Chapter 3 - The Doors

Chapter 3 - The Doors 

Fun story about The Doors, they were the house band of the Whiskey a Go Go until Jim spoke those word things near the end of The End. That was the end of that. Strong first impression, as first impressions a go go. 

That's our starting point, isn't it? If nothing else, the self-titled debut says "hi, we're the name we just called ourselves, you deal with figuring it out." Ok, but no guarantees, you know? 

Obviously, populating a jury with people who've never heard the doors is a monumental task, but me pretending to be Drew Barrymore and wake up every morning with total reset amnesia is just as ridiculous. I can pretend it's our 900th first date, but i've seen Sandra's pick for first impression boots and skirt. Still makes a powerful statement, but my appreciation has inevitably changed over time. No getting around the fact i know i like it very much. While we're on the subject of objectifying albums, let's try being objectively subjective. All the possible interpretations are by definition possible, so at least one of mine should be probable. That cover photo isn't any form of question, now is it? This so called "Jim" guy appears to know exactly what he's thinking, and his wing men do not appear to be surprised either. 

I'm trying to imagine sitting in a bar and this is what starts blasting from the stage where Johnny Rivers, a couple go-go dancers and a DJ in a cage were standard nightclub entertainers only a few years earlier. I like pretty ladies and all, but these guys just jamming is way more mesmerizing. 

This is also one of the practically no other albums where fully left panned drums don't bother me at all. Back Door Man is a fairly risque song to begin with, it's the Southern term for an adulterer, but my goodness is Morrison more than a little uncomfortably believable. And that reverb. Just wowzers. 

Now, I'm not a space-cadet, but this has to be as close to an LSD trip as it's possible to recreate in audio form. I can't even imagine the walls bulging and carpet patterns crawling up your legs while this happens into your brain. The flashing lights on the back of my eyelids are overpowering completely sober. 

I guess the final verdict is that for a blind date first impression, you'll be lucky if her dad doesn't greet you in his boxers and white tank top holding a shotgun. You gotta have some serious not giving a damn about waking up tomorrow to hop on public transportation in Santa Monica with these crazies. 

Contender for best debut album, no contextualization needed. So, as far as self-titling goes, this is the standard. We are The Doors, are you sure you're ready to find out what's on the other side? 

Chapter 4