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Rating: Talking about this work, like any final piece, is never too easy. I would like to do it without resorting to the usual sentimental words and déjà-vus associated with a poetic figure never sufficiently defined (too often a victim of bad interpretations), like that of Jim Morrison.
To minimally account for the tracks contained in this work, one must transcend them, consider them in a dark room, attend to them in an immobile silence. There is the dark night in these tracks, a gloomy night of the '70s, the true sound, the analog sensations. There's the scent of chilling winter nights, of hallucinations and delusions, but in certain parts, also the scent of summer, unsettling sensuality, strips of skin between thin silks, light garments, sweet breasts to meet with moist lips. Evenings and nights left to our adolescence, or perhaps internalized and hidden in moments of forgotten childhood.
There is sickness in this work: the sickness lived, experienced from within, the sensation of being sick and out of place. There are dirty emotions in this vinyl, the darkest sides of the individual that, like in an exorcism, are dismissed and rarefied in a coherent and ordered artistic fresco. L.A. Woman carries away the painful perversions of the '900s, taking them to the cemetery of civilization, leading them with its steady and repetitive rhythms to its ossuary, with verses others define as cursed, but which I feel are only prophetic. Jim Morrison, an intellectual with a deep hypnotic voice, amidst the wave of optimism and enthusiasm that shook the back of the Hippie movement (with its utopias, its hallucinations, its summer of love), already sensed the advent of the downfall, total, definitive, and unavoidable of modern civilization. In those verses lent to blazing rock, to a macabre blues, he already foresaw the next disaster, the indolent end; firstly, his own.
A record that, far from the usual paramnesias, from trite words, far from the usual shamanic adjectives, leads us to the essence of music from an era and to a timeless poetics: a nighttime ride with headlights off, through the autumn rain of Love Her Madly, in the dark blues of Car Hiss By My Window, in the curse of L'America (originally composed for filmmaker Michelangelo Antonioni), passing through the psychedelic drifts of The Changeling and the austere afternoon of Hyacinth House until crossing into the endless, tormented storms of Riders On The Storm, a gloomy reflection of a sick and dark place, without alternatives.
This L.A. Woman, in 1970, followed the bitter disappointments of Morrison Hotel and suddenly let the now dry vein reopen, let new blood flow and, with it, that pulsating creativity that characterized the band's early works. Although a few embers lacked extinguishment, Jim Morrison's crisis was now an open view of the abyss. The last days in the romantic comfort of Paris, searching for a cultural milieu that could ease the pains, served only to postpone the final closing of the "doors" of Morrison's house, the sultry night of July 2, 1971. A few days before, Morrison had given his last eloquent statement to the press: "For me, it was never about a performance [?]. It was a matter of life and death, an attempt to communicate, to involve many people in the private world of thought". Abandoned by his family, discouraged by the world, he was buried in the Parisian cemetery of Père Lachaise, near Balzac, Baudelaire, and Proust. On his grave, destined to become one of the great rock places, looms the only possible epitaph: "James Douglas Morrison - Poet, Singer, Composer".
Manzarek (keyboards, organ, piano), Krieger (guitars), and Densmore (drums), not satisfied with the latest alluring epitaph of L.A. Woman, attempted - and may the stars forgive them - other less fortunate recordings. The absence of the deep, hypnotic voice of a prophet unmistakably revealed the limits of good musicians with a heavy legacy and no more soul.
Tracklist Lyrics and Videos
01 The Changeling (04:21)
Uh!
Uha!
Gedu!
I live uptown
I live downtown
I live all around
I had money, and I had none
I had money, and I had none
But I never been so broke
That I couldn't leave town
I'm a Changeling
See me change
I'm a Changelin'
See me change
I'm the air you breath
Food you eat
Friends your greet
In the sullen street, wow
See me change
See me change, you
I live uptown
I live downtown
I live all around
I had money, yeah, and I had none
I had money, yeah, and I had none
But I never been so broke
That I couldn't leave town
Well, I'm the air you breath
Food you eat
Friends your greet
In the sullen street, wow
Ew ma!
