Released fifty-five years ago, the Doors’ Morrison Hotel was primarily seen as a return to form for the band after using brass and string arrangements recommended by producer Paul A. Rothchild on their previous album, The Soft Parade. The fact of the matter is that, the irony of ironies, both records have but a small handful of memorable moments,
So, it’s something of a misperception to describe this 1970 record as a comeback, much less a return to the Doors’ ‘blues-rock style.’ The group covered Willie Dixon’s “Back Door Man” on their eponymous debut. Still, there was little else like it on that record or its adventurous follow-up Strange Days (their 1971 finale, L.A. Woman, is the outstanding exception).
Further giving the lie to the record as a testament to earthy influences, a bonafide ballad appears on each ‘side’ of the vinyl LP as initially issued. “Blue Sunday” and “Indian Summer” provide some good pacing for the thirty-seven minutes overall. Yet, both might well have been purely instrumental and achieved the same effect (or a more atmospheric one).
Nonetheless, as Jim Morrison croons his way through them, the lead vocalist channels his inner Frank Sinatra (purportedly his favorite singer of all time). The abandon in the volatile frontman’s vocal delivery is more credible, however, within the dramatic chugging of the band through “Land Ho!” and “Ship of Fools;” his loud, reckless phrasing correlates directly to the propulsion generated by the musicians, particularly drummer John Densmore.
Similarly authoritative is “Peace Frog.” With its twisting funk foundation supplied by the interlocking of instrumental lines by guitarist Robbie Krieger and keyboardist Ray Manzarek, it’s a fitting backdrop for the tempestuous cultural landscape the late Morrison describes as he sings (and, in so doing, references his own late 1967 altercation with police in New Haven Connecticut).
A paucity of outstanding original material plagued Doors’ albums, beginning with their third, Waiting For The Sun, and a similar shortfall also afflicts this, their fifth (wherein resides the title song of that 1968 title mentioned above). “Queen of the Highway” doesn’t ring with evocative, poetic truths of Jim’s early work, while the deep tone(s) of voice he adopts for “The Spy” doesn’t resonate much more than on the stunted, forced closing selection “Maggie McGill,” its lyrics marred with easy rhymes.
There is no question, however, that the band hits hard with the very first of the eleven cuts, “Roadhouse Blues.” Especially notable in the digitally remastered version included in the 1999 box set The Complete Studio Recordings, the long-time producing/engineering team of Rothchild and Bruce Botnick ensures no-frill audio to maximize the instrumental potency.
Further maximizing the visceral reverberations of the sonic is the wailing harp credited to ‘G. Puglese,’ aka the Lovin’ Spoonful’s John Sebastian, as well as the bass playing of early blues-rock icon Lonnie Mack. The tune became an overtly dramatic, de rigeur show opener for the Doors in concert, starkly contrasting the contradictions within the album from whence it came.
More than a little indicative of the mottled nature of Morrison Hotel is the graphic design of its cover. The quartet strains for effect in its poses, so photographer Henry Diltz’ shot of the dive bar, without the group, would have more effectively conjured the intended down-to-earth ambience.
The subtitling of the two ‘sides’ of this long-player also creates a false dichotomy. ‘A”s Hard Rock Café is virtually indistinguishable from ‘B’ as Morrison Hotel. Nonetheless, a half-century-plus retrospective on the record clarifies rather than muddles the mixed messages that, in the interim since release, have engendered so many conflicting perceptions about this particular work of the Doors.
