Doors Final Performance w/Jim Morrison Dec 12 1970

[darkstar]

Sat Dec 12 1970 The Warehouse
New Orleans, Louisiana
The Doors Final Performance With Jim Morrison

The Doors' performance begins in customary fashion, but there is a dramatic turn of events halfway through the abbreviated show. Jim Morrison begins to omit key lyrics and then abruptly slumps against the microphone stand as if a puppeteer had suddenly let go of his strings. Ray Manzarek later describes the incident as watching Jim's strength drain out of him and dissipate into the air as if some mysterious force had wrenched his life energy right out of him. He begins to halfheartedly mutter a few jokes to the audience, which are basically unintelligentble and the house becomes very quiet. It is obvious to everyone in attendance that something indefinable and extremely troublesome and disorienting, has happened to Jim.

The Doors caustiously continue with their set after Morrison seens to regain enough stamina to do so. Jim appears to grasp onto the microphone stand for support, and passively mouths the lyrics to songs. The band brings the show to a quick conclusion by limiting additional songs, and jumps into the "Light My Fire" finale. It is during this song's instrumental passage that Morrison seems to disintegrate totally. He slumps down on the drum riser and when it comes time for him to return to his microphone, he doesn't budge. The band compensates by cycling back through their instrumental passages. When it becomes apparent that Jim is not going to get up off the platform again. Densmore takes his hi hat foot and firmly shoves Morrison toward the front of the stage. Morrison grimly rises up, returns to his microphone, mutters something, and tries to complete the song. Accounts vary as to whether he completes the song first, but what follows is an explosion. In tormented frustration, he repeatedly smashes his microphone stand into the stage with such force that the boards splinter. He then throws the mike stand onto the floor in front of the audience, and storms off the stage.

Although the Doors complete their performance, Morrison's equilibrium and vitality never return, and the entire band experiences a disturbing permonition that this may very well be their last appearance together. They later agree to discontinue live performances, at least for the time being, and fly back to Los Angeles.

The proprietors of the Warehouse choose not to repair the damage to the stage floor for years after this show because of its historical significance.
"On The Road" By: Greg Shaw (p. 213-214)

[darkstar]

THE DOORS BREAK FROM TOURING MID-DECEMBER 1970 (from the book
"The
Doors On The Road" by Greg Shaw – page 214



After their excruciating night in New Orleans, the Doors unanimously
resolve to stay off the road for a while, and focus primarily on
their studio work. The years have taken their toll, and the band
members feel a sense of relief at the prospect of a break. They hope
that when they return to touring they can do so with renewed strength
and optimism.

John Densmore said, "The reason we were so negative about the road
was because towards the end we just didn't think it was worth it. We
were getting hassled so much by various establishment people - police
narcotics, vice squad, etc. - and the audience expected some kind of
spectacle rather than music, you know, because of Jim's image. So he
grew his beard, gained a little weight and went off to Paris, and we
all said, well, the road, ugh, for a while." (Bob Nirkind
interview "The Doors Aftermath", Phonograph Record Magazine, April
1972)

Jim Morrison comments to Rolling Stone: "We're kind of off playing
concerts; somehow no one enjoys the big places anymore, and to go
into clubs more than just a night every now and then is kind of
meaningless." (Ben Fong-Torres, "Jim Morrison's Got The Blues," RS
March 3, 1971.)

Morrison tells the Daily Planet in Miami that they will not be doing
any more live concerts. When asked further about it, he says, "It
just won't happen." He does not say that the band is breaking up, but
does indicate that they will be branching out and exploring different
avenues. (Daily Planet, Miami, April 10, 1971)

*********************************************************************

From the Book: "Light My Fire - My Life With The Doors" by Ray
Manzarek Pages 341-343

That fateful last concert in New Orleans, where the bayou and the
voodoo conjoined to snuff out Jim's spirit. It just left him. Halfway
through the set his energy, his vital force, his chi, just left him.
It became a vapor. An exhalation of the stomach that rose out through
the top of his head. Off into the ether. Perhaps to join Pan and the
satyr. Perhaps to dissipate into the universe.

