Hey, everyone. "Moriarty" here with some Rumblings From The Lab.
There are few things that have happened to me in my life that are more surreal than driving up to the security gate of a rehearsal studio in Hollywood, pressing a buzzer, and telling the woman who answers, “Hi, I’m here to see The Doors.”
Except, possibly, watching the gate swing wide, and hearing her say, “Come right in.”
Wait... let me back up a bit here and explain. I know that your first knee-jerk reaction is the same as mine was. “How can there be a Doors without Jim?” And I’m sure that’s a question that Ray Manzarek and Robby Krieger and John Densmore have asked themselves many times over the years. By the time I became aware of the band, Jim was already a distant memory, a placemarker by the side of the autobahn of rock that was the ‘70s. I’ve grown up with the presence of Jim as one of rock’s great casualties, right up there with Jimi and Janis and Lennon and Brian Jones and Keith Moon.
My knowledge of The Doors started with me picking up a copy of NO ONE HERE GETS OUT ALIVE to read before I’d consciously heard a note of their music. I just read the back of the book and thought it was cool. I was 11 years old. And by the end of that book, I’d been completely seduced by the legend of this band from Venice, these guys who were supposed to provide the soundtrack to a revolution. I fell for the romantic shambling slow-motion wreck that was Morrison’s life, and I was completely smitten by the lyrics in the book. I hadn’t heard a note of music, and I was already convinced that this had to be the greatest band of all time.
And then I heard them.
If you’ve ever heard me talk about how pivotal it was to see STAR WARS in the theater at the age of seven, then you know I consider that event to be a lightning bolt to the forehead, formative.
That first listen to THE DOORS GREATEST HITS was the same thing. Proof that lightning strikes twice. It was a glimpse of something bigger and deeper and darker and crazier than I’d had before. The Doors sounded like the house band at the sleaziest bar in the most dangerous province of the most dangerous country on earth. They always sounded raunchy, like you shouldn’t be allowed to listen to them, no matter what they were singing about. The Doors were a dare. They were just barely in control, it seemed like, controlled chaos. Jim was amazing, sure, but what really won me over and made me a lifelong fan was the virtuosity of the players. Ray Manzarek’s keyboards were smart and fun and absurd and cool all at the same time. Robbie Krieger was one of the most distinct guitar players in rock. John Densmore was a player of class and restraint, and he knew how to turn up the power when he needed to. They didn’t sound like anyone else out there, and their recordings sounded fresh to me when I discovered them over a decade later.
It was love at first listen, and my love affair with the band got me through high school and college. And through my first years in LA. And through a difficult break-up. And through all sorts of down times. In fact, I find I still return to The Doors as my musical comfort food. They are the constant in my personal soundtrack that has always been there, that always gives me the same emotional connection even now, every single time.
Not quite a year ago, a friend of mine named Tim Sullivan mentioned a book to me called THE POET IN EXILE. Told me it was a novel by Ray Manzarek. He mentioned this in a sort of an off-hand way because he didn’t realize what The Doors meant to me. Once he’d said it, though, he realized what he’d done because of my Pavlovian response. I didn’t realize just how hungry I was for something... anything. I didn’t realize how much I missed The Doors as a presence. I didn’t know how much I craved something new. Then he tossed the premise of the book out there, and I was hooked:
What if Jim hadn’t died? What if he took off to save his own life, and spent the time since figuring out what he wants from the world? And what if he came back and got in touch with Ray?
In the hands of anyone except Ray Manzarek, I’d think the idea insufferable, but there was something that drew me to the notion of Ray writing it. I thought that it would be wish fulfillment with Ray as the Ghost of Christmas That Will Never Be. Tim pulled some strings somewhere and got me an advanced copy of the book. At the time, I didn’t think anything of it. Tim’s like me. He’s got a touch of the Forrest Gump to him. He manages to find himself doing incredible things and sometimes stops to pinch himself to see if it’s all for real. He’s one of those guys who knows everyone, and I figured he had his ways.
Man, I had no idea...
The book, for those of you who haven’t read it, is great. It’s not what I expected at all. The first thing that comes through loud and clear when you read it is that Ray loved Jim very, very much. The second thing you notice is that Ray is a damn good writer. The book is essentially a Socratic dialogue between “Roy” and his long-missing friend, who he finds alive and well halfway around the world on a small island. The poet fills in the details of the missing years, illustrating a series of epiphanies that I truly believe Ray wished for his friend. The book is beautiful and filled with hope and longing and nostalgia and even sorrow. Ray manages to build in some grief, some long-overdue closure. The last ten or so pages made me cry when I read them, and I’ve found myself loaning the book out almost constantly since or buying copies for friends. To me, it read like Ray closing out a big part of his life with real grace and a generosity of spirit. I remember thinking at the end of the book, “I hope Ray does something else soon.”
