Lighting the Fuse: The Doors and the Spark That Set the Sixties Ablaze
antony thompsonBreaking Through to the Other Side
Drive the Current explores the story of The Doors, a band that turned poetry into fire, sound into rebellion, and left a mark that continues to pulse through music, art, and restless hearts decades later.
Lighting the Fuse: Origins in Venice Beach
Los Angeles in the mid-1960s was a paradox, sun-soaked streets, ocean breezes, and palm trees masking an undercurrent of tension, rebellion, and creativity. Surf music dominated the airwaves, folk was becoming political, and underground clubs were alive with experimentation. Against this backdrop, a young Jim Morrison wandered through life like a storm waiting to break, reciting poetry in cafés and haunting the local bookstores with his intensity.
Morrison, son of a naval officer, had been raised with discipline but craved freedom. He read Blake, Nietzsche, and Rimbaud, drawing inspiration from their visions of transcendence and rebellion. His presence was magnetic, both frightening and mesmerizing.
At the same time, Ray Manzarek, a classically trained pianist and UCLA film student, was exploring the boundaries of music. His fingers were already fluent on the keys, but he longed to fuse classical training with jazz, blues, and the new psychedelic currents flowing through LA.
“Those are beautiful words,” Manzarek would later recall telling Morrison, after hearing him recite fragments of poetry. “Let’s make them into songs.”
Their collaboration began on the streets and in smoky rehearsal rooms. Soon, they recruited drummer John Densmore, whose jazz-infused rhythms added fluidity and subtlety, and guitarist Robby Krieger, whose flamenco and blues influence gave the band a distinct melodic voice. Without a bassist, Manzarek played basslines on the keyboard. They developed a sound that was raw, hypnotic, and unlike anything else in rock music.
Their name, inspired by Aldous Huxley’s The Doors of Perception, reflected their mission: to explore consciousness, perception, and the boundaries of artistic expression. The Doors weren’t just a band; they were an experiment in sound, poetry, and spiritual exploration.
The Early Scene and First Performances
The Doors honed their craft in the LA club circuit. The London Fog provided a dimly lit incubator for their earliest performances, but it was the Whisky a Go Go that became their real proving ground. Morrison, initially shy and uncertain, transformed onstage. He became “the Lizard King,” a creature of charisma and danger. His movements were unpredictable, his delivery hypnotic, and his poetry thrillingly cryptic.
Early performances were electric. Songs like “Break On Through (To the Other Side)” and “The End” weren’t just played, they were ritualized, almost cinematic experiences. Audiences were captivated, sometimes frightened, but always enthralled.
“It was like the air itself was vibrating,” said a fan from that era. “You didn’t just hear The Doors, you felt them in your bones.”
By 1966, they had attracted the attention of Elektra Records and producer Paul A. Rothchild. Their first album would soon launch them into rock immortality.
Breaking Through: Debut Album and Early Success
The Doors (1967) exploded onto the scene. From the hypnotic organ of “Light My Fire” to the dark, cinematic journey of “The End”, the record combined poetry, jazz, blues, and rock into something previously unimagined. Morrison’s voice — deep, commanding, and dangerously sensual — became the axis of the band’s sound, while Manzarek’s keyboard lines danced like liquid fire, Krieger’s guitar whispered and soared, and Densmore’s drumming gave it all pulse and movement.
The release of Strange Days (1967) later that year expanded their scope. Tracks like “People Are Strange” and “Love Me Two Times” were clever, haunting, and bold, capturing the growing counterculture and the band’s own inner turbulence. Morrison’s lyrics were surreal and often dark, touching on alienation, existential anxiety, and mystical desire.
“Morrison wasn’t just a singer,” Manzarek later said. “He was a poet, a provocateur, someone who could pull you through the screen of reality.”
By 1968, The Doors were performing on major TV shows, headlining arenas, and touring extensively. Their concerts were unpredictable: Morrison sometimes recited entire poems in the middle of a song, moved through the audience, or disappeared behind curtains only to return dramatically.
The band’s chemistry — friction as well as synergy — became legendary. Morrison’s volatility clashed with Densmore’s steadiness, Krieger’s introspection, and Manzarek’s intellectual curiosity. Yet that tension produced something remarkable: music that felt alive, dangerous, and urgent.
Controversy, Turbulence, and Middle Albums
As The Doors’ fame grew, so did the pressures of celebrity. Morrison’s drinking and unpredictable behavior escalated. The 1969 Miami concert became infamous after he allegedly exposed himself onstage, resulting in criminal charges and widespread media frenzy. This incident, coupled with tension over the band’s musical direction, marked a turning point.
