Album reviews: The Doors, by The Doors

29 07 2009

There are so many ways to describe such an ambiguous group as The Doors; rebels, role models, rock deities, idols, weird, extreme, but definitely one of the greatest rock groups of the century. For some, The Doors were an undoubtedly talented group of musicians, who merged the most improbable influences possible, but shot their own feet because Morrison exhausted his unequalled theatrical and poetic talent too fast by becoming self-obsessed and erratic way too soon. For others, The Doors were the ultimate representatives of the pop culture of the 1960s, the group that unveiled the dark desires of rock and channelled them through the lyricism of French symbolism, the European philosophy of Nietzsche as much as numerous psychological inferences. It’s true that lots of Morrison’s lyrics evolved around his gloomy visions, controversial attitude, adolescent exhibitionism and mythic alter ego.

The sound of The Doors was a combination of blues, jazz, classic, and pop music with Eastern influences. This aggregation of sounds characterized the diversity of the group. Ray Manzarek, the group’s keyboardist liked to parallelize The Doors with the United States saying that as America combined so many cultures forming a multidimensional nation, The Doors emanated from different musical regions accomplishing an astonishing blend.

Their debut album ‘The Doors’, released in 1967, featured the breakthrough hit single ‘Light My Fire’ that made it to #1 on the Billboard’s Hot 100. The song was originally written by Robby Krieger, the group’s guitarist, but it was left unfinished until the band members expanded upon it. The song came out in two versions, but The Doors finally preferred the 7:06 minutes version for the album and released the 4:40 minutes version only to radio stations.

‘Break On Through’ was the first single of the album that despite being rather unsuccessful, it still remains the band’s signature staple. With its jazz-prominent intro and Krieger’s slippery guitar provisions, ‘Break On Through’ is a great 145 seconds of Morrison’s wild howling that got censored for using the word ‘high’ repeatedly in its middle section. Although the original album version and any reissue until the 1990s do not include the word “high”, live versions and all remastered releases include the full line ‘she gets high’.

However, the most controversial and provocative song of ‘The Doors’ album is ‘The End’, a mysterious and dark track that reveals both the theatrical skills of Morrison and perhaps a psychedelic revolution that evolves around the Oedipus complex. ‘The End’ was censored for its lyrics – ‘Father, Yes son, I want to kill you / Mother, I want to f**k you’, although uncensored versions were released later with Ford Coppola using the song in the ‘Apocalypse Now’ soundtrack. Morrison never thought he was actually insulting anyone with those lyrics. He never really meant to f**k his mother. All this was a setting of Greek drama, a theatrical setting where the mother was the mother earth, the mother birth and the father that Morrison wanted to kill was his inner self that was mostly unwanted and wanted it to come to an end. Despite the criticism, ‘The End’ is admittedly one of The Doors’ most famed songs that mingles Indian sounds with rock and roll swings and folk elements of the 1950s; a real masterpiece.

‘The Doors’ was a huge success reaching #2 on the Billboard Music Charts and going multi-Platinum. Other great tracks in the album were ‘The Crystal Ship’, a slow tune on a classical piano background that features Morrison’s extraordinary songwriting skills, ‘Alabama Song (Whisky Bar)’, a track based on Brecht’s opera with rather simple lyrics, which however remains classic, and ‘Soul Kitchen’ that features great keyboard tempo, mellow guitar solo and great vocals.

‘The Doors’ remains an all time classic album and one of the most fascinating and radical albums of psychedelic rock.





Album reviews: Cure For Pain, by Morphine

29 07 2009

I got ‘Cure For Pain’ as soon as it came out and it still finds its way to my cd player. Every time I listen to this album I get the feeling of a dark, smoky, almost underground Boston atmosphere, full of Sandman’s distinctive, deep vocals, anchored by two string slide bass, baritone sax and a drum kit. Morphine intertwines a sound that cannot be easily categorized as rock or blues. Instead, they call to mind lounge jazz elements mingled with the grind of blues, inviting me gradually into a dark alcove of sound, while maintaining rock & roll provisions.

‘Cure For Pain’ is a fearless, energetic album with blasting saxophone-riffs and resounding bass. Morphine’s sounds are smooth, with bluesy sax tunes flirting around deep basslines. Sandman’s songwriting is deceivingly simple, yet craftily performed, his voice a lyrical sensibility, a gloomy mournful bass that echoes despair, confusion, and melancholy. Colley’s sax is at times raw, at times refined; Conway’s drums drive the music alongside Sandman’s groovy basslines. What makes the album a classic is that, although the Boston trio doesn’t uncover much versatility in its instruments, still it produces an unremitting depth on its sound, nothing like the agreeable state of unconsciousness associated with their namesake drug.

It’s pretty much impossible for an album to have nothing but great songs on it. ‘Cure For Pain’, however, is full of great tracks that switch from sad to blues and upbeat jazz, always reflecting an extraordinary chemistry between Sandman, Conway and Colley. Mixing jazz elements with grunge sounds, admittedly, the album’s highlights are the title track ‘Cure For Pain’, ‘Buena’, ‘Candy’ and ‘Thursday’. Yet, the album has other great tracks such as ‘Dawna’, the haunting opening of the album; ‘In Spite of Me’ with Sandman’s whispering voice drifting over reverb drenched mandolins; ‘Miles Davis Funeral’, the atmospheric album’s finale.

Mark Sandman is deeply missed. And Morphine that disbanded immediately after Sandman’s untimely death from heart attack, are deeply missed too from the low rock scene for their jazz and blues conventions that sculptured their own world of gloomy rock beauty. However, the genius of the Boston trio is not lost. It still remains on their moodiness that drips out of ‘Cure For Pain’ mostly from Sandman’s slow-burning passion for the women he writes and sings about. With his velvet, deep voice makes cold, rainy nights fearful, but also savoury. This is the genius of Morphine.

‘Cure for Pain’ is, without any doubt, one of the best and most progressive rock albums of the ’90s.