And that’s where Tim Sullivan comes back in.
Tim called me last week to talk about one of the things he’s working on. He’s working on two horror films I knew about (2001 MANIACS and SHE-FREAK), but he’s also working on something that he’d hinted at in the past. The new project is a script that Tim co-wrote with Chris Kobin and Ray Manzarek. Yeah... the real Ray Manzarek. It’s a picture called RIDERS ON THE STORM that’s supposed to start shooting at the start of the year with Eddie Furlong and Peter Stormare the first actors to sign on to what promises to be an ensemble road picture.
”It’s EASY RIDER meets THE SEARCHERS,” Tim told me. I believe in aiming high, and that’s certainly an ambitious combination. The idea of Ray directing a film of any kind intrigued me. If he’s as intuitive a filmmaker as he is a novelist, then it could be something worth getting excited about. Tim is producing along with Brett Nemeroff, and Tim explained to me that the two of them had also ended up working with Ray on a couple of other things.
My spider-sense started tingling. “What sort of things, Tim?” I asked.
”The sort of things you might want to see. The sort of things you’d rent out a rehearsal studio for.” I could hear how pleased he was, how much fun Tim was having getting around to his news. “And Brett and Chris and I were wondering... maybe you’d like to come out and SEE these things we’re talking about.”
”You mean... see The Doors?”
”Could be,” he said. And then he gave me the directions to the small, unassuming space where the band was going to be meeting on a Monday afternoon.
And that’s how I found myself standing in the lobby of that rehearsal studio, waiting for Tim to show up with Brett. I stared up at the pictures of Veronica Lake and Humphrey Bogart that dominate the upper walls of the lobby, and I smiled at how appropriate they seemed. After all, I can’t think of many rock bands where the convergence of cinema and music were more direct. Ray and Jim and Robbie met at UCLA, after all, where Ray and Jim were film majors and Robbie was studying history. Their songs paint very particular visual images, like the opening of “Riders On The Storm” or the entire frenzied crescendo of “The End.”
And then there’s Oliver Stone’s movie about the band from ’91. I know that Ray has lamented the film in the past, calling it “a white powder movie about a psychedelic band,” and I would imagine it’s hard to watch if you were actually there, actually part of that story. Your memories are never going to match up with what you’re seeing onscreen, filtered through someone else’s idea of what the band and the era was all about.
But for me, the film felt like the closest I’d ever get to seeing this band play. I especially love the film’s final image, as the credits play and Oliver pushes through the whole recording studio, showing us each member of the band in their spot, playing their part, happy and creating music, the propulsive “L.A. Woman” on the soundtrack. At the very end of this long steadicam shot, we finally find Val Kilmer as Jim, sitting on a toilet with the lid down, singing his ass off, so full of energy that it makes you wanna weep. To a lifelong fan, a moment like that is as good as it gets.
Or so I thought.
When Tim showed up, he was visibly pleased, a huge smile on his face. He knew he was about to make my brain melt. He walked me into the actual rehearsal studio, and I saw that it had been set up for a band to play onstage. I tried to remain calm, but when Robbie Krieger showed up, I could barely contain myself. Tim asked me to explain Ain’t It Cool News to Robbie, and I babbled out something about “fans” and “website” and then swallowed my tongue. It’s funny... I don’t get like this about filmmakers. But The Doors... they’re rock stars. Rock legends. It’s so much more impressive to me.
Ray Manzarek was the next one to show up, looking exactly like you’d expect. Ray’s got a great centered tranquil aura that he puts out, and even when he’s joking around (which appears to be frequently), he’s relaxed, never frantic. He and Robbie began to set up their equipment, and I asked Tim when Densmore would be there.
He shook his head. “It’s not John. Not for these shows. They’ve got someone else now.”
I was about to ask who when the studio doors opened, and Stewart Copeland of The Police walked in, followed closely by Ian Astbury, the singer from The Cult.
Tim laughed as my jaw hit the floor, Tex Avery-style.
”Is everybody in?” he asked me. “Is everybody in? The ceremony... is about to begin...”
TOMORROW: In Part Two, I’ll hear The Doors play their full 18 song set, and I’ll learn the details about when they’re playing, where they’re playing, and how you might be able to hear them yourself!!
"Moriarty" out.
