Post by tzinana on Jul 16, 2005 7:20:14 GMT
:'(I will start posting some newspaper reports. Some of you might find them interesting.
Tzinana
Washington Post, July 17, 1980
The Jim Morrison Story: Behind Closed Doors
David Bourdon
James Douglas Morrison of the Doors -- The Lizard
King, The King of Orgasmic Rock and the third member
of the '60s rock death trinity, along with Janis
Joplin and Jimi Hendrix -- was he a poet? Madman?
Visionary? Drunkard?
In this doggedly researched, superbly illustrated and
sensationalistic account by frequent Rolling Stone
contributor Jerry Hopkins and Doors confidant Daniel
Sugerman, Morrison emerges as all of the above and
more, the stuff of which genuine legends are made. In
an introduction, Sugerman even goes so far as to refer
to the late singer as a god -- but it is clear that
the god he has in mind is neither benevolent nor
self-controlled.
Morrison died -- or disappeared -- in Paris in 1971,
at the age of 27. During the preceding four years, the
Doors had risen from the bars of Los Angeles to
become, by some accounts, the American Beatles. They
were the first American hard-rock group to record five
consecutive gold albums. The Doors' music and lyrics
were deemed worthy of serious analysis by the straight
press; Morrison himself had several books of his
eerie, primal, sexual, symbolistic poetry published.
The Doors didn't simply bang their instruments. Their
other-worldly sound was complemented by enigmatic,
philosophically saturated imagery.
The Doors were clearly distinct from other rock groups
of the time (or any time), and -- ultimately, with
their audience. They did not sing standard love
ditties or offer paeans to peace and flowers. In a
revolutionary time, their message was not a railing
against any political system, but rather against all
boundaries of authority, of rules, of limitations.
"Break on through to the other side." "No eternal
reward will forgive us now for wasting the dawn." "The
future's uncertain and the end is always near." "Try
to set the night on fire." "No one here gets out
alive."
Rock music has traditionally been a rebellious art
form, and the evangelist industry has nothing on rock
bands for apocalyptic and strident messages. But with
Jim Morrison, the anarchistic, iconoclastic stance was
more than an image, it was the raison d'etre. Morrison
intentionally baited his audiences, inciting them to
near riot, challenging them to transcend the barrier
between artist and audience. Offstage was simply
another setting; the mission remained the same.
Purposefully, even relentessly, on a collision course
with society, Morrison's moment with truth would come
on a steamy night in Miami when his stage antics
resulted in legal charges of lewd and lascivious
behavior, indecent exposure, open profanity and
drunkenness; they would also inspire a series of
"decency rallies" across the country.
Hopkins and Sugerman's book comes at a time of renewed
interest in the Doors. The nihilistic punk movement
and, to a lesser degree, the frenzied New Wave,
certainly owes the Doors a salute. Then, too, Morrison
has been the least exploited of the rock legends. The
deaths of Joplin and Hendrix were quickly followed by
album releases; it was not until last year that any
"new" Morrison material was released.
The two authors have done their best work in tracing
Morrison's early days, a long-standing mystery. Born
in Florida to a mobile military family, the young
Morrison was never comfortable with his upbringing.
Indeed, in early interviews he would claim his parents
were dead. Popular and intelligent -- he had an IQ of
149, and an 88 grade average while attending George
Washington High School in Alexandria -- he could also
be difficult, bizarre, even sadistic. On one occasion,
he harangued an older woman sitting next to him on a
bus, reducing her to tears, repeatedly demanding,
"What do you think of elephants?"
Morrison traced his nature to an early event ("the
most important moment of my life"), when he was 4.
Traveling near Albuquerque, his family came upon an
accident involving Pueblo Indians. Several were dying
on the roadside, and after as the Morrisons left the
scene, the boy became more and more hysterical. He
later claimed that at that time the soul of a dying
Indian had entered his body.
His eccentricities became more exaggerated while he
was attending junior college in Florida. He immersed
himself in the philosophy of Montaigne, Sartre and
Nietzsche. In class he would carry on discussions with
his teachers while the other students listened,
enraptured. And he began to get arrested for drunken
or disorderly behavior.
From Florida he went to UCLA, and when his dabblings
in film did not gain a favorite reaction, he turned to
music, and to LSD, which he swallowed "like beer
nuts." The Doors initially met with rejection, but
word soon got out that this band was something
different, especially the driven singer with the
sudden lurches in mood and tension. Despite their
strange style, they were signed to a contract, and
became a near-instant succcess. "Light My Fire" (not
written by Morrison) was a No. 1 nationwide hit. The
first album went gold.
