27: Jim Morrison

by Salewicz, Chris

  Jim paid a visit to Abbey Road studios, where the Beatles were recording ‘Happiness is a Warm Gun’ for their The Beatles album.

  On returning to Los Angeles on 20 October 1968, it was yet again time to enter the recording studio to make another album. This set of sessions saw The Doors working at Elektra’s new recording studio on La Cienega, ‘the house that The Doors built’, as it became known. The four musicians were not at all pleased, however, to learn they would pay almost standard rates – they were given a ten per cent discount. Jim turned his back on Jac Holzman so he wouldn’t see the fury etched into his face.58

  In early November 1968, The Doors played seven dates, mainly in the American Midwest. In Phoenix, Arizona, on 7 November, they played to a 10,000-strong audience at Veterans Coliseum. After an onstage equipment malfunction, Jim Morrison began to berate the audience. ‘We are not going to stand for four more years of this shit,’ he commented on the election two days previously of a new president, the Republican Richard Nixon. He encouraged the audience to stand and come up to the stage. When some 500 kids did so, they were pushed back by police – their response was to shower police officers with garbage. Several people were arrested. The local Arizona Highway Patrol captain had come close, he said later, to arresting Jim Morrison for his use of vulgar and obscene language. Having got away with this in Phoenix, in St Louis the singer tested the local police even more during the song ‘Back Door Man’ – ‘Fuck me, baby, fuck me, girl, suck my cock, honey, around the world,’ he extemporized.

  The Smothers Brothers Comedy Hour television show was known for its satirical take on current events, notably the Vietnam War. As such it was a suitable vehicle for The Doors. When the group’s opportunity came, on 15 December 1968, Jim Morrison gave a tour de force performance on ‘Touch Me’ and ‘Wild Child’, both songs from the new album, The Soft Parade. The first single off the new album, the overtly sexual ‘Touch Me’ raced up the US charts to number 3. Robby Krieger performed The Smothers Brothers TV show with a conspicuous black eye – he and Jim had traded punches with some representatives of the Old Order in a bar on Santa Monica.

  The Doors’ live performances in 1968 concluded with a show on home territory, at the Los Angeles Felt Forum. After the group had played ‘Light My Fire’, the audience began to chant ‘Again, again!’ Perhaps suffering from an excess of self-importance, Jim Morrison found himself irritated at such an inoffensive audience response – although gratitude perhaps would have been more appropriate. To make his point he stepped to the front of the stage and berated the crowd with all 133 lines of ‘Celebration of the Lizard’ before walking off for good.

  Jim Morrison was doing a lot of wandering off – the increasingly eccentric singer would frequently disappear. Often he had simply checked into a cheap motel, such as the Alta Cienega, a favourite that was convenient for The Doors’ office on nearby Santa Monica Boulevard – where he also had been known to regularly crash out on the couch. He was, however, adept at vanishing for longer periods.

  His absences contributed to occasional controversies, as when the other three band members would be obliged to make decisions without him. For example, with Jim missing on one of his frequent walkabouts, the other three members agreed – for a considerable fee – to let ‘Light My Fire’ be used in a television commercial for the new Buick Opel, an economy car that Ray Manzarek felt was apt for the new time in which they were living. The advertisement would require, however, a crucial line in the song to be altered, to ‘Come on, Buick, light my fire’.

  Jim refused to go along with this idea, and there was a huge row, which ultimately was won by Morrison:59 ‘Light My Fire’ was not used in a television commercial for the new Buick Opel.

  Meanwhile, they were still recording The Soft Parade, playing gigs and editing Feast of Friends – Jim Morrison seemingly far more interested in this increasingly expensive project than in making the new album. This in itself was controversial, The Doors risking the wrath of hardcore fans by adding horns, strings and further instrumentation in elaborate arrangements.

  On Friday 24 January 1969, it was time for The Doors to play a prestigious gig at Madison Square Garden in New York City. The venue held over 20,000 and was sold out for The Doors’ show, for which they received $50,000. Although the Garden was beginning to host regular rock concerts, it had not adapted to the complexities of sound balance required for musical events at such a cavernous venue. Adding to the potential problems with the Garden’s sound, The Doors were performing in the round. But the concert was a striking success. Lax security permitted the audience of mainly teenage girls to wander the auditorium, some even making it on stage. Although Jim Morrison’s performance was minimalist and devoid of histrionics, he seemed for the most part in perfect command of the audience. But at one point he wandered to either side of the stage, delivering a message to each in turn: ‘You are life!’ and ‘You are death!’

