They’re blowing up right now, racking up more than a million monthly listeners on Spotify – which is pretty good going for a group that formed less than two months ago.
What’s also impressive is that the prolific four-piece psych-rock outfit have already released two albums on their “Verified Artist” profile: ‘Floating On Echoes’ and ‘Dust And Silence’, which were dropped on 5 and 20 June respectively.
There are no signs of slowing down, as their new collection of “cinematic alt-pop and dreamy analogue soul” is out soon, with their third opus titled ‘Paper Sun Rebellion’ coming out on 14 July.
Vocalist and “mellotron sorcerer” Gabe Farrow, guitarist Lennie West, “bassist-synth alchemist” Milo Rains and “free-spirited percussionist” Orion ‘Rio’ Del Mar must be thrilled with their sudden rise in popularity.
At least they would be… if they were capable of human emotion.
Todd Rundgren recalled how John Lennon contacted him privately to end a public war of words that broke out in 1974.
The pair met during the ex-Beatle’s infamous “lost weekend,” a time when he was frequently drunk, stoned and out of control. It had been a disappointing experience for Rundgren, a massive fan.
“I met him at a party in the period he was drinking withHarry Nilsson and misbehaving all over Hollywood,” the guitarist and producer told the The Guardian in a recent interview…
In 1974, David Bowie was fresh off his reign as the glam-rock’s biggest act. After his breakthrough success that began with Ziggy Stardust and continued through Diamond Dogs, he was about to make a turn toward soul and funk with his next album, Young Americans.
Despite his success, he could still be in awe of his idols. When the opportunity to meet John Lennon arose that year, Bowie was beside himself.
Like millions of teens in the 1960s, he had been a Beatles fan. His own career began to take off in the mid 1960s, during which time he flirted with influences ranging from the Rolling Stones to the Who to Syd Barrett’s Pink Floyd. But while Bowie never dabbled in the Beatles’ style of pop, but he was enamored of the group, and John Lennon in particular.
“Oh hell, he was one of the major influences on my musical life,” Bowie said in an interview recorded in the 1980s. “I mean, I just thought he was the very best of what could be done with rock and roll, and also ideas.
“I felt such kin to him in as much as that he would rifle the avant-garde and look for ideas that were so on the outside, on the periphery of what was the mainstream — and then apply them in a functional manner to something that was considered populist and make it work. He would take the most odd idea and make it work for the masses…
About six minutes into the song, a visibly stoned Jim Morrison bent over and pointed his leather-clad rear toward the Hollywood Bowl audience. Sensing trouble, keyboardist Ray Manzarek yelled “Jim!” The warning worked. Morrison stood up, retook the mike and completed the hit song: “Light My Fire,” as seen on “The Doors: Live at the Bowl ’68” (Eagle Rock), a newly restored DVD released Monday, Oct. 22.
Collaboratively written by the band in 1966, “Light My Fire” leaves a trail of history behind it. Originally lasting more than seven minutes, it featured one of rock’s first extended album solos. When the shorter single was released in ’67, it reached No. 1 on Billboard’s pop chart, and the following year, José Feliciano won a Grammy for his cover version.
Mr. Manzarek and Robby Krieger—two of the Doors’ surviving members—talked about the song’s famed keyboard intro, the Fats Domino connection, and why the single was faster-paced than the album version. Edited from interviews.
Ray Manzarek:By March 1966, we were running out of songs. Up until then, I had been putting chord changes to Jim [Morrison’s] sung lyrics. At a band rehearsal, Jim said, “Everyone go home this weekend and write at least one song.” But when we regrouped the following Tuesday, only Robby had written one. He called it “Light My Fire.”
Robby Krieger: I was living at my parents’ home in Pacific Palisades [Calif.] at the time. In my bedroom, I came up with a melody inspired by the Leaves’ “Hey Joe.” I also liked the Rolling Stones’ “Play With Fire,” so I wrote lyrics that used the word fire.