Uh, ah!
You gotta see me change
See me change
Yeah, I'm leavin' town
On a midnight train
Gotta see me change
Change, change, change
Change, change, change
Change, change, change
Change, change, change
Woa, change, change, change
03 Been Down So Long (04:41)
Well I've been down so god damn long
That it looks like up to me
Well I've been down so very damn long
That it looks like up to me
Yeah why don't one you people
C'mon and set me free?
I said warden, warden, warden
Won't you break your lock and key?
I said warden, warden, warden
Won't you break your lock and key?
Yeah come along here mister
C'mon let the poor boy be
Baby, baby, baby
Won't you get down on your knees?
Baby, baby, baby
Oh won't you get down on your knees?
Come on little darlin'
Come on and give your love to me
Well I've been down so god damn long
That it looks like up to me
Well I've been down so very damn long
That it looks like up to me
Why don't none of you people
C'mon, c'mon, c'mon and set me free?
04 Cars Hiss by My Window (04:12)
The cars hiss by my window
Like the waves down on the beach
The cars hiss by my window
Like the waves down on the beach
I got this girl beside me
But she's out of reach
Headlight through my window
Shinin' on the wall
Headlight through my window
Shinin' on the wall
Can't hear my baby
Though I called and called
Yeah, right
Woo!
Windows started tremblin'
With a sonic boom
Windows started tremblin'
With a sonic boom, boom
A cold girl'll kill you
In a darkened room
Yeah, woo
Ride
Ride on
Weooooo!
Wawa, eooo!
Oooo, owa, owaaa!
Wa, waaaaea!
Ooo, wa, wa, wa, wa, waa!
Uh-huh
05 L.A. Woman (07:55)
Well, I got into town about an hour ago.
Took a look around see which way the wind blow,
With a little girl in a Hollywood bungalow.
Are you a lucky little lady in the City of Light
Or just another lost angel
City at night.
City at night.
City at night.
City at night.
L.A. Woman, L.A Woman
L.A. Woman, Sunday afternoon
L.A Woman, Sunday afternoon
L.A Woman, Sunday afternoon
Drive thru your suburbs
Into your blues
Into your blues
Into your blue, blue, blues
Into your blues
I see your hair is burnin'
Hills are filled with fire
If they say I never loved you
You know they are a liar
Drivin' down your freeway
Midnight alleys roam
Cops in cars, the topless bars
Never saw a woman
So alone,
So alone, so alone, so alone
Motel Money Murder Madness
Let's change the mood
From glad to sadness
Mr. Mojo Risin'
Mr. Mojo Risin'
Mr. Mojo Risin'
Mr. Mojo Risin'
Got to keep on risin'
Mr. Mojo Risin'
Mr. Mojo Risin'
Mr. Mojo Risin'
Mr. Mojo Risin'
Got my mojo risin'
Mr. Mojo Risin'
Got to keep on risin'
Goin' ridin', ridin'
Goin' ridin', ridin'
Got to ridin', ridin'
Ridin', ridin'
Well, I got into town about an hour ago.
Took a look around see which way the wind blow,
With a little girl in a Hollywood bungalow.
Are you a lucky little lady in the City of Light
Or just another lost angel
City at night.
City at night.
City at night.
City at night.
L.A. Woman, L.A Woman
L.A Woman
You're my woman
A little L.A woman
L.A Woman
Hey, hey, come on
L.A woman come on
07 Hyacinth House (03:11)
What are they doing in the Hyacinth House?
What are they doing in the Hyacinth House
To please the lions this day?
I need a brand new friend who doesn't bother me
I need a brand new friend who doesn't trouble me
I need someone who doesn't need me
I see the bathroom is clear
I think that somebody's near
I'm sure that someone is following me, oh yeah
Why did you throw that Jack of Hearts away?
Why did you throw that Jack of Hearts away?
It was the only card in the deck I had left to play
And I'll say it again. I need a brand new friend, yeah.
And I'll say it again. I need a brand new friend.
And I'll say it again. I need a brand new friend.
The end.
