If you would like to be a guest blogger—or if you have written past articles about Jim Morrison or created videos that you would like to share on this site—email Joanne at
This e-mail address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it
. All copyrights belong to their respective owners.
They both thought of themselves as purist of the art form rather than those who wanted to achieve celebrity status.
The recent loss of 27-year-old Amy Winehouse brought me back to an artist that shared many similarities to her.
Jim Morrison, artist, lead singer of The Doors, passed away July 3, 1971. He was also age 27. In the world of above average music artists, death seems to have affinity for those at the age of 27. Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, and Kurt Cobain all died at age 27.
Morrison and Winehouse share more than a few passing similarities.
Morrison wrote poetry and was an above intellectual (I.Q. of 149); he was often misunderstood because of it. While attending UCLA, he became fast friends with a fellow student by the name of Ray Manzarek, they became the first two members of The Doors which was formed the summer that they met in 1965. Manzarek recognized the genius of Morisson’s poetry and felt that his words could be put to the tune of Rock n’ Roll.
Morrison believed that he could get a deeper, spiritual and poetic word across to a generation of anti-establishment people, something that Morrison himself embodied. So he agreed that he would go along with the forming of a music group though it was with understandable reluctance.
Once The Doors hit the scene, Morrison himself stood out and instantly became a sensation with the young girls of that era. He was different, he was bad and he seemed not to care what anyone thought about him or really about anything. Thus the image portrayed was no doubt a part of what was expected, those who knew Morrison speak of his softer side.
In his ever growing rise to fame, Morrison grew increasingly uneasy as things did not go the way he originally envisioned. He was a sex icon and that is what he desired.
Morrison already had what many would describe as self destructive habits, thus any he already had would increase. He binged on [cocaine] and often drank heavy liquor like it was water. His rebellion of fame had begun and was very public in a time of stricter censorship.
The Doors had landed the biggest act in town; The Ed Sullivan Show. They were asked to perform their hit song Light My Fire. Unfortunately, the word “higher” which were in the lyrics of the song was forbidden on national television at the time. In true Morrison fashion, he said it anyway and right in the face of the camera lens which caused a pandemonium on live television. The Doors were banned from ever performing on Ed Sullivan again.
Morrison began showing up to performances late or intoxicated. He was rumored to have exposed himself at one venue, although it is not known for sure it caused The Doors to be banned from yet another venue.
By 1969, the once slim and slender Morrison had become a heavy boozer with a pot belly and a very thick beard. He often recorded the remaining albums under the influence of hours of heavy boozing.
Morrison had finally found his way out through his unending fascination with death; it was achieved by total abuse for his body, the vanishing of the looks that his female fans longed for. He wanted to only have his music appreciated, not so much he himself; even though he was rumored to be quite the ladies man.
Jim Morrison has a voice that will echo on for generations to come.
It’s a commonplace: adolescent males need role models. Can rock music supply them? For a specific segment of American male adolescents—generally white, middle-class, suburban, and (somewhat) culture-oriented, the role model selected is often Jim Morrison. He’s a vision of a certain kind of American manhood—rebellious, virile but poetic, tough but vulnerable, intelligent in a brooding sort of way. His status as a rock star and sex symbol certainly helps, but what American adolescents respond to is his willingness to challenge authority. The common bit of footage of Morrison in New Haven in ’67—he’s onstage, goading the police into arresting him—has, as a cultural sign, the idea that the act of rebellion is inherently glamorous. Even the funny face that Morrison makes when they grab his arms enhances his impish, delinquent image. “No One Here Gets Out Alive,” the ultra-successful Morrison biography that consolidated his reputation in the early 80s, wasn’t any victory for truthfulness or aesthetic rigor—it glorifies Morrison’s drunken antics and sexual exploits and lets him off the hook for the often extremely lazy music he made with the Doors. What it did do was to set Morrison up as an archetype—a cohesive, decipherable cultural sign.
