I’m not sure how my fellow SWR-mates feel about The Doors, but I think they’re top-notch, as long as you can excuse Jim “Bozo Dionysus” Morrison’s poetic posturing. Morrison was a great singer, with a good sense of drama, a precise delivery, and a way with a holler, but as a wordsmith, the man often left something to be desired. Let’s not even think about “The End.”
But the songs! And the band! They wrote perfect little creepy pop ditties, immediate as a folk song, stuff that’d be at home on Broadway–unlike their contemporaries in Love or the Jefferson Airplane, they didn’t reach after odd baroque melodies, but wrote tunes so obvious you can’t believe you hadn’t known then already. And they played tighter and groovier than any other white rock group of the time, except for the Stones and the Stooges. And, to be perfectly honest, I like The Doors better than almost any other “psychedelic group,” including Pink Floyd or Love or even the Dead.
Posted by Glenn