I say again, but I never really forgot it in the first place, it’s just we lost each other along life’s busy highway. So it’s with great pleasure I have been able to announce to anyone bored enough to listen “this month (well since the 30th May) I have been mostly listening to The Doors.”
Our re-acquaintance has come at a particularly happy time in my life as I, Mr Dirrrrtyoldman have recently taken our lass the bird now known as Mrs Dirrrrtyoldwoman to be my lawful wedded wife. It was during the wedding night haze of an evening fueled by merriment and alcohol that I found my former musical love, The Doors.
The wife’s sister and husband, now my sister and brother in law had brought their iPod to the party to liven up an otherwise dull selection of my CD’s. Now our family do’s invariably wind up with the lot of us taking turns on the microphone and amplifier. These are always generously brought along by the wife’s aunty and uncle, now my aunt and uncle in law. Anyway I’m pestering the sister-in-law to find me something on the iPod that I can get up and give plenty, when low and behold a selection of The Doors tracks come up.
It was like getting married all over again only without me tripping over my words and getting something in my eye. So I gave it what for and belted out Light My Fire and Hello I Love You. This was all too quickly followed, in everyone else’s opinion, by L.A Woman and Alabama Song (Whiskey Bar). Well, fuck ’em, it’s my, sorry, our wedding.
An hour or so later, and with the bravery of far too many glasses of cheap Champagne I launched into Roadhouse Blues and Riders On The Storm. By the time I woefully belted out the oral sex metaphor, Love Me Times the gig had gone on far far too long. I didn’t even get the first bar out for Back Door Man before a bemused Mrs Dirrrrtyoldwoman reminded me there were children present and that singing “the men don’t know but the little girls understand” wasn’t exactly the behaviour of a newly married man.
In the aftermath of a disastrous night it was with a chuckle to myself that I remembered a couple of other Doors related stories. The first being at my mates, Dad’s funeral when I was about 19. The Church was a Catholic one in Burtonwood and the place was packed to the rafters. Now apart from serving on the alter as an alter boy, I’d never been to the funeral of anyone I knew. So all of us mates are sat at the back as nervous as could be when the organist starts up, Ray Manzarek style. Quick as a flash one of the lads whispers, “Jim Morrison’s gonna jump out that coffin and Eddies Dad’s going to walk in the back any minute now laughing his fucking nuts off.” Well we just creased up laughing, but thankfully no-one really noticed as they were all to consumed by their own personal grief. I’ve laughed at every funeral since.
Another one involved a mate of mine insisting he was the reincarnation of Jim Morrison as he was born on the day he died, 7/3/71. It transpired that Morrison died on 3/7/71 and the poor bastard got it ripped out of him for years.
So I’m sat here typing this and listening to The Doors in the background. A quick glance at the sleeve notes reminds me that this is a band that recorded six albums in just four years. It takes most bands that amount of time to record one album nowadays, and that’s with all the technology that is meant to make it easier and sound better.
As the final few bars of When The Music Is Over fade out I can’t help but think what a waste it was that Jim Morrison checked out at just 27yrs old. It’s a true tragedy that Morrison, a man who had the looks, charisma, voice and writing skills left this mortal coil so soon into his young life. Who knows what else this wordsmith could have produced?
My guess is that he would adhere to the old cliché about burning out, not fading away.
If you’re up their Jim it’s a pleasure to have made you acquaintance again. Now make sure you keep a Whiskey Bar open for my arrival.
First Published in The Mudhutter 16, June 2008
