Post by darkstar3 on Jan 30, 2011 23:03:10 GMT
Los Angeles Times
In Inglewood
December 17 1968
Doors In Concert At Forum
By Donna Chick
Hell-child Jim Morrison, black leather pants riding low on his hips, was a heartbeat away from reality at the Doors concert Saturday night at the Forum in Inglewood.
Clutching the microphone between his hands with every fibre of his body, Morrison enjoyed putting on the audience. In the glory of his presence, the other three Doors melted into their instruments to become one romantic collection of musicians. For this appearance, The Doors were augmented by string and horn sections, which seemed largely superfluous.
During such numbers as “Touch Me” and “Wild Child,” Morrison was only a glimpse away from being understood. But later, coiling up like a black leather whip and lashing out at the audience in astounding bursts of energy he was much too heavy for the young crowd.
“Light My Fire,” one of the songs everyone waited for was a disappointment. The song dragged out so long that it failed to even vaguely resemble the original recording and instead sounded like a last minute improvisation.
As Morrison seemed content to wallow in the pleasure of his own talent, the audience became hostile. “I am the Lizard King, I can do anything…” he says, while his snaky body moves real slow.
The climax of his egotistical put on happened when he sat down, cross legged, in front of the musically starved crowd and asked the audience what they really wanted. “We can play music all night, if that’s what you want,’ he said, “but you don’t really want that, do you? You want something more, something different…” His mocking voice rang through the squirming crowd.
The audience got something different – the amphibian prince began to recite his own poetry. The effect would have been better in a small smokey room filled with intimate friends. But the majority of the audience who had paid to see ‘the fantastic Door’ was obviously disappointed. Applause and cheers were replaced by endless obscenities and irritable silence.
Perhaps Morrison should give up performing, which seems to be an effort for him, and concentrate on reciting and writing poetry. He doesn’t need the bulky load of screaming girls to feed his ego – it’s already over weight.
On the same program was obnoxious, cigar puffing Jerry Lee Lewis. Although he’s traded in his platinum hair for a tailored suit and an air of hillbilly tranquility, he really hasn’t changed, except that now he has to try harder. His performance was like an unrehearsed segment of the Polka Palace, featuring the pride of corn fed Memphis.
But the audience which was totally rude, didn’t even flinch when Lewis reacted to the endless booing with “I don’t care if you all get heart attacks.”
Eve his rendition of his two biggies, “Whole Lotta Shakin’ Goin’ On” and “Great Balls Of Fire,” failed to revive him or the audience emotionally.
END.
Bridgeport Post
August 2 1968
The Doors Sing To 5,000 Here
By Charles S Gardner
The Doors, a four man rock group whose, “Hello I Love You,” is currently the number one popular song, entertained 5,000 people in Kennedy Stadium last night, singing among other songs, “Light My Fire,” which gained the groups popularity.
Preceded by the five man Graffiti, a recording group with ABC, the Doors, led by baby faced Jim Morrison, shouted and shrieked their numbers in the portable band shell, behind an arsenal of amplifiers.
Having produced three best selling albums on the Elektra label, the Doors, who derive their name from Blake’s Doors of Perception, sing original songs, that owe their style to last year’s West Coast acid rock.
Audience Is Young.
The audience was young, with a predominance of the long haired, scruffy variety, which made a colorful show for a summer’s evening.
Jim Morrison, spiritual leader of the group, attired from head to toe in leather, sang his poetry, much of which is vaguely mystical, some of which is love song, and more of which is special brand of revolutionary, anti-police, anti-older generation rock, in a variably couched in sensuality Morrison seems to exude.
The Doors clearly are speaking, to their peers and their language is not commutable to any others. Their music is harsh, and, with the exception of the almost rollicking organ, too aggressive. But then Morrison slinks across the stage, eyes shut, dazed and croons huskily, off key into the mike. The effect is startling. The audience, instead of screaming as in the early Beatles days is silent, focused on Morrison and listens to what he says.
Morrison performs with an economy of motion which scads his every act of strange significance. The effect is eerie; be, Morrison is evil and the world behind his closed eyelids is enticing yet forbidding. The Morrison mystique speaks as eloquently to his audience as he seems to threaten the police lining the stadium.
Morrison, the police, the green playing field, and the huge enthusiastic audience under the thunderstorm which did not appear, gave the entire performance a surrealistic touch which might not have been merited in daylight. Yet the sort of energy the Doors seem to command from their audiences cannot be excused with the usual platitudes. The 5,000 youths packed in the Kennedy Stadium responded almost too readily, to the image The Doors seem to portray in them. Rather than be accursed of stirring their audience, the Doors can only be applauded for touching something in them not available through more conventional means.
The Doors concluded their show with “Little Red Rooster,” and the “Unknown Soldier,” a desperately anti-war ballad climaxing with Morrison being thrown to the floor, in a burst of exploding electronic feedback. The whining rises, the audience rises to their feet, the Doors retreat out the back.
The Bridgeport Festival theatre will sponsor two more popular music shows this summer, produced by Ben Segal. On Aug. 26 Jimi Hendrix, and on Sept. 1 the Rascals, will perform in the Festival Tent Theatre.
