“Put your clothes on first”: The manic acid trip behind a classic by The Doors
The Doors are one of the most divisive American rock bands of their generation. Their haters see a mob of drunken, stoned buffoons stretching bubblegum pop songs well past their breaking point with a bad poet up front. The people who love The Doors see precisely the same, except that’s what makes them a fan. They’re a Rorschach test masquerading as a band—everyone sees the same band, but differently.
The Doors were proudly themselves, and, in some ways, to their detriment, garnering incredible levels of worldwide success in their late 1960s heyday. They were one of the biggest and most exciting rock bands to come from California at the height of ‘flower power’. Considering it’s a lineage they share with the Grateful Dead and Creedence Clearwater Revival, that’s saying a hell of a lot.
This is despite their best efforts to shoot themselves in the foot with drink and drugs. By the standards of a California band in the mid-1960s, The Doors had an enormous appetite for psychedelics. The band claimed this helped inspire their music, but more often than not, it just seemed to get in the way of their writing and recording schedules.
In an interview with Vulture, guitarist Robby Krieger summed this up best. When asked about his favourite guitar solo, he pointed towards their Strange Days classic ‘When the Music’s Over’. A fine pick with an absolutely choice guitar solo from Krieger, but the reason it has a special place in his heart comes less from the record and more from how it was made.
How did an acid trip nearly derail The Doors?
Krieger said, “The night before, Jim called me at one in the morning and said, ‘Hey man, you got to come over. Me and Pam [Courson, Morrison’s girlfriend] are on acid. We took too much acid, we don’t know what to do, help.’ I go over to their place, open the door, and they’re both naked and freaking out.” His advice to them could only have been followed through in the 1960s.
“I told them we should all go outside, because we were right next to Griffith Park, which is a nice outdoor space. My thing with acid is it’s always better to be outside. It’s just better to be in nature. So we started going, and I said, ‘Wait a minute, you gotta put your clothes on first.'” After letting them cool off for an hour, Krieger put them to bed and reminded Morrison that they had to be in the studio the next day.
Surprise, surprise, the day dawned and Morrison didn’t turn up. An outcome anyone who’s only ever heard the name “Jim Morrison” could have seen coming. The band had no other choice but to record the instrumental backing with keyboardist Ray Manzarek recording a makeshift guide vocal for Morrison to recreate the following day.
The band were worried that the famously spontaneous Morrison wouldn’t follow it and they’d have to start from scratch. However, if there was one thing ‘The Lizard King’ could do, it was surprise people. What happened the following day? According to Krieger, “Of course, Jim came in and nailed it in one take; it was amazing. I never thought he could do that.”
A timely reminder that everything remarkable and inspirational recorded by a rock band in the 1960s was recorded despite an addiction to hallucinogens—no matter how many tell you it was because of it.