The sign resonated instantly with a wide public, and the movie Oliver Stone made about the Doors in the early 90s made it even more visible. The sign functions (unlike other rock signs, like the “Cure Army” archetypes) through direct identification—middle-class white adolescents find themselves “being Morrison” or “doing Morrison” each time they rebel in a major or minor way. Morrison, to be sure, isn’t an especially positive role model—he died a silly, tragic death at a young age. But the Morrison phase does lead adolescent boys to certain places—to write poetry and lyrics, to think about how authority is structured and what its flaws are, and even to consider the nature of America, and what “freedom” means. Parents of children wearing Doors tee-shirts may or may not realize all these things are happening—and, to be sure, Morrison doesn’t have that galvanizing an effect on everyone. It’s also worth noting that the Morrison phase may or may not plant seeds that produce a harvest later. The Morrison phase can produce a variety of effects. It’s also intriguing that James Dean, for all his stock as a potent rebellion sign, has never provoked this much imitation. Morrison spoke amply for himself; James Dean spoke only insofar as he acted out parts.
In terms of what Morrison said, there are surprisingly few Doors songs that express direct, unmediated rebelliousness; that’s more the province of punk. It’s the myth of Morrison’s life, more than his music, which counts. Part of what can be learned during the Morrison phase is how the mythology of selfhood works; how you can create a persona for yourself (like the “Lizard King”) and follow it through. One of the interesting operative conjunctions is between Morrison and “jocks,” adolescent athletes. It would be extremely unlikely that a jock would join, for instance, the Cure Army. But the Morrison phase, which doesn’t preclude athletic virility, translates almost equally for jocks and artsy kids. Yet it isn’t particularly multicultural and it isn’t queer-consonant. And because its effects are so varied, it’s difficult to pronounce judgment on the Morrison phase. It’s elastic and, in some ways, amorphous, because some kids pay attention to the nuances and some don’t. If you do a nuanced Morrison phase, you can be led to Blake, Nietzsche, “Apocalypse Now,” Rimbaud, and even Fellini. Or you can just embrace the rebelliousness. Kids tend to get out of the Morrison phase what they bring to it. It’s an individualistic mode; it doesn’t really involve participation in groups. In fact, it encourages nonconformity to group norms. The irony is that Morrison only became famous through participation in a group; nor does his work outside the Doors merit much individual attention. The culture needs Morrison to be an atomized rebel, renegade poet, etc. It will be interesting to see how sturdy the Morrison archetype is; if he will lose potency as a cultural sign over long periods of time.
THAT’S 40 years now Jim Morrison’s been gone. As the crowds converge on what NOT everyone believes to be The Doors frontman’s final resting place at Pere Lachaise cemetery, the world kinda seems a colder place.
Even to those who weren’t even THOUGHT OF when Lizard King Morrison supposedly expired in a Parisian bathtub on July 3rd 1971.
So easy to lampoon…
How easy Jim is to lampoon. The way he took a picture of Alexander the Great to his hairdresser’s appointment in the time before he didn’t half let himself go.
The idea that there was significance in the fact his name was an amalgam of the “term” Mr Mojo Risin’… Those rumours that his demise was faked so he could go forth to lead a tribe in Africa.
…but he was Mr Raunch personified
But his crooning work chez Doors is a totem of the days when pop was somehow supercharged with both mystery AND raunch.
Close up on Tom Di Cillo’s 2010 documentary [When You're Strange], drawlingly narrated by Johnny Depp.
Combining their gifts
In the present tense, it relates how three of the most accomplished young musicians in America—John Densmore, Robby Krieger and Ray Manzarek—combined their many gifts to make the scene internationally.
But NOT before their rookie vocalist—UCLA dropout Morrison—rocked up and counselled them to mind and stick loads of double meanings into those lyrics. Krieger’s first attempt was Light My Fire.
Colossus of chaos
In an age that pre-dated rehab, the colossus of chaos that was James Douglas Morrison was dicing with energies far stronger than he. We can deplore the utter waste of his addiction to bibbing, pharmaceuticals and acting the goat.