08 Crawling King Snake (05:00)
Well, I'm the Crawlin' King Snake
And I rule my den
I'm the Crawlin' King Snake
And I rule my den
Yeah, don't mess 'round with my mate
Gonna use her for myself
Caught me crawlin', baby, window
Grass is very high
Keep on crawlin' till the day I die
Crawlin' King Snake
And I rule my den
You better give me what I want
Gonna crawl no more
Caught me crawlin', baby
Crawlin' 'round your door
Seein' everything I want
I'm gonna crawl on your floor
Let's crawl
And I rule my den
C'mon, give me what I want
Ain't gonna crawl no more
Alright, crawl a while
C'mon crawl
C'mon crawl
Get on out there on your hands and knees, baby
Crawl all over me
Just like the spider on the wall
Ooo, we gonn' crawl, one more
Well, I'm the Crawlin' King Snake
And I rule my den
Call me the Crawlin' King Snake
And I rule my den
Yeah, don't mess 'round with my mate
Gonna use her for myself
09 The WASP (Texas Radio and the Big Beat) (04:16)
I wanna tell you 'bout Texas Radio and the Big Beat
Comes out of the Virginia swamps
Cool and slow with plenty of precision
With a back beat narrow and hard to master
Some call it heavenly in it's brilliance
Others, mean and rueful of the Western dream
I love the friends I have gathered together on this thin raft
We have constructed pyramids in honor of our escaping
This is the land where the Pharaoh died
The Negroes in the forest brightly feathered
They are saying, "Forget the night.
Live with us in forests of azure.
Out here on the perimeter there are no stars
Out here we is stoned - immaculate."
Listen to this, and I'll tell you 'bout the heartache
I'll tell you 'bout the heartache and the lose of God
I'll tell you 'bout the hopeless night
The meager food for souls forgot
I'll tell you 'bout the maiden with wrought iron soul
I'll tell you this
No eternal reward will forgive us now for wasting the dawn
I'll tell you 'bout Texas Radio and the Big Beat
Soft drivin', slow and mad, like some new language
Now, listen to this, and I'll tell you 'bout the Texas
I'll tell you 'bout the Texas Radio
I'll tell you 'bout the hopeless night
Wandering the Western dream
Tell you 'bout the maiden with wrought iron soul
10 Riders on the Storm (07:09)
Riders on the storm
Riders on the storm
Into this house we're born
Into this world we're thrown
Like a dog without a bone
An actor out alone
Riders on the storm
There's a killer on the road
His brain is squirming like a toad
Take a long holiday
Let your children play
If you give this man a ride
Sweet family will die
Killer on the road
(Music)
Girl you gotta love your man
Girl you gotta love your man
Take him by the hand
Make him understand
The world on you depends
Or life will never end
Gotta love your man
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Other reviews
By the clash
Jim, the master of those doors, says, near his death, that he is a “changeling,” one who transforms often, with many faces.
His real stories, witnesses of a life always on the edge, of an uncomprehended poetic spirit and interpreter of a human condition longing for life, transgression but also sad and contradictory, riding the storm… riding the storm…
By AR (Anonima Recensori)
"Morrison’s voice is sharper and heavier than a cleaver, in short, a composition made by a drunken madman and a not-so-better-off Louis Armstrong."
"'Riders On The Storm' begins: electric piano, precise drumming from a true jazz master drummer, and that guitar that seems to enter quietly without wanting to disturb, the prophetic voice of Jim Morrison, all in a magical, hallucinatory, and dreamy atmosphere."
By nikko89
The last breath of the shaman of pain, the last tremor...
Riders on the storm... a timeless piece carved in the stone of memory as if graffiti of blood.
By groucho84
The Doors could not have crafted a better epilogue for their extraordinary career.
‘Riders on the Storm’ is an absolute milestone in the history not only of this group, but of all rock.
By Alevox
"I'm so down, it almost feels beautiful."
"Jim Morrison, a dog without a stick, an actor borrowed and consumed by his own act, burnt like an asteroid in the rock panorama of the late sixties."