END.
In Inglewood
December 17 1968
Doors In Concert At Forum
By Donna Chick
Hell-child Jim Morrison, black leather pants riding low on his hips, was a heartbeat away from reality at the Doors concert Saturday night at the Forum in Inglewood.
Clutching the microphone between his hands with every fibre of his body, Morrison enjoyed putting on the audience. In the glory of his presence, the other three Doors melted into their instruments to become one romantic collection of musicians. For this appearance, The Doors were augmented by string and horn sections, which seemed largely superfluous.
During such numbers as “Touch Me” and “Wild Child,” Morrison was only a glimpse away from being understood. But later, coiling up like a black leather whip and lashing out at the audience in astounding bursts of energy he was much too heavy for the young crowd.
“Light My Fire,” one of the songs everyone waited for was a disappointment. The song dragged out so long that it failed to even vaguely resemble the original recording and instead sounded like a last minute improvisation.
As Morrison seemed content to wallow in the pleasure of his own talent, the audience became hostile. “I am the Lizard King, I can do anything…” he says, while his snaky body moves real slow.
The climax of his egotistical put on happened when he sat down, cross legged, in front of the musically starved crowd and asked the audience what they really wanted. “We can play music all night, if that’s what you want,’ he said, “but you don’t really want that, do you? You want something more, something different…” His mocking voice rang through the squirming crowd.
The audience got something different – the amphibian prince began to recite his own poetry. The effect would have been better in a small smokey room filled with intimate friends. But the majority of the audience who had paid to see ‘the fantastic Door’ was obviously disappointed. Applause and cheers were replaced by endless obscenities and irritable silence.
Perhaps Morrison should give up performing, which seems to be an effort for him, and concentrate on reciting and writing poetry. He doesn’t need the bulky load of screaming girls to feed his ego – it’s already over weight.
On the same program was obnoxious, cigar puffing Jerry Lee Lewis. Although he’s traded in his platinum hair for a tailored suit and an air of hillbilly tranquility, he really hasn’t changed, except that now he has to try harder. His performance was like an unrehearsed segment of the Polka Palace, featuring the pride of corn fed Memphis.
But the audience which was totally rude, didn’t even flinch when Lewis reacted to the endless booing with “I don’t care if you all get heart attacks.”
Eve his rendition of his two biggies, “Whole Lotta Shakin’ Goin’ On” and “Great Balls Of Fire,” failed to revive him or the audience emotionally.
END.
Bridgeport Post
August 2 1968
The Doors Sing To 5,000 Here
By Charles S Gardner
The Doors, a four man rock group whose, “Hello I Love You,” is currently the number one popular song, entertained 5,000 people in Kennedy Stadium last night, singing among other songs, “Light My Fire,” which gained the groups popularity.
Preceded by the five man Graffiti, a recording group with ABC, the Doors, led by baby faced Jim Morrison, shouted and shrieked their numbers in the portable band shell, behind an arsenal of amplifiers.
Having produced three best selling albums on the Elektra label, the Doors, who derive their name from Blake’s Doors of Perception, sing original songs, that owe their style to last year’s West Coast acid rock.
Audience Is Young.
The audience was young, with a predominance of the long haired, scruffy variety, which made a colorful show for a summer’s evening.
Jim Morrison, spiritual leader of the group, attired from head to toe in leather, sang his poetry, much of which is vaguely mystical, some of which is love song, and more of which is special brand of revolutionary, anti-police, anti-older generation rock, in a variably couched in sensuality Morrison seems to exude.
The Doors clearly are speaking, to their peers and their language is not commutable to any others. Their music is harsh, and, with the exception of the almost rollicking organ, too aggressive. But then Morrison slinks across the stage, eyes shut, dazed and croons huskily, off key into the mike. The effect is startling. The audience, instead of screaming as in the early Beatles days is silent, focused on Morrison and listens to what he says.
Morrison performs with an economy of motion which scads his every act of strange significance. The effect is eerie; be, Morrison is evil and the world behind his closed eyelids is enticing yet forbidding. The Morrison mystique speaks as eloquently to his audience as he seems to threaten the police lining the stadium.
Morrison, the police, the green playing field, and the huge enthusiastic audience under the thunderstorm which did not appear, gave the entire performance a surrealistic touch which might not have been merited in daylight. Yet the sort of energy the Doors seem to command from their audiences cannot be excused with the usual platitudes. The 5,000 youths packed in the Kennedy Stadium responded almost too readily, to the image The Doors seem to portray in them. Rather than be accursed of stirring their audience, the Doors can only be applauded for touching something in them not available through more conventional means.
The Doors concluded their show with “Little Red Rooster,” and the “Unknown Soldier,” a desperately anti-war ballad climaxing with Morrison being thrown to the floor, in a burst of exploding electronic feedback. The whining rises, the audience rises to their feet, the Doors retreat out the back.
The Bridgeport Festival theatre will sponsor two more popular music shows this summer, produced by Ben Segal. On Aug. 26 Jimi Hendrix, and on Sept. 1 the Rascals, will perform in the Festival Tent Theatre.
END.