Jim Morrison of the Doors was a wild alcoholic, a raging drug user, and as the story unfortunately unfolds for these historical anomalies, an exceptionally talented artist who died too young. The Doors1 floated in a unique musical category than the other kings of rock during their time, which was shared by the Beatles and the Rolling Stones.
The Beatles claimed the throne of popularity, as they were the harmless, playful jokesters that effortlessly created catchy ballads. The Stones, on the other hand, wore leather jackets, had cigarettes perching on their lips and hired Hells Angels to be their muscle at shows. John and Paul would crack a joke during a television interview, while Mick would be the first one to put a cigarette out on the interviewer’s chest2. Jim Morrison, on the other hand, would ask politely to share his poetry. As the book described, “the Beatles and the Stones are for blowing your mind. The Doors are for afterward, when your mind is already gone.”
The Doors, led by Morrison, were a mysterious group, as even their sudden popularity seemed to come unexpected. Jim Morrison, who would probably tell you he was a poet before a musician, used singing as an outlet for his heavy writing. His music wasn’t necessarily a creative priority, which people understood. However, his indifference was compelling for his audience. Jim would often slip into comfortable stanzas of poetry mid-song that allowed his listeners to understand why he was really there. The Beatles and the Stones were artistic, no doubt. But, the Doors, specifically Morrison, treated music respectfully as an experiment for his other forms of expression.
The same way a painter, brush in hand, feels more open, emotional and permeable in their own studio, or how an athlete feels in their most natural state while sprinting on the field, Morrison felt the same way while on stage with his microphone. This was his art, no one elses, and music gave him that audience to show it off. He performed with a “mask on,” he once said. Even standing there drunk, stoned, falling over or dancing, shirtless or sometimes stupidly silent, he understood that even if he was laughed at, “when you laugh at a performance, you’re really only laughing at yourself.” The stage was his laboratory for expression.
And, this isn’t to say the Beatles or the Stones weren’t on-par artists with the Doors. They arguably were. However, their approach is what differed. The Beatles and Stones were more entertainers; they satiated their fans’ wants musically on-demand, and they loved it. The Doors, as I described Morrison above, were more like stubborn sculptors; they gave their fans only what the Doors wanted, except, the fans loved it regardless. A selfish pride in the entertainment industry can be a rare sell, as it can come off being obnoxiously intellectual. For the Doors, it clicked.
Jim admitted that creating music “was a search” for him, without a consistent philosophy or steady political purpose. He had a personal and artistic obsession with revolt, disorder and chaos, while the direction of his music was a “seeking, striving, trying to break through to some cleaner, freer realm” that his poetry couldn’t reach on its own. It also killed him in the end.
The bravest, most dangerous, strategic approach is to take that of Jim Morrison. He was extremely edgy, knowing he probably wouldn’t make it out alive. Perhaps he envisioned his young, controversial demise, reasoning him to act like a legend before he was rightfully crowned one3. There is a middle ground, one that was lapped numerous times over by Morrison’s antics. The takeaway, I suppose, is that if you’re going to push your artistic purpose that far, recognize the consequences.
- I’ve been talking and thinking about Jim Morrison and the Doors lately because I just finished reading No One Here Gets Out Alive. [↩]
- Mick said interviewing was his least favorite part of his job. [↩]
- Jim was known to have his hair cut and styled like Alexander the Great. [↩]