The Doors: Waiting for the Sun's 50th Anniversary

Jim Morrison had a deep, almost classical baritone, and when accompanied by the Doors' rhapsodic garage ensemble, he lent a unique, mesmeric clarity to the primordial yearnings of the late ’60s. He was also the first superstar hippie with an aura of pre-counterculture masculinity. There was nothing remotely smiley or reassuring about Morrison. Mostly, though, Oliver Stone's film wants to be an intimate portrait of Morrison. And that’s where Stone’s frenzied, one-thing-after-another approach takes its toll. As docudramas go, The Doors is more docu than drama: It simply presents Morrison’s life and dissolution, bottle by bottle, without really giving us a peek into his soul. Stone essentially buys into the star’s myth about himself. Then the movie undercuts the myth by showing us, in agonizing detail, what the booze did to him. Morrison’s fatalistic yearnings seem to touch a responsive chord in Stone. Lying dead in his Paris bathtub, Morrison has a transcendent smile. Stone doesn’t pretend to know whether Morrison did break on through to the other side. But the flashes of brilliance in the film exert a powerful hold. Forty years after his death, Jim Morrison can still convince an audience that he’s onto something. Whatever one can say about Morrison’s method toward revelation, the truth is it ultimately destroyed him. Source: hiphappy.com

"I was born to sail away to touch the land of my dreams but evil winds filled my sails and finally I lost my way. The ship run aground of my life and now, I lie here broken, helpless." —Jim Morrison

Break On Through: The Life and Death of Jim Morrison, (ekindle, 2014) by James Riordan and Jerry Prochnicky, reveals how Morrison overdosed on Pam Courson's heroin. This is, without a doubt, the most thoroughly researched book on Jim Morrison and the Doors yet to be published, and reveals Danny Sugerman's No One Here Gets Out Alive for the puerile, fawning mess it is. But it is less the star and more the martyr that surfaces here, with gruesome accounts of Morrison being beaten by cops, lambasted by finicky critics, verbally abused by audiences, and emotionally drained by a neurotic girlfriend. The story is that Morrison was a failed visionary, and that "I can do anything" was the shallow, desperate boast of a man already fallen off the edge on which he so loved to live. The tragedy of Jim Morrison—who, like all sacrificial media gods, will always be young; that's why we love to kill them—is that he destroyed himself in full view of millions, and no one did a thing to stop him. Source: www.stereophile.com

Waiting for the Sun was the third studio album by The Doors, recorded from February to May 1968 and released in July 1968. It became the band's first and only No. 1 album, spawning their second US number one single, "Hello, I Love You". Waiting for the Sun contains two songs with military themes: "Five to One" and "The Unknown Soldier". In his 1980 Morrison biography No One Here Gets Out Alive, Jerry Hopkins speculates the song seems to be a parody of all the naive revolutionary rhetoric heard on the streets spouted by the "hippie/flower child" hordes, an interpretation strongly supported by the final verse "Your ballroom days are over, baby." Waiting for the Sun was praised by James Riordan as The Doors' best album with no complaints about its brevity. Sal Cinquemani of Slant magazine wrote: "Despite the fact that Morrison was becoming a self-destructing mess, Krieger,  Manzarek and Densmore were never more lucid – perhaps to compensate. This was a band at its most dexterous, creative, and musically diverse..."

I’m With the Band, the classic confessional of Pamela Des Barres’s sexual and romantic escapades with a cacophony of rock stars, is republished in a 30th anniversary edition this month. In bracing detail, the woman born Pamela Miller in Reseda, California, details her high jinks on the Sunset Strip of late-60s and early-70s Los Angeles. “I was the muse,” she adds, “and I don’t care what people say about that. Groupies enhanced these people’s lives in a huge way. And if it weren’t for us, they would not be who they are.” Mick Jagger was asked once in Rolling Stone what he thought of Des Barres' book. He said he had no problem with it: ‘I was there.’ “Jimi Hendrix hit on me and it’s impossible to describe his charisma, it was huge,” she said. “I didn’t sleep with him though — I was only 17 and way too young.” But Miss Pamela didn’t think twice when it came to Jim Morrison, although she only went to second base with The Doors front man. Source: www.nme.com