“We couldn’t make the music sound the way we wanted,” said Botnick, “but the fans appreciated it. By the way, for what it’s worth, all the serious Doors collectors are male.”
There were two more offbeat Bright Midnight releases that seemed produced with the avid fan in mind—a four-hour radio documentary produced by Los Angeles disc jockey Jim Ladd and syndicated in one hundred and thirty-five markets in 1979 to coincide with the first publication of No One Here Gets Out Alive, taking the biography’s title as its own (although Danny and I had no input or share of the earnings), and The Lost Interview Tapes, interviews Morrison gave to an Oswego, New York, radio station, the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation, and Circus magazine.
Was it true, then, that the fans were a force in determining how the music releases were planned? Botnick said, “You have to be cognizant of truth with the fans. There is a large blog network and if you aren’t truthful, they can tear you to shreds.”
This was not to say that all the fans were catered to. Rainer Moddemann, a German bootlegger of unreleased Doors material in Europe, was put on the Doors’ shit list despite his being the founder-editor of the usually flattering Doors Quarterly Magazine. Offended by Moddemann’s harsh criticism of Botnick’s efforts, Sugerman said in a open letter to fans, “He [says he] could have made a better box set, but what does he do? Release Jumbo and the Drunks. That pathetic Paris tape Jim was probably in a blackout when he recorded it and he [Moddemann] calls it historic.” Botnick said one of the goals set for the Bright Midnight CDs was to head off any more bootlegs than already had been sold.
According to the Recording Industry Association of America (RIAA)—which doesn’t recognize bootlegs, either—from September 1997 to July 1971—Jim’s lifetime with the band—the Doors were awarded seven Gold albums, the highest number at the time. And from the time of Jim’s death to January 2011, the band accrued thirty-eight RIAA certifications of Gold (recognizing half a million sales), Platinum (one million), and Multi-Platinum (two million plus). Add income from videos and documentaries, Oliver Stone’s movie and other product and, as Patricia Butler noted, “it could certainly be argued that while Jim Morrison made the band famous, his death made the band successful,” confirming the cynical entertainment cliché that called an early death “a good career move.” Estimates at the turn of the century put the three Doors’ individually worth $15 million—not a sum to make Forbes magazine take note, but more than enough to guarantee they’d never have to carry their amps again.
There was professional satisfaction, too. For the first time in years, the three played together in 1993 when the Doors were inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, with Morrison acolyte Eddie Vedder singing three Doors songs with the three musicians. In 2007, the Doors also received a lifetime achievement award at the Grammys and a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame.
Yet there were wrenching problems, initially over the licensing of Doors music for commercial use. This was an issue that went back to 1969 when Ray, Robby and John accepted $75,000 from Buick for the use of “Light My Fire” to introduce a model called the Opel when Jim was on holiday. “He came back and went nuts,” Densmore wrote in an article for The Nation in 2002 (later reprinted in Rolling Stone). “And it wasn’t even his song (Robby primarily having penned ‘LMF’)! In retrospect, his calling up Buick and saying that if they aired the ad, he’d smash an Opel on television with a sledgehammer was fantastic! I guess that’s one of the reasons I miss the guy.”
(The ad already had become radio, television and print ads as well as a billboard on the Sunset Strip by the time Jim made his threat.)
This may have been an extreme reaction from Morrison, but he wasn’t just throwing his weight around. Densmore said it was when The Doors were still a wannabe band in Venice that “Jim suggested sharing all the songwriting credits and money. Since he didn’t play an instrument—literally couldn’t play one chord on piano or guitar, but had lyrics and melodies coming out of his ears—the communal pot idea felt like a love-in. Just so no one got too weird, he tagged that veto thought on.”
What that veto meant was that The Doors were not a democracy; the majority did not rule; it was, rather, like d’Artagnan and the Three Musketeers: one for all and all for one. Each of the four Doors had the power to “outvote” the other three.
It wouldn’t be until 1971, when Jim announced his departure for Paris that the concept was formalized. Years later, Densmore would reveal that this was done because he and the other two feared Jim might start a new band called The Doors in Europe. Thus the band’s business manager, Bob Greene, was given exclusive authority to enter into licensing agreements for The Doors music for radio and television commercials only after receiving the written approval of all four partners.