Many who worshipped the bard and his music rightly cringed at his conduct. But as long as the party needs one hellraisin’ band, the legend of the self-ordained Lizard King Morrison sure lives on.
Marie Grant is wowdewow head girl from the school of old rockers never die
If you are Lizard fan, what’s your favourite moment? Feedback welcome
Huysmans’ Against Nature chronicles the adventures on vacation a man takes without ever leaving his house. Scandalous in its day and much admired by Oscar Wilde, the book shows the liberation and decadence of doing the exact opposite of perceived wisdom.
Nearly 120 years later, the possibilities of travelling in your imagination are enhanced no end by our relationship with the moving image. Last summer, at its summeriest, an afternoon walk through London Fields, golden sun in my eye, catching an entrepreneurial tray of Pimms making its way around the hordes of those also lucky enough not to be trapped in an office that day, I imagined, no, it did seem momentarily that I was on Venice Beach in the mid 60s. I’ve never been to Venice Beach. Or California. Or the 60s. But as a youth I listened to a lot of the Doors and chewed at least one VHS of the film.
As a child I wanted to be Harrison Ford so much that I thought it was merely a case of wishing hard enough to become him. He was both Han Solo and Indiana Jones. As a teen, it was the Lizard King. OK, looking back, he was an alcoholic with a penchant for writing things like “Ride the snake, the snake is 10 miles long” whilst Agent Cooper hammed merrily away on the Hammond. But, it’s a rite of passage to be an arrogant little shit and wanting to be Jim Morrison helped me through a difficult stage. It got me laid. It got me stoned. It gave me confidence to play guitar, if not the immediate ability.
Well over a decade later, that film and that band long forgotten. The right gold light, the smell of the chopped mint, the haze silhouetting beautiful forms reawakens a combination of long dormant brain cells. Once again Jim rides through the park. I am the lizard King, I can do anything. Look, there’s a hippy Meg Ryan, look there’s a Native American hallucination, lets jump up and down on a police car. That last line didn’t happen.
I think in art, but especially in films, people are trying to confirm their own existence.
—Jim Morrison
Jim Morrison was such an enigma. He was a student of comparative literature and film, had an IQ of 149, and the looks of Dionysus. He was heavily influenced by Aldous Huxley, Antonin Artaud, Friedrich Nietzsche and peyote. He was also an at times out of control alcoholic, prone to drunken gibberish and made a series of what some would regard as bad decisions.
I think he's amazing. I first knew of the existence of Jim Morrison and the Doors when I was eight years old and saw them on tv. I remember thinking, in my childish mind, "Wow. He's pretty!", and promptly filed them to the back of my mind.
When I was older and really into the music of the Doors, I became more and more fascinated by this genius disguised as a rock star. I read everything I could about him. I digested his poetry like a starving waif. I watched the Oliver Stone movie with Val Kilmer at least a hundred times. I became a Jim Morrison encyclopedia. I admired greatly how he was so into performance art, and the theatre of the absurd, that often a Doors concert would become his personal experimental play, involving the band, the audience, the roadies, everyone. I loved how, even though he was a multi millionaire, he never owned a house, preferring to rent, stay on a friends couch or at the Doors offices. He would often bail his buddies out of financial hardship, insisting that the only payback he wanted was, "Buy me a beer." He was a real human.
As is the case with all of us, Jim Morrison was a flawed human being. As with many people who possess a huge intellect and an insatiable need to create, his foibles were just as big as his accomplishments.
The history of rock and roll and pop culture wouldn't be the same without Jim Morrison.
This July 3 will mark the 40th anniversary of his death. He piled a lot of living into his 27 years. Sometimes I wonder what he would have gone on to do, had he been fortunate enough to live into his 30's and beyond. I picture him as an old blues man, sunglasses, big gut, sitting on a stool playing the harmonica and reminding us all to break on through.
I like people who shake other people up and make them feel uncomfortable.
—Jim Morrison
Sorry about the ad at the start of the Spanish Caravan video… not much I can do about that. Great music though!
The Lizard King