Waiting for the Sun (1968) debuted around this turbulent period. The album included “Hello, I Love You” and “Five to One”, showing a band willing to experiment with pop sensibilities while maintaining their darker undercurrents. Morrison’s lyrics became increasingly introspective and existential, hinting at the personal struggles to come.
The Soft Parade (1969) marked an even bolder, more divisive move. With horns and strings layered over traditional Doors sounds, songs like “Touch Me” revealed the band’s ambition to expand their musical palette. Critics were mixed — some accused them of selling out, while others praised their innovation. Morrison, increasingly disengaged from the commercial direction, often clashed with Rothchild and the other members.
“You cannot petition the Lord with prayer!” Morrison intoned on the album’s title track — a reflection of his growing disillusionment and existential crisis.
The Return to Blues: Morrison Hotel
In response to these pressures, The Doors returned to a rawer sound with Morrison Hotel (1970). The album featured “Roadhouse Blues”, a rollicking, gritty track that captured the essence of the band in top form. “Peace Frog” and “Waiting for the Sun” offered snapshots of their experimental yet grounded approach.
Recording sessions were intense. Morrison’s drinking worsened, but his voice and charisma remained magnetic. Krieger described the album as the band “finding our groove again,” stripping away overproduction to let the music breathe. Morrison Hotel felt like the band rediscovering themselves after the turbulence of the previous years.
L.A. Woman and the Final Ride
Late in 1970, The Doors recorded L.A. Woman in a more relaxed studio environment, with Morrison now sporting a full beard and embracing a raw, blues-infused approach. The album’s tracks — “The Changeling”, “Love Her Madly”, and “Riders on the Storm” — showcased the band’s creative synergy at its peak.
“When we finished that song, there was a stillness in the room. We knew it was the end of something.” — Bruce Botnick
Shortly afterward, Morrison moved to Paris with Pamela Courson, seeking solitude and inspiration. On July 3, 1971, he was found dead at 27, cementing his place in rock history and leaving the band forever altered.
After Morrison: Other Voices and An American Prayer
The surviving members — Manzarek, Krieger, and Densmore — attempted to continue with Other Voices (1971) and Full Circle (1972). They sang and played with skill, but Morrison’s absence left an unfillable void.
In 1978, An American Prayer combined Morrison’s spoken poetry with newly recorded music by the surviving members, creating a haunting posthumous collaboration. While opinions were divided, the album reinforced Morrison’s literary genius and the enduring mystique of the band.
Legacy and Cultural Impact
The Doors’ influence stretches across genres and generations. Artists from Patti Smith to Tame Impala cite them as inspiration. Songs like “The End”, “Light My Fire”, and “Riders on the Storm” have become timeless, appearing in films, TV shows, and soundtracks around the world.
Their music endures because it’s both of its time and timeless. Morrison’s lyrics — existential, sensual, mystical — continue to resonate with audiences who feel alienated, rebellious, or searching for meaning.
“Expose yourself to your deepest fear; after that, fear has no power, and the fear of freedom shrinks and vanishes. You are free.” — Jim Morrison
The Doors showed that music could be art, poetry, and rebellion all at once. They blurred boundaries, challenged audiences, and created experiences that were more than entertainment — they were awakenings.
The Doors Today and Driving the Current
Even in the streaming era, The Doors remain relevant. Remastered albums, unreleased tracks, and live recordings continue to reach new listeners. Manzarek and Krieger, until his passing, performed reinterpretations of classic material, keeping the spirit alive for those who never experienced the original era.
The band’s ethos — of exploration, rebellion, and risk-taking — aligns perfectly with the idea of “driving the current”: challenging norms, seeking freedom, and moving with passion. Their music continues to inspire not just musicians, but anyone striving to live boldly and authentically.
Author’s Reflection
Writing about The Doors is like tracing lightning. Their story is wild, tragic, beautiful, and instructive. They captured a cultural moment, but also transcended it. Morrison’s poetry, combined with Manzarek, Krieger, and Densmore’s musicianship, created an alchemy rarely seen in music.
For Drive the Current, The Doors are a symbol: that art, when created fearlessly, can last forever. They remind us that freedom is messy, genius can be dangerous, and beauty often walks hand in hand with chaos.
“This is the end, beautiful friend… but only for now.” — Jim Morrison
The Doors opened doors — to consciousness, emotion, and possibility — and those doors remain open, waiting for anyone willing to step through.