How the Doors Set the Night on Fire

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By MARC MYERS

(Reprinted from The Wall Street Journal)

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.

13 Mysterious Musician Deaths

         

           

(reprinted from Spinner)

May 29, 2012 marked the 15th anniversary of Jeff Buckley’s accidental drowning. For whatever reason, some people believe that the singer-songwriter’s death was “mysterious,” possibly suicide, but the facts don’t support this in any way: Buckley was there with a friend, had gone swimming there, wasn’t intoxicated, etc.
But that got us thinking about musicians who actually died under mysterious circumstances. Whether the deaths were murders, overdoses, suicides or accidents, all are connected by murky details. From Robert Johnson and Sam Cooke to Kurt Cobain and Elliott Smith, check out our list of the most perplexing deaths in music history.

Robert Johnson

The blues pioneer’s life and death is shrouded in myths, the most popular of which has Johnson selling his soul to the devil in return for musical talent. There are plenty of stories surrounding Johnson’s 1938 death at age 27, most of them involving a woman and her jealous boyfriend, who poisoned Johnson’s whiskey. In 2010, bluesman David “Honeyboy” Edwards repeated this account, claiming he was there, while blues historians maintain that Johnson probably died from an illness such as syphilis.

Sam Cooke

What is known about the soul legend’s death is that he died after being shot by Bertha Franklin, the manager of Los Angeles’ Hacienda Motel. Cooke allegedly burst into Franklin’s office wearing only a sport jacket and underwear then attacked her. The events leading up to the shooting are even murkier: Cooke was at the motel with Elisa Boyer, who claimed that the singer tried to rape her. She fled, taking some of Cooke’s clothes with her, leading to Cooke to chase her and run into Franklin’s office. Boyer was later arrested for prostitution, and Cooke’s thousands in cash were never recovered, lending credence to the theory that he was the victim of robbery. Either way, Franklin was exonerated in the shooting and Boyer was never charged.

Bobby Fuller

The “I Fought the Law” singer was found dead in his mother’s car in Los Angeles, facedown in the front seat next to an open container of gasoline. The death was ruled an accidental asphyxiation, but members of Fuller’s band claim he was covered in wounds and that the car showed up in the lot where it was found several hours after Fuller’s body went into rigor mortis. Some of the wild claims involve the 23-year-old rocker taking LSD the night before, leading to speculation of suicide, or that he was murdered because of a romance with a local mobster’s girlfriend. The true story remains unknown.

Brian Jones

The Rolling Stones guitarist was discovered unconscious in his pool in 1969 and died before doctors arrived at his home, Cotchford Farm. Though Jones’ death was ruled “death by misadventure,” others — including people who were there that night — claim that Frank Thorogood was responsible, either maliciously or by accident. Thorogood, who died in 1994, worked as a contractor on Jones’ home and was allegedly fired by the former Stone the day of the incident. After reviewing new evidence, including allegations that police altered witness statements, the police declined to reopen the case in 2010.

Jim Morrison

In 1971, the Doors singer was found dead in the bathtub of his Paris apartment and was buried without an autopsy. His longtime girlfriend, Pamela Courson, said that he died of a heroin overdose while in the tub, though she gave several contradictory statements. In 2007, a “friend” of Morrison’s said the singer actually overdosed in the bathroom of a nearby club and was carried back to the apartment by drug dealers to avoid police attention. And, of course, there are those who believe that Morrison is still alive.

Marvin Gaye

Struggling with his finances, depression and addiction, Marvin Gaye moved in with his parents in 1983 in an attempt to get healthy. He and his father, Marvin Gay Sr. (Marvin Jr. added the “e” to his last name), argued constantly, and on the day in question, things got physical after Marvin Sr. had a heated fight with his wife. After the confrontation between father and son, Marvin Sr. grabbed a gun and shot his son in the chest, then fired again, killing the Motown legend. Thanks to the bruises found on Marvin Sr. and the drugs found in his son’s system, the 70-year-old avoided a first-degree murder charge and pleaded no contest to voluntary manslaughter, though family members claimed it was a cold-blooded killing. When Marvin Sr. was asked if he loved his son, he reportedly said, “Let’s say that I didn’t dislike him.”

Kurt Cobain

Kurt Cobain’s death was ruled a suicide by self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head, but that hasn’t stopped plenty of people from claiming it was a murder. The proponents of this theory — who often place blame on the grunge icon’s wife, Courtney Love — claim that Cobain’s suicide note was finished by someone else, that he had too much heroin in his system to commit the act, that Cobain was going to cut Love out of his will, and so on. The theory seems to have died in popularity in recent years but still persists, with Cobain’s grandfather even admitting he believes Kurt was murdered.

Richey James Edwards

British rocker Richey Edwards disappeared on Feb. 1, 1995, the day he was due to fly to the U.S. for a press tour. The Manic Street Preachers guitarist’s car was found abandoned a couple weeks later, and there were plenty of purported sightings during that period. To this day, Edwards has never been found, and many speculate he committed suicide after years of battling depression. Even though fans still claim to have seen him, Edwards was declared “presumed dead” in 2008.

Tupac Shakur | Notorious B.I.G. | Jam Master Jay

Three hip-hop legends, three unsolved murders. All three are interconnected, with Tupac Shakur and Notorious B.I.G.’s deaths coming as the result of the much-hyped coastal hip-hop rivalry. Many conspiracy theories abound, with Marion “Suge” Knight and LAPD officers being named, with somewhat convincing evidence. In the case of Run-DMC’s Jam Master Jay, prosecutors named Ronald “Tenad” Washington as an accomplice of the shooter. Washington was previously associated with the 1995 murder of Randy “Stretch” Walker, a collaborator of Shakur’s.

Michael Hutchence

INXS singer Michael Hutchence’s body was discovered in a Sydney hotel by a maid in November 1997. The initial ruling was suicide, as he was found naked, hanging from a doorway in the room, which was reportedly filled with alcohol and prescription drugs. The 37-year-old had been involved in a custody battle over his daughter, Tiger Lily, with girlfriend Paula Yates, which led the coroner to determine that Hutchence was distraught at the time of his death. Yates, for her part, later claimed that Hutchence died while practicing autoerotic asphyxiation, the self-deprivation of oxygen to increase sexual pleasure. Yates died in 2000 of a heroin overdose.

Elliott Smith

On Oct. 21, 2003, singer-songwriter Elliott Smith died of two stab wounds to the chest inside his L.A. apartment. His girlfriend Jennifer Chiba claimed that, following an argument, Smith — who battled addiction and depression — stabbed himself in the chest, puncturing his heart, and left a note that read, “I’m so sorry-love, Elliot God forgive me.” Chiba claimed she was in the bathroom when she heard a scream, then found Smith with the knife in his chest. She admitted to removing the knife, and the autopsy notes a lack of hesitation wounds and the fact that the stabbing occurred through clothing, which are both “atypical” in suicides of this nature. The report also notes possible defensive wounds on Smith’s right arm and left hand, and that there was no alcohol or illegal drugs in his system. Chiba later sued Smith’s family for 15% of his estate, claiming to be his wife and manager, but eventually lost.

Extra:

Mama Cass’ Ham Sandwich

This sad, somewhat offensive rumor doesn’t just stem from the Mamas and the Papas’ singer’s weight nor does it come from “Austin Powers.” The first doctor on the scene — a London flat on loan from Harry Nilsson — noticed a partially eaten sandwich on Cass’ bedside table, and thought she may have choked on it. Upon further inspection, it turned out that a heart attack did the singer in at just 32 years old. Coincidentally, Who drummer Keith Moon died in the same apartment four years later — also at age 32.