I remember that concert like it was yesterday. A packed warehouse on
the docks. Low, dark, and ancient. Slave vibes, juju vibes, Marie
Laveau and Dr. John walking on gilded splinters. It was musty with
150 years of cargos coming and going on the Mississippi. I didn't
like it. It was Van Gogh's Night Cafe. It was not a place to make
music. It was a place to plan a crime, buy drugs, or commit a murder.
Halfway through a lackluster set, Jim suddenly left the stage. I
could feel it. I usually played with my head down and my eye closed.
Concentrating on my left-hand bass, right-hand organ. John's beat,
Robby's chords and fills, and Jim's words. I knew where everybody was
at every moment. I could feel them. Their presence. Their essence.
And at a most inappropriate place, in the middle of a song, in the
middle of a short solo, Jim left the stage. Now in the middle
of "Light My Fire" Jim would frequently leave the stage to get a beer
as Robby and I soloed for upwards of ten minutes or more. But this
was not "Light My Fire" and Jim was gone. I could feel him leave. And
I looked up and I was shocked. He was standing at the microphone! He
hadn't left the stage. Only his essence had. And it was streaming up
from his stomach and out through the crown chakra. Out into the
voodoo that night. Spreading itself over the assembled mulitude.
Disappearing into the sweat and heat and dust and rafters of the
ancient edifice in the New World city of New Orleans on the bayou.
And then Jim began to sing again. But without any commitment to the
words. Without passion. Without energy. He was spent. Exhausted. He
badly needed rest. He needed to rediscover himself. And he needed
time away from his drinking buddies. He needed time away from those
ne'er-do-wells on the Morrison dole. He needed to be a poet again. A
quiet, contemplative poet.

John and Robby saw it, too. And they saw Jim lose it at the end of
the set. They saw him pick up the mic stand with his heavy weighted
base and begin to smash the stand into the old plank flooring of the
stage. Over and over and over. Smashing the stage to pieces. Smashing
his life to pieces in blind rage. A fury had overtaken him and he
couldn't stop. He splintered the wood and shattered his soul. Vince
finally came out from behind the amps and put his hand on Jim's
shoulder. He immediately stopped. His rage dissipated with Vince's
comforting touch. He put his arm around Vince's shoulder and just
stood there, at the mic, looking out at the audience as we finished
the final chorus of "The End." We would never play that song with Jim
Morrison ever again.

When we got back to Los Angeles, Robby, John and I had a short
meeting and unanimously agreed to stop performing in public; Jim
wasn't up to it anymore. It was too much of a strain on him. We
couldn't risk his health, both physical and psychological. We told
him and he was happy with the decision.

"Listen, man. Why don't we not tour for a while and just concentrate
on writing," I said. "What do you say?"

"Sounds good to me," he responded. "I don't feel like touring anyway."

"We thought we could just stay in L.A. and rehearse," Robby
said. "You know, work on songs together."

"Cool," Jim said. "We gotta get ready for our last album, you know."

A silence hit the room. The dark green thing stuck it's tentacles
into my stomach and stirred my gastric juices in a nasty, evil way.
Robby went pale. The air was sucked out of John's lungs. Last album?
Robby finally spoke.

"What do you mean?....Aren't we.....aren't we gonna work together
anymore?"

Jim looked perplexed. "What are you talking about? Of course we're
going to work together." He took a laconic pull off his Tecate. "I
meant our contract with Elektra. It's over after this record."

The air rushed back into John's diaphragm. "We're free!" he
jubilantly exclaimed.

The green thing released its stranglehold on my duodenum. "Seven
records," I said smiling. "And this one is the last. We can do
anything we want after this." I was so relieved.

"I thought you meant you were gonna....work with....someone else,"
Robby said.

Jim laughed, "Like who?"

"I don't know, like anyone."

"Why would I want to work with someone else?" Jim asked. "Who can
play better than you guys?"

"Well, we know that," John said laughing. "We just wondered if you
did."

"Shit, John, I'm not the 'the little moron.' I know what I've got
here," said Jim.

"You'd better goddamn it," I said.

"I do wanna do a poetry album, though. But I'll get to that....when I
get to that," said Jim. And he took another pull on his beer.

"Well, we got a lot of work to do right now," I said.

"Yeah, we got our last album to make," Robby joked.

"You got a title, Jim?" John asked.

Jim pondered, bobbing his head laconically. "Yeah....I think so." He
spoke slowly, thoughtfully. "I think....maybe...L.A. Woman."

"Cool!," said John.

"I like it," I said.

"Kind of an ode to Los Angeles....and a woman, at the same time," Jim
said.

"And Los Angeles as a woman," Robby added. "Wait till you hear it. We
just started fooling around with it."

"Shit, let's try it now!" enthused John.

"Hey, anybody got some place to be?" I asked.

Everybody shook their heads no.

"Well, let's get busy," I said.

"Yeah, we got an album to make!" said Jim, smiling. "Let's not be
standing around and jawing idly. Hell, times a-wastin'!"