This was not changed after the singer’s death and it was renewed when his and Pamela’s parents became partners of the surviving Doors. So when Apple in 2000 offered $4 million to use “When the Music’s Over” in a commercial for a new computer called the Cube, John said no and that killed the deal. Densmore did it again in 2004 when General Motors, apparently forgetting the company’s Buick misadventure, offered $15 million for “Break On Through” to introduce the new Cadillac SUV. Again, John voted no.
When Manzarek and Krieger and others connected to the band reminded the drummer that he had approved the use of “Riders on the Storm” to sell Pirelli tires in the UK during the 1970s, he reminded them that he was so upset when he heard that commercial, he gave his portion to charity. And vowed to himself: never again.
“I’m pretty clear that we shouldn’t do it,” John wrote in The Nation. “We don’t need the money. But I get such pressure from one particular bandmate (the one who wears glasses and plays keyboards). ‘Commercials will give us more exposure,’ he says. I ask him, ‘So you’re not for it because of the money?’ He says ‘no,’ but his first question is always ‘how much?’ when we get one of these offers, and he always says he’s for it.
“I am reminded of the sound of greed, trying to talk me into not vetoing a Doors song for a cigarette ad in Japan. ‘It’s the only way to get a hit over there, John. They love commercials. It’s the new thing!’ ‘What about encouraging kids to smoke, Ray?’”
Tom Waits wrote a letter to The Nation in support. “Eventually, artists will be going onstage like race-car drivers covered in hundreds of logos,” he said. “John, stay pure. Your credibility, your integrity and your honor are things no company should be able to buy.”
John and the others also were fighting over the use of The Doors name when performing. This began after Densmore was diagnosed with tinnitus, an ear ailment that makes you hear things that aren’t heard externally by anyone else, and he okayed hiring Stewart Copeland (ex-drummer of the Police) and Ian Astbury (lead singer of the Cult) when Harley-Davidson asked the Doors” to play at a concert in Los Angeles in 2001 marking the company’s hundredth anniversary. When the motorcycle maker requested a repeat performance in Canada, Densmore withdrew his support and when the “new” Doors announced plans to go on tour, he rebelled. According to one insider, “John said, ‘Hey, wait a minute. Without Jim and John, that’s Ray and Robby of The Doors, not The Doors’.”
“Ian Astbury is singing Doors songs as Ian Astbury,” Ray said. “He’s not doing a Jim Morrison imitation. Ian is a great singer, has the shamanistic quality to him, has Buddhist sensibilities, and is an advocate of Native American rights. So he shared the same sensibilities as Jim Morrison.” (The hair, the leather pants, the moves, the “look” that Astbury adopted as readily as Val Kilmer had in the movie presumably were just a coincidence.) “He’s even more convincing than Val Kilmer,” a British critic wrote when the band appeared at London’s Wembley Arena.
Densmore hated all of it and on February 4, 2003—nearly a year after the hybrid band went on the road and three days before it was to perform at the Universal Amphitheatre i
n North Hollywood—he filed a lawsuit in Los Angeles County Superior Court, charging breach of contract, trademark infringement, and unfair competition. His key complaint: without Jim Morrison, there couldn’t be a band called The Doors and in any case, Ray and Robby hadn’t bothered to get consent from him or the heirs to the Morrison estate.
“It’s misleading to the fans,” Densmore said. “I’m forced to speak out now and to take action in order to protect the integrity of the great work all four of us created together. My partners are free to play under any other name and any other logo, as the members of many bands from the same era are doing. I am seeking only to end the confusion caused by the deceptive ad campaign they are using on this tour, in order to preserve the legacy of the Doors, and to set the record straight.”
No damages were specified. He merely asked that the band “disgorge” all profits “improperly received.” What that meant would be determined by the court, but with a full year of concerts scheduled across the United States and in Europe, Australia and South America in 2003, millions were at stake.
