Free Mr Mojo by Dylan Jones Page B

of everything on their first LP – the magical significance of rock music, alienation, nihilism, doomed romance – it seemed somewhat forced in its evocation of Armageddon (in one apocalypticoutburst he asks for his subscription to the resurrection to be cancelled). As in a lot of his songs, here Morrison was orchestrating his own funeral. Detached, mysterious and allusive, Morrison’s obsessive and allegorical lyrics (mostly concerning his unrelenting death wish) were as haunting as they had been on the first album.
    The Doors
was recorded on 4-track, but after its release the Sunset Sound Studio was converted to 8-track. That was when, according to Manzarek, ‘We began to experiment with the studio itself, as an instrument to be played. Those eight tracks to us were really liberating. So at that point we began to play . . . it became five people: keyboards, drums, guitar, vocalist and studio.’ There was another addition to the line-up, as Pamela Courson became a frequent visitor to the studio. Her only contribution, though, occurred during the recording of ‘You’re Lost, Little Girl’ when Paul Rothchild tried to incorporate her into the song by asking her to perform oral sex on Morrison while he recorded the vocal. Not surprisingly, this didn’t work, and the song had to be recorded again.
    And though Morrison was already going through the motions, he still believed his music could radically help change people’s lives, and still talked opportunistically of his shamanistic qualities: ‘I think people resist freedom because they’re afraid of the unknown. But it’s ironic. That unknown was once very well known. It’s where our souls belong. The only solutionis to confront yourself with the greatest fear imaginable. After that, fear has no power, and fear of freedom shrinks and vanishes.’
    The American public lapped this up and
Strange Days
reached number three in the charts.
    Their first album featured their portraits on the cover but the band resolutely refused to have another picture of themselves on this one. So Elektra came up with the idea of photographing some carnival freaks instead.
    Morrison was amused, thinking it looked like a still from a Fellini movie: ‘I hated the cover of our first album, so for
Strange Days
I said, “I don’t want to be on this cover. Put a chick on it or something. Let’s have a dandelion, or a design,” and because of the title, everyone agreed, ’cause that’s where we were at, what was happening. It was right. Originally, I wanted us in a room surrounded by about thirty dogs. Everyone was saying, “What are the dogs for?” And I said that it was symbolic that it spelled God backwards. Finally we ended up leaving it to the art director and the photographer. He came up with some freaks, a typical sideshow thing. It looked European.’
    Worried that the band’s fans might not immediately identify this new product, Elektra placed full-page ads in the rock press, stating: ‘Their second super-album, STRANGE DAYS, is now available. Look for it carefully – because THE DOORS are not exactly on the cover. But they sure as hell are inside.’

4
    Dance On Fire
    The stage is empty, and bathed in darkness. Below, ten thousand avid Doors fans are screaming their pained, ear-piercing screams. A light hovers, and then John Densmore, Robby Krieger and Ray Manzarek quietly walk onto the stage. They calmly engage their instruments and break into song, the aggressive strains of ‘Break On Through’ filling the auditorium. Manzarek crouches over his piano, intently pursuing the rhythm, as Densmore pounds his drum kit and Krieger walks around like a sentry, looking, as ever, like someone walking onstage to look for his dog.
    The intro seems to last for ever, but then the crowd roars with appreciation as something moves offstage. It’s a man: about five feet eleven inches tall, 160