  While in Manhattan for the date, Jim Morrison first encountered Patricia Kennealy, the editor of Jazz & Pop magazine. When she went up to his suite at the Plaza Hotel to interview him, static sparks flew as they shook hands, created by the friction of her boots on the floor-covering fabric. Despite the simple scientific explanation, they both registered the symbolism. ‘A portent,’ said Jim. (Kennealy was a practising witch, a member of a coven, and would later ‘marry’ Jim Morrison in a ceremony devoid of any legal status.)

  Always interested in exploring radical art forms, Jim Morrison had a high regard for the Living Theatre, the New York-based innovative drama company renowned for its productions of experimental plays. The Living Theatre was always strapped for cash and the singer donated money to help keep them going. In their 1968 production, Paradise Now, they showed an eagerness to abolish the gap between art and life, with the actors forcing arguments with members of the audience aiming to so alienate them that they would leave. Although the piece was often performed in the nude, when they came to Los Angeles to perform the actors had been warned by police that they would be arrested if they did so; accordingly they played it while wearing underwear.

  Jim Morrison saw their every performance, including those of Frankenstein and Antigone, but it was the production of Paradise Now, with its confrontational tone, that most captured his imagination. Its influence would linger with him until the next Doors show the following day. ‘He had a madder than usual look in his eyes, though I knew he was sober,’ said Tom Baker, who had gone to the Bovard Auditorium with him. ‘At one point Jim turned to me and said, “Let’s start a fire in the balcony or something. Get a riot going.”’60

  On 1 March The Doors were scheduled to play in Jim Morrison’s home state of Florida, at the Miami Dinner Key Auditorium in Coconut Grove. Following this date, which was to be a warm-up for the longest set of concert dates The Doors had performed, Jim, Robby Krieger and John Densmore were scheduled to briefly vacation separately in nearby Jamaica. On the morning of 1 March, Jim Morrison and Pamela Courson had such a bitter row on the way to the airport that the singer refused to let her accompany him; there was a suggestion that she had told him she was pregnant by someone else. Then he managed to miss the flight that the rest of the group had taken. Obliged to fly to New Orleans, where he would catch a connection to Miami, he drank all the way, managing to miss his Miami-bound plane in New Orleans. There he continued to drink in the bar as he waited for the next flight.

  Arriving late for The Doors show, Jim Morrison was certainly the worse for wear, very drunk indeed. And the audience was rowdy, largely because it was unlawfully packed with almost twice its legal capacity of 7,000. It didn’t really improve their mood when Jim Morrison began to harangue them from the stage. During ‘Five to One’, after challenging audience members to come up on stage and ‘love my ass’, he turned on them: ‘You’re all a bunch of fuckin’ idiots. Let people tell you what you’re gonna do. Let people push you around … How long are you gonna let it go on?’ But then his mood shifted again: ‘I’m talking about love
your neighbour … till it hurts. I’m talkin’ about grab your friend. I’m talkin’ about love, love, love, love.’

  After more rants, he made a direct reference to the Living Theatre: ‘The last couple of nights I met some people who were doing somethin’. They’re trying to change the world and I wanna get on the trip. I wanna change the world.’

  Again and again, he challenged the audience to rush the stage. Unusually, that night Jim Morrison was wearing cotton boxer shorts beneath his leather pants. With his shirt off, the top of the boxer shorts was visible. As he stuffed it back inside his trousers, Jim inquired: ‘Hey, anybody want to see my cock?’

  His shirt back on, he fumbled behind its tails, as though unbuttoning his fly. Except no one could see anything at all. ‘Okay, I’m gonna show it to you,’ he promised. Pulling his shirt-tail swiftly to one side. ‘Okay, watch now … here it comes!’

  Still no one could see anything at all. ‘Did you see it? Did you see my cock?’ he inquired. ‘Do you want to see it again? Watch close now.’ He pulled his shirt back and forth: ‘There, I did it! Did you see it? Are you happy now? Want to see it again?’