Opening Band "Kansas"

[darkstar]

**********************************************************************



From John Densmore's book "Riders On The Storm - My Life With Jim
Morrison and The Doors" pages 260-264



The gig was in a place known as the Warehouse. It was just that. A
low ceiling with posts everywhere gave the place a claustrophobic
feeling. It was heavily padded for acoustics.

There was an erie mood that night - and it was coming from Jim.
Someone must have been sticking pins in his psyche, because five
years of bizarre vibes came to an abrupt halt. Rock had its origins
here in New Orleans. Could it have been the voodoo revenge?

As Ray and Robby glanced at me for the cutoff to end "Soul Kitchen,"
Jim started to tell this terrible joke.

"What did the blind man say as he passed the fish store?" I cringed,
knowing the punch line.

"Hi, girls!"

The audience groaned. Then Jim began his nonsensical story about the
guy and girl holed up in a tree. He had first told us this "joke" in
our rehearsal room, and the gag was that there was no girl, 'Hey,
it's windy, isn't it......" He told it because it loved to waste our
time. An adolescent power game. This time he didn't have his tongue
inserted in his cheek. He was just plain boring. It was pathetic - an
artist on the skids. He droned on for another ten minutes as the
three of us tried to get another song started. Jim didn't leave a
space and the audience got more and more restless. No one was
laughing. Finally I started, "Break On Through," under Jim's rap,
which jolted him out of his doldrums. We fumbled through the rest of
the set without any spark.

Jim wasn't even drunk, but his energy was fading. Later Ray remarked
that during the set he saw all of Jim's psychic energy go out the top
of his head. I didn't quite see that, but it did seem that Jim's life
force was gone.

I knew the band's public life was over. I saw a sad, old blues singer
who'd been great once but couldn't get it up anymore.

The night before, in Dallas, I'd had hopes that we still had a future
playing live, despite the steady decline on our stage ability. But
New Orleans was the lowest note yet, especially after the tease of
the night before. I could smell death.

The limo ride back to the Pontchartrain Hotel was ominous. It was
like returning from a burial. Jim made small talk, but the rest of us
were dead silent. I knew Ray and Robby were finally ready to call it
quits. It started drizzling as we pulled up to the curn in front of
the hotel. Jim and Bill Siddons got out and went into the lobby. I
hung back, giving Ray and Robby the eye to stay, implying I had
something to talk about. After Bill and Jim were inside I spoke up.

"Well?" I said. They knew what I was talking about. The gig had been
so embarrassing they could read my mind.

"Okay, it's finished!" Ray retorted sadly.

Robby took a beat, digesting what Ray had just said, realizing that
half of our quartet had just caved in. He nodded in agreement. It
seemed that the black cloud that had been over my head for several
years was starting to lift. The Jim who'd wanted to quit years ago
now would play anywhere, at anytime. It was the only thing left that
he enjoyed doing besides drinking. We would have to be the ones to
throw in the towel. And we just did. Three pallbearers, standing in
the rain, had just put our live act in the ground. Finally.

In an ironic mood to celebrate or lament, we attempted a jazz-club
crawl. Times had changed. Many music venues had turned topless clubs.
We chose one, and finally, after years of berating and chastizing
Jim, I got drunk myself.

Secretly I was relieved that Jim's performance had been terrible. I
was embarrassed for the couple thousand folks in New Orleans, but
they didn't know what it meant to me. It meant that what we'd created
wouldn't be dragged through the shit. We agreed to cancel a few gigs
we had coming up.

The next day we had a pretty quiet flight returning to L.A. I buried
my face in the local newspaper, not wanting to catch Jim's eyes.
Something was in the air. Certainly times were a-changin', and not
for the better. Going back into the studio fairly soon for more work
on our sixth album would delay any discussion about future gigs. At
least I knew Ray and Robby were serious this time about ending the
live phase of our career. I could tell it was hardest for Ray to let
it go, but now even he knew it was for the best. Only time would tell
how Robby would react. We were close friends, but he was hard to
read. I could tell that he didn't want to talk about it, which meant
he would miss the high of performing. He had the look of a lover
about to be jilted.

