Post by TheWallsScreamedPoetry on Aug 8, 2011 20:51:15 GMT
The New Rock
Life Magazine
June 28 1968
In a corridor, where the light struggles to get in and the darkness pushes to get out, there is a séance. It is sunset, the world empty and mellow. Doors open and close to everywhere and nowhere. Behind there are passageways: a moonlit drive to the edge of the night, a swim to the moon, a walk down streets of all night movies. Sharing an emptiness with the clothesless hangers is Jim Morrison, alone with a TV and a mind full of images.
“TV is both beautiful and malignant, restricting reality to a small gray tube – we are spectators – metamorphisized from a mad body dancing on a hillside to a pair of eyes staring in the dark.”
The sound of The Doors is primitive and mystical, the erotic rushes of the organ, the pirouetting of the guitar, the compulsive hid and seek of the drums, the dark green lyrics. The music has no meaning, just mood.
“Rather than start from the inside,” says Morrison, “I start on the outside and reach the mental physical.”
He seeks an unlicensed freedom, “to try everything,” his mind playing host to angels and devils. He tries to share a catharsis with his audience.
“Today is the age of the heroes, who live for us and through whom we experience the heights and depths of emotion. The spectator is a dying animal and the purgation of emotion is left up to the actor, not the audience.”
He suddenly quotes William Blake; “If the doors of perception were cleansed, man would see things as they are, infinite.” Then adds, “We are The Doors, because you go into a strange town, you check into a hotel. Then after you’ve played your gig, you go back to your room down an endless corridor lined with doors until you get to your own. But when you open the door, you find people inside and you wonder” Am I in the wrong room? Or is this some kind of party?”