The Doors' commercial success was matched by their
critical acclaim. They were hailed in Time and
Newsweek; they appeared on Ed Sullivan and the
Smothers Brothers show. But Morrison began to spiral
out of control. At a New Haven concert there was a
backstage incident with a policeman who maced him.
Morrison went onstage and during the music recounted
the incident, insulting and baiting the police until
they arrested and dragged him offstage.
As their success grew, Doors concerts became more
frenzied. Near riots occurred several times. Morrison
began refining -- but not controlling -- act. The
audience expected outrageous performances, and
Morrison delivered. And the poetry and imagery slowly
became less important to the audience than the freak
show.
Strangely, Hopkins and Sugarman do not hold Morrison
accountable for the change in focus. They picture him
as a serious developing artist suddenly limited and
trapped by an audience that wanted only
sensationalism. But if so, his own words told a
greater truth: "You are locked in a prison of your own
devise."
Musically, the Doors maintained their success. But
Morrison's increasingly histrionic stage performances
-- and his endless drunken escapades and conflicts --
took their toll. The Miami arrest, and Morrison's
subsequent conviction on the profanity and
indecent-exposure charges, culminated in the Doors'
fall from artistic grace. Oddly, they would regain
public favor with their final album, but by then
Morrison was living in Paris, destroying himself.
Hopkins and Sugarman provide extensive and interesting
reports on the Miami trial, the recurring alcohol
binges and the final flight to Paris, where Morrison,
supposedly, was regaining his energy and readying to
reject artifical stardom for artistry.
Disappointingly, for such a factual account -- and one
which largely disdains standard larger-than-life hype
-- the authors report every possible Morrison
death/nondeath theory. (Only a few people saw his
body, and first reports of his death came almost a
week after the event. Officially, Morrison died of
natural causes while taking a bath, an unsatisfactory
conclusion if there ever was one, which may be why
silly theories get to take the stage.)
Was he simply on a death trip? An acquantance of
Morrison suggested as much in an Esquire article
several year ago: "He died for the simplest reason,
that he couldn't stand living." But Hopkins and
Sugarman deny that accusation, claiming Morrison just
wanted to shake everything he could out of life.
Perhaps. But in this account, he was seduced by the
dark side of the force.
Tzinana
Washington Post, July 17, 1980
The Jim Morrison Story: Behind Closed Doors
David Bourdon
James Douglas Morrison of the Doors -- The Lizard
King, The King of Orgasmic Rock and the third member
of the '60s rock death trinity, along with Janis
Joplin and Jimi Hendrix -- was he a poet? Madman?
Visionary? Drunkard?
In this doggedly researched, superbly illustrated and
sensationalistic account by frequent Rolling Stone
contributor Jerry Hopkins and Doors confidant Daniel
Sugerman, Morrison emerges as all of the above and
more, the stuff of which genuine legends are made. In
an introduction, Sugerman even goes so far as to refer
to the late singer as a god -- but it is clear that
the god he has in mind is neither benevolent nor
self-controlled.
Morrison died -- or disappeared -- in Paris in 1971,
at the age of 27. During the preceding four years, the
Doors had risen from the bars of Los Angeles to
become, by some accounts, the American Beatles. They
were the first American hard-rock group to record five
consecutive gold albums. The Doors' music and lyrics
were deemed worthy of serious analysis by the straight
press; Morrison himself had several books of his
eerie, primal, sexual, symbolistic poetry published.
The Doors didn't simply bang their instruments. Their
other-worldly sound was complemented by enigmatic,
philosophically saturated imagery.
The Doors were clearly distinct from other rock groups
of the time (or any time), and -- ultimately, with
their audience. They did not sing standard love
ditties or offer paeans to peace and flowers. In a
revolutionary time, their message was not a railing
against any political system, but rather against all
boundaries of authority, of rules, of limitations.
"Break on through to the other side." "No eternal
reward will forgive us now for wasting the dawn." "The
future's uncertain and the end is always near." "Try
to set the night on fire." "No one here gets out
alive."
Rock music has traditionally been a rebellious art
form, and the evangelist industry has nothing on rock
bands for apocalyptic and strident messages. But with
Jim Morrison, the anarchistic, iconoclastic stance was
more than an image, it was the raison d'etre. Morrison
intentionally baited his audiences, inciting them to
near riot, challenging them to transcend the barrier
between artist and audience. Offstage was simply
another setting; the mission remained the same.
