The Doors – or rather Jim Morrison – gave me wet dreams as a teenager growing up in Cape Breton. I can remember drooling over the cover of the first lp as I got caught up in the music. Brilliantly engineered it was impossible to resist. The lyrics were ‘poetry’ & Jim’s voice as so sexually insinuating even my straight friends dug him – not that I was out but I wanted Morrison’s body. To top it off there was Mother I want to …
As stand alone’s I have the First; Strange Days; Live Matrix 1967 2 cds; Waiting For The Sun; The Soft Parade; Morrison Hotel; New York Jan70 – 6 cd; Boston Concerts 1970: 3 cd; LA Woman; An American Prayer. Absolutely Live is part of an mp3 collection with lps of Grateful Dead/ Cat Stevens/Bob Marley/ The Hollies/ Otis Redding/ Bowie/ Pink Floyd.
The first three lps I loved so much – ‘music is your only friend’ caught the angst of being a queer teen with only album covers to turn to for comfort & fantasy. The pressure of fame took its toll on Morrison & he never came to terms with it. I’ve read several bios – some of which refer to his bisexuality & I wonder if that need to keep that hidden contributed to his mental difficulties – he certainly wouldn’t be the first man who dealt with his sexuality by numbing it drugs & booze until it killed him.
The later lps Morrison Hotel, LA Woman are good, more adult in a way. I can tell his lyrics from those of the other members of the band. Let’s face it ‘Love Street’ is insipid pap. American Prayer is sweet & sad. He never got to be the poet thanks to being a rock god.
I was happy when the live material was pulled out of the vaults. Of the sets I love love the Live Matrix 1967 the most – this was a show after they had recorded their first lp, but it hadn’t been released yet & they were working on material for the 2nd lp already. This is The Doors before they became a household word. It sounds like an audience of ten applauding too. Man I wish I had been there for that show even more than for the one where he supposedly flashed his iconic cock. Dance On Fire
‘I can’t. June keeps sticking her shoe into me.’
‘June stop that.’
‘I am not sticking my shoe anywhere. Tell Jeff to move his big fat bee-hind out of my way.’
‘Jeff sit over here. June you stand beside him like that. How’s that?’
No one was in anyone’s way for the moment. Why were birthdays always like this? Could they be any other way? Sixteen children, eight parents and at least two grandparents. Why did I do these things? Why? And where where those goddamn clowns?
‘How long do we have to sit still?’
‘Till I get this picture. Okay.’
I had to get these pictures taken before the real crush started. Hard enough with my two here and now what was I thinking asking all those others?
‘He’s gone to the airport to pick up Gran French.’
‘Gran French! Gran French! You didn’t tell us she would be here.’
‘Now you know. Sit and we’ll get this picture.’
They sat finally. June in her favourite coveralls and t-shirt. Jeff in the same. Different colours. Twins were handful.
I snapped several quick pictures. ‘There I’m done. Now …’
‘Yea. Gran French Gran French is going to be here.’ They sang.
‘When will she get here?’
‘In time for the party.’
Twins at eleven. Why had I let Tom go to the airport and leave me alone with these two? This whole party was his idea. To celebrate the final year before they became teenage runaways. I’d give them the money if I thought would get them out of the house any faster.
‘Thanks Dad. Now you sit here.’
Jeff pushed me to the couch.
‘It’s time for your picture. Now sit still. June stand, no you sit on his lap. Don’t make faces either of you. I said sit. Sit still.’
The camera motor clicked.
‘You’ve been such a good Dad you deserve a little treat.’
June hopped off my lap and rushed upstairs. Jeff on her heels. They were back down tumbling over each other.
Each of them thrust a card at me. I could see more of Tom’s work behind this.
‘Open mine first.’
‘Let’s see if I can open them both at the same time.’
The door bell rang.
‘Gran French! Gran French!’ The two of them rushed to the door.
I knew it wasn’t Gran French as Tom could let himself into the house.
‘’Who is it?’ I called.
Two polka dotted clowns rushed into the room.
‘Clowns!’ June shrieked.
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featuring: Tuesday, March 21: 7:30 p.m. Hot-Sauced Words –http://www.hotsaucedwords.ca/
attending: Saturday, March 25: 9 a.m. 2017 TORONTO SPECFIC COLLOQUIUM
June 9-10-11: attending: Capturing Fire 2017 – flight & hotel booked already
check out these poets from Capturing Fire 2015 & 2016
August 31-Sept.3 – I have my ticket already
November 1 – 30 Participating NaNoWriMo
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