robby Krieger is an underestimated and disciplined guitarist who floats around and inserts himself sparingly as needed. John Densmore is a whirlwind, his drums always high in the mix and far crisper than most drums, particularly snares of the time, would sound. He is always busy but as metronomically solid as nearly any drummer, as is needed when lacking a bassist. The rhythm section is Densmore and the bass foot pedals and left hand of the legendary Ray Manzarek, who functions as both keyboardist and bassist on his signature Continental Vox Organ that is the most recognisable part of the Doors sound. Nearly as recognisable, and overwhelmingly defining as a cultural reference point, is Jim Morrison, with his pensive but occasionally furious, deep, near spoken-word vocals, dark cryptic lyrics and general atmosphere of iconoclastic mystery.
Though the sound does somewhat evolve over the main six Doors albums, those basic elements are always in place and their greatest strength. All these albms are good, most are excellent. It was a close-run thing whether to include the 1967 follow-up Strange Days, and more diverse 1971 elegy work L.A Woman in the Top 52 aswell. For me they represent the holy trinity of Doors’ masterpieces. Sometimes, depending on mood, I consider either or both of them the peak, above the slightly more one-dimensional 1967 debut. But what really takes this first effort to the next level is that it is the first effort, an astonishing explosion out the gates. On top of that, the patented Doors sound was never more deeply mined and mastered than on this album. When you think of The Doors, you think of Break On Through or Light My Fire, and the sound therein. A handful of later tracks like People Are Strange, Love Me Two Times, L.A Woman, Riders On The Storm and others are as iconic and brilliant, but none are so identifiably quintessentially ‘The Doors’ as those original two classics, and most of this album.
A remarkable thing to consider is that if you listen to this album with totally fresh ears, aware of rock’s general eras and their context but not of the Doors, you’d swear this album features a bigger ensemble, is from the 70s, and took many months of production work. Everything is just so crisp, from the clarity of the production to the tightness of the performances to the diversity of the influences. That kind of precision and artistry overtook the mad old traditions of raw rock ‘n’ roll largely into the 70s, as virtuosic mainstream bands like Led Zeppelin, and the general success of progressive rock, turned rock albums into inch perfect frescos of complex composition and arrangement, and masterful performance. This was not the way in the heady drug-filled (well, different drug filled) experimental loose days of raw blues and free-jazz influenced psychedelic/acid rock in the mid to late 60s. The Doors were different. You would not consider that instrumentally this is that smallest of conventional rock units, the 3-piece, or that the album was recorded in 1966 in a few short weeks on a small budget with a 21 year old producer (the future legend Bruce Botnick). The only augmentation to the guitar/organ/drum trio at any point on the album comes in the form of some bass guitar added to beef up Manzarek’s low end on just a few tracks, generally played by prolific session man Larry Knechtel.
The basic reason for The Doors’ particular crispness and tightness are the different backgrounds of the musicians and primarily, the sheer volume of work put in refining their craft on stage. There is no particularly obvious penchant for virtuosity through any prodigal junior work or destiny to the vocation. Only Densmore had received any kind of fleeting formal training (naturally as you can hear, from jazz drummers). Manzarek was not classically trained unlike the very small number of contemporaries who have earned similar status as rock keyboardists (Wakeman, Emerson, Lord, etc). Krieger had no real rock or blues bent, having played flamenco and folk guitar. Morrison played nothing at all but brought unparalleled gravitas and mystique, and a remarkable rhythmic drawling voice. All four had unconventional paths and somehow it combined perfectly, thanks in large part to a prolific 1966 of gigging. The Doors had two long term LA residencies, including at the iconic Whisky-A-Go-Go club where they would sometimes play multiple sets a night (enough for Morrison to at least be present for some of the show once he could get himself away from drink, drugs and catatonia). This venue sits at the very core of the band’s story. It was where they mastered their craft, where they were first found by record executives, and where they built their counter-cultural hippy cult fanbase. It was also (no doubt contributing to that cult status among such people) where they first built their mystique, from Morrison’s no-shows to their eventual firing from the residency when Morrison unleashed a furious cacophony of unbridled passionate expletives in the climax of that Oedipal wonder The End.
Break On Through (To The Other Side) is one of rock ‘n’ roll’s all time great album openers, and very close to the most remarkable immediate statement as the first studio sounds of an artist’s career. Densmore’s rather unexpected but perfect Bossa Nova beat is the first sound heard, before Manzarek’s bassline and Morrison’s opening vocal lead us into a sudden brief extravaganza. The Doors never rocked harder, nor did anyone in a certain way. The track is so simple but so left-field. The Bossa Nova rhythm really has no reason to be there, but it creates a polyrhythmic jaunt that Manzarek and particularly Densmore himself works around, transforming a straight four to the floor bluesy rock jam into a bouncier and one of a kind pop masterpiece. Soul Kitchen is most notable for perhaps being the most Doors song ever. It starts with a Manzarek riff so awesomely cliche it could be a Doors meme, features heavily up-mixed Densmore, understated spidery fills from Krieger, a deep walking organ bassline from Manzarek’s left hand (with Knechtel’s help) and dynamic quiet to scream verse-chorus work from Morrison. It is pure blues energy but organ drenched and with Densmore’s jazz leanings.
