L. A. WOMAN
1971: year of the last breath, the last gasp, the last emotions, the last visions. The doors would have been closed forever by the master of the house or, to put it better, by his tragic death. But that did not happen. Those doors were reopened immediately afterward by the other family members, filling an unfillable void, trying in vain to take the place of the departed head of the family or seeking substitutes in the near yet so far-off countryside of Rock. Their place was something special.
Jim, the master of those doors, says, near his death, that he is a “changeling,” one who transforms often, with many faces, “he had money, and he didn’t have it, he was everywhere.” He had madly loved a woman and for a while had felt tremendously sad, perhaps in a prison, alone, inside and out, calling for an act of mercy from the sentinel or forgiveness from his woman, Pam. He had been in the lit-up city of Los Angeles, dark, meeting small lucky ladies, lost angels, and perhaps sex. His were American stories with sometimes desert-like and surreal backgrounds in the company of women or his adventure companions on hallucinatory trips to the lands of the pharaoh, of the prophecies of the feathered blacks of the forest. 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…
Riding the storm
It's in this house we were born
It's in this world we were thrown
Like dogs without a bone,
Actors out on loan
Riding the storm…
"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."
Jim Morrison, an intellectual with a deep hypnotic voice, amidst the wave of optimism and enthusiasm, already sensed the advent of the downfall, total, definitive, and unavoidable of modern civilization.
L.A. Woman carries away the painful perversions of the ’70s, taking them to the cemetery of civilization, leading them with its steady and repetitive rhythms to its ossuary.
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.
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.
"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."