The Doors’ Strange Days(released 9/25/67) did not have the cultural or commercial impact of the iconic band’s eponymous debut earlier than the h/alcyon year of 1967. And that’s all the more regrettable because, in purely artistic terms, this second album is superior in (almost) every way.
In reality, with now over half-century hindsight, it’s more clear than ever how the Doors’ sophomore album gets lost in the shuffle of their discography. Even in the most pragmatic terms, it’s gotten less visibility in the continuing litany of reissues, anniversary and otherwise: the lavish attention afforded LA Woman and The Soft Parade has far overshadowed Strange Days and even the markedly inferior Morrison Hotel, hailed as a comeback of sorts in the wake of the misconceived experimentation of the aforementioned 1969 LP, has gotten the bonus treatment with extra tracks, vinyl et. al.
Meanwhile, the 50th Anniversary Deluxe Edition of Strange Days consists only in the form of a two-CD set, one a remastered stereo version and the other a comparably upgraded mono edition. Given the exhaustive experimentation in which the band engaged with their producer Paul A. Rothchild and engineer Bruce Botnick, it’s utterly confounding that no extensive outtakes or alternate versions have been issued.
Utilizing what at the time was a cutting-edge eight-track machine, as well as synthesizers in their infancy plus healthy helpings of music concrete, all involved contributing to fashioning what, in the end, is an exquisite distillation of fearless creative curiosity. This is one studio magnum opus of the era that deserves more attention than it’s received in the half-century plus since it came out.
This sophomore album of the Doors is uniform from start to finish in a way the debut was not. As on the quartet’s own blues “Love Me Two Times,” its continuity is an effect accentuated by the way vocalist/songwriter Jim Morrison’s persona remains in proportion to the contributions of the rest of the quartet. Accordingly, when the grand climax to the LP arrives in the form of the eleven-minute epic “When The Music’s Over,” the effect is cathartic on multiple fronts, not the least of which is an espousal of environmental awareness (‘…what have they done to the earth?…’) overshadowed by the rabble-rousing with which it’s juxtaposed (‘we want the world and we want it now!…’).
To a great degree, that’s because the sonic spectrum of Strange Days, like the surreal cover images front and back, generates a cumulative sense of dramatic momentum. From the very start of the title song, the mix of instruments and vocals highlights how the instrumental trio of the Doors had found their respective levels as individual musicians and a unit by the time of the extended experimentation that took place during the recording sessions. During a cut like “You’re Lost Little Girl,” for instance, the complementary instrumental fusion is all the more discernible because it is so skeletal.
The density of arrangements is deceptive but apropos to the original material. Ray Manzarek’s multiple keyboards, flamenco-trained Robbie Krieger’s guitar, and John Densmore’s attentive touches on his drum kit mesh with Jim Morrison’s singing to conjure the dangerous yet oddly alluring air of “Moonlight Drive.” The combination of recitation and sound effects on the ancient maritime saga of “Horse Latitudes” nurtures a sense of isolation, while the hushed performance of “I Can’t See Your Face in My Mind” amplifies the deeply disorienting mood arising from the stark imagery of the lyrics.
By the time of its arguably premature release in the early autumn of ‘67, the potentially profound aftershock of such a stellar follow-up album to the Doors’ eponymous debut was markedly lessened. With over half-century hindsight, a piece of work keynoted by “People Are Strange” may have been seen as an all too prescient (and unwelcome?) statement on the devolution of the ‘Summer of Love.’
Regardless, from such an extended perspective, Strange Days stands as an unusually provocative and incisive collection of observations the reverberations of which echo into and throughout a contemporary era not altogether dissimilar than the one in which it was created.
