Photo © New York Times
Saw Ray Manzarek at HQ. M. got a couple of free tickets by phoning in about an Irish Times promotional offer. Vast quantities of alcohol were consumed by the crowd. The references to cosmic energy must have been over their heads e.g. “Play us a f*cking song.”
The quotient of cool was surprisingly high, as was the number of fine women. Blame the new venue. On Jim’s father’s desire that he join the Navy: he asked the audience to imagine Jim Morrison in charge of a battleship (“Hey man, point those guns over there ’n’ blow those suckers up”).
There was a nice instrumental version of The Crystal Ship. A music lesson on how they wrote Light My Fire.
“Man I need a beer. Can somebody get me a beer?” The lad who handed him a pint of lager was named on the spot as the new roadie. He drank it fairly fast too. “Now can I have a cigarette?” He got one. He got a third item too and played to the gallery with it. “Man this is good shit.” Impromptu Back Door Man followed.
One wannabe black-leather demon invaded the stage but was really more interested in the crowd’s reaction, holding up his hand to give the peace sign as he was being hauled off. The crowd roaring a perfect rendition of the last verses of Light My Fire was quite memorable.
He performed some of Summer’s Almost Gone as part of his depiction of the famous scene on the beach in Venice in August 1965, when Morrison introduced him to Moonlight Drive. He described “Jim, in cut-off jeans, kicking up diamonds at the water’s edge”.
Beside me, a large black-clad Frenchman with a shaved head and a goatee had ordered a Black Bush whiskey but instead got handed a cocktail from the tray of one of the army of waitresses. He turned to me, perplexed.
“What ze f*ck is ziss?”
“A Black Russian.”