The Crystal Ship is a beautiful delicate piece, the closest Morrison gets to a conventional love song but even still spiralling out into abstraction, while Manzarek plays the most gorgeous smooth lounge jazz-inflected piano part. It is probably the sweetest and most quiet (in a romantic not a brooding way) of all tracks on the album, and was a fantastic contrasting choice for the Light My Fire B-Side. Twentieth Century Fox is another in the Soul Kitchen mode of ‘standard’ Doors-sounding songs, but one of the underrated gems for me, with a great dynamic and a clever punny lyric. The first, and best, of the two covers is the jaunty, amazing circus-like take on the Kurt Weill/Bertolt Brecht cabaret standard Alabama Song (Whisky Bar). It is a piece Manzarek was a fan of and although the band substantially altered its original melody, it really is a Manzarek showcase, with a huge variety of psychedelic organ sounds including the one-off playing of a fretless zither called the Marxophone.
Side A then ends with the first and (narrowly) most famous of the album’s elongated epics, the magnificent Light My Fire. Manzarek’s riff is one of the most recognisable in all of popular music, as in many ways is the bassline he plays, backed by Krieger himself on bass guitar. Krieger’s contribution to the song is also his peak effort, with a typically understated but perfect guitar part. This makes sense however, as this is his song. This can easily be forgotten given Morrison’s iconicity, and particularly how he is so deeply associated to his passionate performances of this song, but the lyrics are in fact Krieger’s, as quite a lot of best Doors pop songs are. When listening deeply it becomes clear how un-Morrisonian they are, as they are extremely simple, archaic and romantic. The middle of the seven minute song (the section removed for radio edits) is a long jam, first full of energy from all three players, before it calms down into a softer section led by a gorgeous minimal solo from Krieger. He and Densmore slowly build back up to the monumental re-entry and final verse. It is a simple, well-worn long rock jam structure, but one of the very first and very greatest there have ever been.
Side B does not quite live up to the consistent energy and clarity of Side A, but it is the slight detours that give the album its sense of variety, and create a slow burn atmosphere that bubbles its way towards the epic climax. First up comes the rather quaint, filthy and dated Back Door Man, but to be fair to them, it is a standard blues cover, of a Willie Dixon song made famous by Howlin’ Wolf. That’s exactly how it sounds too, with Krieger leading an old school lazy blues jam. I Looked At You there isn’t a lot to say about, but it’s got a great balance of moody spaciousness in the title verses and sudden frenzy as Densmore and Morrison in particular get punchy in the choruses. Nothing beats the moodiness of End of The Night though. It starts with a dark distant organ theme that befits a horror movie and holds that atmosphere the whole way through, with big long creepy arpeggios from Krieger and Morrison at a near whisper much of the time. Take It As It Comes is the inevitable juxtaposition of sorts. It features a lead arpeggio by Manzarek which with the sound of that organ, will always create a slightly carnival feel. It is a simple and higher tempo pop song but there is still a certain distant brooding to Morrison in performance and production. But the chorus is as close to sing-along as they get, and sets us up perfectly for the opus to come.
The End. What a storied and special piece it is. Technically my favourite on the album is actually the more eminently pop listenable Light My Fire. But few tracks in the history of rock ‘n’ roll have been as controversial or influential as this twelve minute album closer. It started as a rather simple melancholy break-up song, but evolved into one of the great art rock tomes of its or any time. It courted huge controversy, it defined the darkness of Morrison’s personality, and it was one of the ultimate prototypes for what would become gothic rock. It starts slowly, with Krieger’s brooding guitar and the famous Morrison entry of ‘This is the end, my only friend the end.’ It builds through a tense and tough verse, not yet doing anything amazing but already captivating and upping the mystery and suspense to new levels. From there comes a kind of minimalist jam with Densmore providing the dynamic moments as Krieger and Manzarek continue to hold the tension. The first tempo shift comes half way through when it breaks into a march of sorts, perhaps a funeral march. Krieger’s unorthodox avant-garde solo here is mighty and one of the moments for which his legacy among guitarists is most indebted. As Krieger leads the band faster and higher, creating a sense of creeping darkness giving way to hellfire, Morrison begins to chant and bark as if in some gothic trance (famously and pretty clearly, he’s constantly intoning ‘fuck’ but buried deep in the mix). The final slowdown leads itself into Morrison’s famous spoken word section, as the Greek theatre nerd in him comes bursting forth with a recount of the Oedipus story, a tragedy where the title character kills his father and shacks up with the mother subsequently. More clever intoning and editing obscured this rather likely to be offensive notion (and continued associated expletives) but the implication was clear and controversial. This smoke and mirrors crescendo powers the band into as hard-edged a noisy rock out as they would ever attempt, before sliding down and closing with Morrison announcing that ‘this is the end.’
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