[TheWallsScreamedPoetry]

New Orleans Know-It-All

Hey Blake,
Interesting about Ray Manzarek. Rumor is that someone does indeed have a tape of the Doors' New Orleans concert on Dec. 12, 1970, but they want a huge sum for it.
The concert was supposed to have been a complete disaster, with Morrison smashing the stage with his microphone stand and eventually just collapsing in a stupor, supposedly one of his worst concerts.
Shane

Dear Shane,
You, of course, are referring to my column in the May 3, 2005, issue of Gambit Weekly. I set the record straight about the first concert played at A Warehouse on January 30, 1970 and the concert given by the Doors, Jim Morrison's last concert with the band, as he died in Paris on July 3, 1971. I also referred to the possibility of finding a recording of that historic performance.
Well, we are in luck because I received the following e-mail from a gentleman who has the answer. The Mr. Sugarman he mentions in his e-mail is former Doors manager Danny Sugarman, who died this year. He was the author of a biography of Jim Morrison, No One Here Gets Out Alive.
Maybe Ray Manzarek will read Gambit.

Hey Blake:
I received word that your column had had some inquiry about the lost tape of the Doors concert at the Warehouse, Jim Morrison's very last performance.
The tape isn't lost. I've had it in a safety deposit box for several years. I was a stage manager at the Warehouse during most of the shows at that classic venue, including the Doors'. The tape is in two-channel stereo -- it was recorded by 'Stagehand Bob' on the same machine he used for just about every early show at the Warehouse.
My recollection is that I came upon the tape when Beaver Productions moved its offices out of the Warehouse, uptown into a building at the Riverbend. The Doors tape, along with a stack of other Warehouse show tapes, were cast off and left behind as debris during the move. The rest of the tapes may have been destroyed. I regret leaving behind the Jimi Hendrix tape.
At sometime along the way, I spoke with a gentleman named Sugarman, who represented himself to be a manager of the Doors, about the tape. Mr. Sugarman said that the keyboard player had only a curiosity interest in that night's rendition of 'Riders on the Storm' (if I have that song's name right), but had no real interest in acquiring the tape, Jim Morrison's last performance notwithstanding.
The Doors shows back then were chaotic, but the Warehouse performance was more music than theater. An exception to that would be at the very end of the show when Morrison, who was whacked near a stupor that night, suddenly jumped up, grabbed the microphone, and then smashed it right through the floor of the stage. What an ending to a great show. Nobody knew it when it happened, but the music indeed was over when they turned out the lights and the Doors left the stage.
Very truly yours,
George M. Friedman


BLAKE PONTCHARTRAIN 2005,
Gambit Communications, Inc.

[jimbo]

Everytime I read this story it breaks my heart

[TheWallsScreamedPoetry]

God knows the truth of this of course as the bullshit that has been talked about the second Dallas show and New Orleans by people could fill a set of encyclopedias......but it would be of historic interest to hear this show for obvious reasons....
I do not however believe that Ray passed on it for the reasons stated and it was probably more for the insane prices these people want for such things......
The Doors were quoted a ridiculous price for a Matrix master tape which is why we never saw the BMR release and I imagine that a very high sum would be expected for this show..........
Its not sensible to pay extortionate prices for these tapes and until the holders see some kind of sense and perhaps accept some kind of royalty agreement for the things we probably will never hear them.....
Thats if they even possess the bloody thing in the first place.....

[nick]

There was talk of this on the LL today... Jeff was saying no one had EVER offered them the tape... Aren't they wanting like 200,000? I can't even remember what I read. It'd be cool tho if their last concert was a good one and ever released.

[TheWallsScreamedPoetry]

Well I would niether be inclined to believe Doors managemnet anymore than a hoarder about the ins and outs of the New Orleans tape but it would be insane to pay $200 grand for a tape of a gig that is pretty much unsellable to the general public......only a minority of Doors fans would buy this release as the concert was hardly a classic....Jim was drunk and obviously not happy with being on stage from all accounts of the gig.......the previous nights performance that we have on disc was rough as hell and this one was apparently worse......
Only those who see the BMR label as a way to collect Doors history will buy this and they will be in a minority of a minority......Even Alive She Cried/In Concert CDs sold relatively poorly and they were cherry picked albums of very good on stage moments.
No big bucks will be made on an album like this....until these people accept a deal based on album sales then this sort of thing will never see the light of day.......the advent of BMR has made some of these so called hoarders think they have the power to dictate to the Doors and whilst we the fans want to see this Doors history made available to those who want to own it the band management would be crazy to be held to ransom by these people.......New Orleans is perhaps an important historical concert to Doors fans but will never be of a level of interest that will turn much of a profit...same applies to Miami....poor quality performances marred by drunkeness on the part of the singer are not the sort of thing Joe Doors fan tends to drive to work listening to.....

[TheWallsScreamedPoetry]

"We're kind of off playing concerts; somehow no one enjoys the big places anymore, and to go into clubs more than just a night is kind of meaningless."
Rolling Stone March 3, 1971 "Jim Morrison's got the blues,"