Review of The Door's L.A. Woman

Released 1971

"Cops in cars, the topless bars.
Never saw a woman...so alone, so alone
So alone, so alone.
Motel, Money, Murder, Madness.
Let's change the mood from glad to sadness.
Mr. Mojo Risin".

My only previous Doors album was their debut. Leaping from that to their last album proper (no one really counts the two efforts without Jim Morrison surely?) was an odd way for me to build up their discography; the contrast in styles between the two are amongst the most pronounced in any bands catalogue.

A significant number of the albums I purchased in my late teens were chosen through economy and availability. Spotting an unknown, unrecognised second hand album for one pound from the late sixties or early seventies with odd or interesting artwork, pretentious song titles, side long suites or one that simply looked 'interesting', would always inspire me to put my hand in my pocket.

Hence, the battered and faded copy of L.A. Woman with suspicious stains on the reverse, spotted in Helston market for 50p was destined to end up on my shelves.

The contrast in sleeve design between their first and last albums was distinctly odd. The iconic artwork of their eponymous album showed the young, mysterious, sensual, powerful Morrison brooding magnificently into the lens, whilst his band members faded solemnly into shadow. On L.A. Woman, Morrison - bearded and bloated and looking much older than his 27 years - is hunched down to look shorter and thereby less important than his band mates. His appearance is exaggerated further by the awful pastel yellow colouring which makes Ray Manzarek look like one of the Simpsons.

Because the first album was predominantly energetic, intellectual pop, the bluesy intro to The Changeling took me by surprise, as did the guttural grunting which announces Morrison's presence. Only four and half years passed between the two albums, but Morrisons growling rasp is more akin to an aging bluesman. The overall sound was much thicker with a session bassist adding to Manzarek's left hand. This was unmistakably an album by The Doors, but with a maturity which belied their still tender years and short career.

Love Her Madly was a perfect pop song with a typically infectious keyboard motif demonstrating their collective ability to write commercially successful three minute tunes, although they were clearly ploughing a blues based furrow.

Both Been Down So Long and Cars Hiss By My Window show a very different vocal style and the incredible diversity of Robby Kriegers playing, with the pacing of the latter in particular revealing a very different writing style.

I've long maintained that any aspiring rock singer only needs to study the works of Jim Morrison and Jimi Hendrix to learn all there is to know about perfecting rock vocal phrasing. Both singers styles are, in my opinion, natural and unforced and have never been surpassed.

The quality of Morrison's phrasing and overall delivery is superbly illustrated on the title song, which, is for me, one of the finest moments in my entire music collection. The structure of the song is pure prog, expertly constructed with moments of genuine drama. Although I have heard it probably hundreds of times, the point where the tempo shifts and slows from driving rock to slow controlled blues-prog - "change the mood from glad to sadness" - makes me shiver appreciatively every time. Genius.

Side two is arguably much more prog like. L'America and Hyacinth House could just as easily have been found on the first Van Der Graaf Generator album: weird pop, if you like.

Crawling King Snake is a blues cover which could have been a horrible self parody were it not for the radical change in Morrison's voice and capability of the musicians.

The WASP was the last recorded opportunity Morrison had to set his poetry directly to music in his lifetime. Of course, it is easy to view his poetry as no better than sixth form doodling, but I think this undervalues the unique chemistry which occurs when his lyrics were accompanied by the music of The Doors. Supported with any other musicians, I don't think the result would have been as compelling.

Riders On The Storm in the context of the album - the last song of their career, in effect - takes on a very different complexion to it's status as a timeless single. At the risk of sounding as pretentious as many believe Mr Mojo himself to be, I consider the cumulative effect of the album to be a profound and mystical work of art. It will be a very good album indeed to push L.A. Woman out of my top three.