  As the crowd surged forward, there was serious danger of the stage collapsing. Then Jim bellowed once again into the mike: ‘Now, look close, I’m only gonna show you my cock one more time.’ Once again he wafted his shirt in front of his flies. But in fact, he was revealing nothing.

  ‘Folks, he never exposed himself. But it’s become a myth, hasn’t it? It’s become an American rock and roll myth. And it’s a lot more fun to believe the myth, isn’t it? So we do,’ wrote Ray Manzarek.61

  The singer’s moment of controversy over, The Doors continued their set, kicking into ‘Light My Fire’. As the song progressed, Jim Morrison urged audience members to come up on stage. The stage then began to list. Security guards started to push people back into the hall off the stage. Inevitably, Jim pushed one of the security men off the stage. At which point another security guy threw Jim into the audience, where he was caught by the crowd. Working his way through them, Jim made his way to the dressing room.

  The next day Jim, John and Robby took the short flight to Jamaica, while Ray Manzarek and Dorothy made their way to Guadeloupe. Jim had booked a residence in Jamaica, a former Great House, up a hill in the middle of the island, where he had intended to share the vacation with Pamela. Now he went on his own. Alone in this former slave mansion, he became depressed. John and Robby had rented a sea-front villa in the north coast resort of Ocho Rios. One day Jim showed up there, drunk of course. He stayed for several days, annoying John Densmore, who had been seeking respite from the singer’s ego, before flying back to the United States.62 There, the Concert Hall Managers Association of the United States had issued a confidential newsletter. It warned against the ‘unprofessionalism’ of The Doors, singling out Jim Morrison. As a consequence, The Doors were effectively banned from live performance in the USA – all the subsequent dates on their first ever full-scale tour of the USA were cancelled. The live show cancellations occasioned by the Miami incident cost The Doors an estimated million dollars.

  It was while they were in Jamaica that they learned that on 5 March Dade County Sheriff’s Office had begun legal proceedings against James Douglas Morrison. He was to be charged with lewd and lascivious behaviour, a felony; indecent exposure, a misdemeanour; open profanity, a misdemeanour; and drunkenness, also a misdemeanour.

  Owing to an absurdity of the American legal system, Jim was obliged to surrender to the FBI. Because he had been in Jamaica when the warrants were issued, this was deemed unlawful flight across state lines to avoid prosecution – even though he was unaware he was about to be prosecuted. He was charged with lewd and lascivious behaviour, simulating oral copulation, and indecent exposure.

  ‘“Rallies for decency” were convened in the name of “decent, wholesome, traditional Christian values”’, wrote Ray.63 The national outrage was absurd: even though drunk, Jim Morrison had conned them all. Thirty thousand ‘Teens for Decency’ filled Miami’s Orange Bowl two weeks after the controversial show.

  Suddenly radio stations were again refusing to play The Doors. Already criticized for its orchestral arrangements, sales of the blues-based Soft Parade suffered: it only made number 6. The biggest single off the record was ‘Touch Me’, which made number 3, a substantial hit at least. None of the singles – the others were ‘Wishful Sinful’, ‘Tell All the People’ and ‘Runnin’ Blu’ – had been written by Jim Morrison; they were all Robby Krieger compositions.

  Back in Los Angeles, the group languished, reeling from the moral outrage they had provoked. Supposed to be working on the Feast of Friends edit, Jim instead spent much time at the Palms bar on Sunset, drinking. In an apparent attempt to hide who he was, he had grown a full beard, effectively hiding his good looks, and was putting on significant weight from his alcohol consumption.

  At a meeting with the other two Doors musicians, Ray said that they had to confront Jim about his drinking. An intervention session was arranged at Robby’s father’s house, at 2 in the afternoon. After much collective trepidation, it was put to Jim that he was drinking too much. ‘I know I drink too much. I’m trying to quit,’ he replied.

  On Saturday 14 June 1969 The Doors played their first live concert since the Miami debacle, at the Chicago Auditorium Theater. The next day they played in Minneapolis, and there were further shows in Vancouver, Atlanta and New Orleans. On Wednesday 25 June, they appeared on Critique, an hour-long PBS television show of unimpeachably serious credentials. The five numbers they played live included an epic performance of ‘The Soft Parade’. In the panel discussion afterwards, writer Al Aronowitz dismissed The Doors as ‘inconsequential’.

