Why John Densmore called Jim Morrison a “psychopath”
In 1971, the world mourned the loss of Jim Morrison. His death was a tragedy, and the hole left in the counterculture he helped craft was immense. But while The Doors listeners who were touched by his poetic songs grieved, his former bandmate, John Densmore, refused to attend the funeral. Densmore was in the unique position of witnessing Morrison’s mercurial brilliance up close but was also one of few who knew him well enough to resent his self-destructive streak.
Densmore approached his death with almost surprising clarity, never blaming the excesses of the music scene but always Morrison’s own disregard for his health. What often translated onstage as erratic drug-fuelled genius often struck fear into his bandmates. While they could celebrate the runaway success of L.A. Woman together, they all felt a quiet tension when Morrison continued to abuse substances.
In an extremely confessional interview with The Guardian, he mused over whether he’d actually grown to hate Morrison in their last years together, calling him a “psychopath”, a “lunatic”, and stated that “the voice that struck terror in me”. After stopping briefly to consider it, he said no. “I hated his self-destruction,” he said. “He was a kamikaze who went out at 27 – what can I say?”
Densmore had always had the uneasy sense things would end badly. He tried, in vain, to get him off the road before his eventual death, even quitting the band at one point in 1968. But the powers that be knew what a powerful force he was, capable of starting riots. Fans were so captivated by him.
“People wanted to keep shovelling coal in the engine,” he explained. “And I was like: ‘Wait a minute. So what if we have one less album? Maybe he’ll live?'” Densmore, who was able to blame Morrison for his own self-destruction but also draw attention to his own missteps, said he shared some blame for continuing touring.
“I wasn’t mature enough to say that at the time,” he said. “I wasn’t trying to enable him. It was another era. I used to answer the question: ‘If Jim was around today, would he be clean and sober?’ with a ‘no’.” Just as it took Densmore years to visit his grave, over time his perspective on that question has shifted.
“Now I’ve changed my mind,” he said. “Of course he would be sober. Why wouldn’t he be? He was smart.” That doesn’t make it any less painful to acknowledge the loss of a complicated friend though. In his 1990 memoir, Riders on the Storm: My Life with Jim Morrison and the Doors, he said mining his experiences with Morrison meant the book was “written in blood” to reflect the struggle.
“It took me years to forgive Jim,” he admitted. “And now I miss him so much for his artistry.”