Mr. Manzarek: We had been rehearsing in the downstairs sunroom of a beach house at the very end of North Star Street near Venice [Calif.]. The people who lived upstairs were at work during the day, so we could bang away without disturbing anyone.
When Robby played his song for us, it had a then-popular folk-rock sound. But John [Densmore] cringed. He said, “No, no, not folk-rock.” He wanted it to sound edgier. He added a hard, Latin rhythm to the rock beat, and it worked.
Mr. Krieger: As Jim sang, he changed the melody line a little to give it a bluesy feel. Then he came up with a second verse right off the top of his head: “The time to hesitate is through/No time to wallow in the mire…”
Mr. Manzarek:Once the lyrics and melody were set, we realized we could jam as long as we wanted on the song’s middle two chords—A-minor and B-minor—the way John Coltrane did on “My Favorite Things” and “Olé.” All of us dug Coltrane’s long solos.
But we needed some way to start the song. At the rehearsal, I started playing a cycle of fifths on my Vox Continental organ. Out came a motif from the Bach “Two- and Three-Part Inventions” piano book I had used as a kid. It was like a psychedelic-rock minuet.
We didn’t use a bass player—I played the bass notes on a Fender Rhodes keyboard bass while my right hand played the Vox, which could be cranked up to a screaming-loud volume. My bass line for “Light My Fire” grew out of Fats Domino’s “Blueberry Hill,” which I loved growing up in Chicago.
Mr. Krieger: We started playing the song at the London Fog on the Sunset Strip in April and May 1966 and at the Whisky A Go-Go between May and July. Onstage, the song became this rock-jazz jam. Audiences loved it.
Mr. Manzarek: In August ’66, when we went into Sunset Sound to record our first album, producer Paul Rothchild wanted us to record “Light My Fire” just as we had been playing it live. We recorded two takes—each one lasting over seven minutes. Nobody was recording extended solos on rock albums then.
Mr. Krieger: Afterward, Paul felt the song needed a little more drama at the end. Because Paul loved what Ray had done with the minuet in the beginning, he said, “Hell, let’s put it at the end, too.” So he spliced in a copy of Ray’s minuet after Jim’s vocal, as an outro.
Mr. Manzarek: Paul brought in Larry Knechtel of the Wrecking Crew to overdub a stronger bass attack. Then the master was blasted into the studio’s cement echo chamber, which gave the song reverb.
Mr. Krieger: A few months after “The Doors” album came out in January 1967, Elektra founder Jac Holzman called and said the label wanted a single for AM radio. Dave Diamond, an FM disc jockey in the San Fernando Valley, had been playing the album version and was getting a ton of calls.
Mr. Manzarek: But a single meant our 7:05-minute album version had to be cut down to 2½ minutes. Everyone groaned, but Paul said he’d take a crack at it. When we heard the result the next day, the organ and guitar solos were gone. Robby and I looked at each other and said to Paul, “You cut out the improvisation!”
Paul said: “I know. But imagine you’re 17 years old in Minneapolis. You’ve never heard of the Doors and this is the version you hear on the radio. Would you have a problem with it?” Jim sat there and said, “Actually, I kind of dig it.” We agreed.
Mr. Krieger: It was gut-wrenching to hear my guitar solo cut, but I actually liked the single better. I was never crazy about the album version. It had been mixed at a very low volume to capture everything. On the radio, it wasn’t very loud or exciting. The single, though, snapped. The secret was that Paul had wrapped Scotch tape around the spindle holding the pickup reel, so the tape would turn a fraction faster. This made the pitch a little higher and brighter, and the song more urgent.
Mr. Manzarek: I first heard the AM single with my wife, Dorothy, in our VW Bug. Dorothy started bouncing up and down like a jumping jack. I was pounding on the wheel. What a feeling.
Mr. Krieger: At first, I didn’t like José Feliciano’s 1968 version. It was so different and laid-back. But after a while, I came to love it. He made our song his own, which got others to record it. Thanks to José, the song is our biggest copyright by far.