  Two days later they were in Mexico City, playing four nights in the Forum, a supper club. In exchange for performing at the nightclub, they had been promised they would play a show in a Mexico City bullring. Although Jim Morrison was not a particular fan of cocaine, all the group – except John Densmore – willingly availed themselves of the large amounts of coke they were offered.64 Then they were told the bullring show had been pulled, on ‘safety’ grounds.

  Jim was deeply saddened by the passing of Brian Jones on 3 July 1969. ‘Ode to LA while Thinking of Brian Jones, Deceased’ was a 73-line poem he quickly wrote, publishing it at his own expense and giving it away to members of the audience at Doors concerts on 21 and 22 July at the Aquarius Theater on Sunset in Hollywood. The shows were recorded for the group’s Absolutely Live album.

  Unwisely, The Doors turned down a slot at that August’s Woodstock festival because the singer believed the acoustics would be inadequate. But there were shows in Los Angeles, New York City, Philadelphia, Pittsburgh and Detroit. The contracts for these concerts specified that the group would lose all payment should Jim utter any obscenities whatsoever.

  The summons to appear in court on the charges from the Dade County Sheriff’s Department were not served on Jim Morrison until 9 November 1969. In a hearing that lasted twenty minutes, bail was set at $5,000 and a trial date was set for 28 April 1970. ‘Jim seemed sobered by the ordeal,’ wrote John Densmore.65

  Two days later, on 11 November 1969, Jim Morrison was busted once again. On a flight from Los Angeles to Phoenix, Arizona, to see The Rolling Stones play, Jim and Tom Baker drunkenly mauled a flight attendant. The police had been called when they landed, and The Doors singer was charged with ‘drunk and disorderly conduct’ and ‘interference with a flight crew’. This carried a maximum ten-year sentence. At the trial in March 1970 they were both acquitted, a case – somehow! – of ‘mistaken identity’.

  Whatever the future held for Jim Morrison, another album needed to be made, and so they began work at Elektra Sound Recorders on what would become known as Morrison Hotel. ‘Roadhouse Blues’ featured John Sebastian on mouth harp, who told the band his name could not go on the record because he was contracted to Kama Sutra records. Later they learned he was embarrassed to be associated with the con
troversial Doors.

  One night Jim Morrison brought some friends down to the studio: actor Laurence Harvey and Tom Reddin, the Los Angeles chief of police,66 whom he had met in a restaurant. Paul Rothchild swiftly hid the joint he was rolling.

  While driving around downtown, Ray Manzarek happened upon the rundown Morrison Hotel. Despite protests from the owner, photographer Henry Diltz shot the group sitting in a window of the building.

  Early one morning in January 1970 at The Doors’ office on Santa Monica Boulevard, Jim Morrison was interviewed for an hour by Howard Smith, the columnist for the Village Voice who had already written so favourably of him. Jim was publicizing Morrison Hotel, due to be released on 7 February 1970. ‘We’re the band that everybody loves to hate,’ the singer complained, referring to a film festival in San Francisco where a screening of Feast of Friends had been greeted with boos. ‘They hate us because we are so good.’ Jim then said of The Doors that, ‘I can reasonably predict another 7 or 8 years.’

  Jim Morrison told Smith he didn’t listen to music much, ‘mostly in the car driving around’. In Las Vegas he said he had seen the distinctly unhip Peggy Lee. ‘I’m not what you call a music buff. I don’t read very much either. I used to, but then life became so interesting I didn’t need to anymore. I don’t write much either. I don’t do much of anything really. But I will: I’ll get back in the saddle. Right now I’m soaking it all in. I just completed a short feature, in colour, called Highway, spelt HWY. Should be ready next week. Essentially there’s no plot, no story. I’m not that crazy about being an actor: I’d rather be a director or a writer.’ Based on Michael McLure’s book The Adept, HWY was, he said, ‘a contemporary story about this pair of dope dealers who go to the desert to make a score. This story was written before Easy Rider was made. It’s just superficial similarities.’

  ‘A lot of the groups I’ve talked to have said they have a lot of trouble hanging on to money,’ commented Howard Smith.