Purposefully, even relentessly, on a collision course
with society, Morrison's moment with truth would come
on a steamy night in Miami when his stage antics
resulted in legal charges of lewd and lascivious
behavior, indecent exposure, open profanity and
drunkenness; they would also inspire a series of
"decency rallies" across the country.
Hopkins and Sugerman's book comes at a time of renewed
interest in the Doors. The nihilistic punk movement
and, to a lesser degree, the frenzied New Wave,
certainly owes the Doors a salute. Then, too, Morrison
has been the least exploited of the rock legends. The
deaths of Joplin and Hendrix were quickly followed by
album releases; it was not until last year that any
"new" Morrison material was released.
The two authors have done their best work in tracing
Morrison's early days, a long-standing mystery. Born
in Florida to a mobile military family, the young
Morrison was never comfortable with his upbringing.
Indeed, in early interviews he would claim his parents
were dead. Popular and intelligent -- he had an IQ of
149, and an 88 grade average while attending George
Washington High School in Alexandria -- he could also
be difficult, bizarre, even sadistic. On one occasion,
he harangued an older woman sitting next to him on a
bus, reducing her to tears, repeatedly demanding,
"What do you think of elephants?"
Morrison traced his nature to an early event ("the
most important moment of my life"), when he was 4.
Traveling near Albuquerque, his family came upon an
accident involving Pueblo Indians. Several were dying
on the roadside, and after as the Morrisons left the
scene, the boy became more and more hysterical. He
later claimed that at that time the soul of a dying
Indian had entered his body.
His eccentricities became more exaggerated while he
was attending junior college in Florida. He immersed
himself in the philosophy of Montaigne, Sartre and
Nietzsche. In class he would carry on discussions with
his teachers while the other students listened,
enraptured. And he began to get arrested for drunken
or disorderly behavior.
From Florida he went to UCLA, and when his dabblings
in film did not gain a favorite reaction, he turned to
music, and to LSD, which he swallowed "like beer
nuts." The Doors initially met with rejection, but
word soon got out that this band was something
different, especially the driven singer with the
sudden lurches in mood and tension. Despite their
strange style, they were signed to a contract, and
became a near-instant succcess. "Light My Fire" (not
written by Morrison) was a No. 1 nationwide hit. The
first album went gold.
The Doors' commercial success was matched by their
critical acclaim. They were hailed in Time and
Newsweek; they appeared on Ed Sullivan and the
Smothers Brothers show. But Morrison began to spiral
out of control. At a New Haven concert there was a
backstage incident with a policeman who maced him.
Morrison went onstage and during the music recounted
the incident, insulting and baiting the police until
they arrested and dragged him offstage.
As their success grew, Doors concerts became more
frenzied. Near riots occurred several times. Morrison
began refining -- but not controlling -- act. The
audience expected outrageous performances, and
Morrison delivered. And the poetry and imagery slowly
became less important to the audience than the freak
show.
Strangely, Hopkins and Sugarman do not hold Morrison
accountable for the change in focus. They picture him
as a serious developing artist suddenly limited and
trapped by an audience that wanted only
sensationalism. But if so, his own words told a
greater truth: "You are locked in a prison of your own
devise."
Musically, the Doors maintained their success. But
Morrison's increasingly histrionic stage performances
-- and his endless drunken escapades and conflicts --
took their toll. The Miami arrest, and Morrison's
subsequent conviction on the profanity and
indecent-exposure charges, culminated in the Doors'
fall from artistic grace. Oddly, they would regain
public favor with their final album, but by then
Morrison was living in Paris, destroying himself.
Hopkins and Sugarman provide extensive and interesting
reports on the Miami trial, the recurring alcohol
binges and the final flight to Paris, where Morrison,
supposedly, was regaining his energy and readying to
reject artifical stardom for artistry.
Disappointingly, for such a factual account -- and one
which largely disdains standard larger-than-life hype
-- the authors report every possible Morrison
death/nondeath theory. (Only a few people saw his
body, and first reports of his death came almost a
week after the event. Officially, Morrison died of
natural causes while taking a bath, an unsatisfactory
conclusion if there ever was one, which may be why
silly theories get to take the stage.)
Was he simply on a death trip? An acquantance of
Morrison suggested as much in an Esquire article
several year ago: "He died for the simplest reason,
that he couldn't stand living." But Hopkins and
Sugarman deny that accusation, claiming Morrison just
wanted to shake everything he could out of life.
Perhaps. But in this account, he was seduced by the
dark side of the force.
Great you are interested in these old "news", I'll keep on posting more!