Defending himself on CNN, Ray said, “The guy who put together the band [referring to himself] and the guy who wrote ‘Light My Fire’ [Krieger]. If we’re not the Doors, then who is?” While Astbury said, “I’m not trying to be Jim Morrison. I’m approaching this like a recital of classic material.” Others pointed out that Densmore had appeared with Manzarek and Krieger in 2001 when VH1 taped an episode of its “Storytellers” series in which Astbury, Creed singer Scott Stapp, Stone Temple Pilot’s Scott Weiland, Days of the New front man Travis Meeks and Perry Farrell took turns covering Doors songs. The three also had played together at their induction into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 1993, with Eddie Vedder taking Morrison’s place. So what was his objection to using other singers now?
When the Morrisons and Coursons joined Densmore in his lawsuit and jury selection finally began in June 2004, Manzarek and Krieger knew they were in for a fight. The judge predicted the case would last about four weeks, but it was fourteen before the jury came in with a decision, another month before the judge, Gregory W. Alarcon, gave the court’s verdict. Dozens of witnesses for both sides had been called, some of them testifying at length on the subject of music’s commercial use, although it was whether or not The Doors were still The Doors without Morrison that was the main issue.
Densmore was battling his old bandmates on two fronts—one killing all commercial use of the band’s songs, the other forbidding use of the band’s name in contemporary performance. Two widely disparate issues, held together by the shared impact on the band’s current income flow.
Media and Doors fans were divided on the issues, with most critics praising the hybrid band’s performances and one of the more active fans, Dave Diamond, asking on one of the fan websites, “Did Roger Daltrey and Pete Townshend stop the Who with Keith Moon and John Entwhistle’s passing? Did Paul Stanley and Gene Simmons wrap up KISS after Ace Frehley and Peter Criss departed in the ‘80s? Just because Syd Barrett and Roger Waters are no longer in Pink Floyd, I’m not gong to boycott David Gilmour.” Others took opposing views, as the band stayed on the road, the keyboardist and guitarist testifying at the trial on videotape because they were performing in Europe.
By now, they were calling themselves the Doors for the 21st Century, thinking that might satisfy their disgruntled drummer, but he pointed out that they were introduced on the Jay Leno show as The Doors and were using the iconic font for the name from the first album, while the phrase “for the 21st Century” was close to invisible in promotional materials. In May 2005, when the court ruled that they could no longer tour as The Doors of the 21st Century, the band was appearing in Canada, where they shortened the name on the marquee to D21C. Eventually it was changed to Riders on the Storm, the title of one of Morrison’s songs as well as of Densmore’s 1990 autobiography, a “coincidence” that did not go unnoticed.
It was August 2008 before the final trial ruling was in, when the California Supreme Court refused to consider the Manzarek-Krieger appeal and ordered them to give Densmore and the Morrison estate half of the profits earned in two years of touring before they made the final name change.
“John is going to get about a million dollars for doing nothing,” Manzarek said. “He gets an equal share as us, and we were out there working. A free million bucks. That’s a gig I’d like.”
With Jampol now representing only The Doors Music, Inc. and not benefiting from a share of the ongoing tour income generated by Manzarek and Krieger (or from Densmore, who was now working independently as well), he reorganized and cut expenses, reassigning services provided by Sugerman’s friend, Todd Gray, who had digitized the band’s archives and created and run the official website. Jampoll also phased out merchandising he thought was inappropriate. Unlike the Elvis estate, which licensed hundreds of products over the years—from hound dogs with a choice of wardrobes to bathtub rubber ducks—the Doors list was limited.
“We never made a bobble head, we had a filter that asked, ‘Does this stand the test of “The End”?’,” said Cory Lashever, a young assistant hired by Jampol after Danny died. “Was the product in the same class as that song? The bobble head wouldn’t stand that test of time. I mean, do we really need a Doors lava lamp?”
Jampol was more voluble in 2008 in an open letter to Bob Lefsetz, a music industry guru who took the band’s manager to task for licensing Converse sneakers. The letter, more than four thousand words long and posted on Lefsetz’s website, said The Doors believed that their fans “would be better served by at least trying to put quality merchandise out there for fans to buy, and to also capture some of the millions that was being unfairly pocketed regardless by outsiders and fly-by-night, substandard bootleggers trading unfairly and illegally on The Doors’ name. Some of what The Doors ultimately permitted to be manufactured, I disagreed with – and some, I stopped, discontinued, or outright denied.
“A few examples? Although The Doors did Christmas ornaments, and several folks I know own them and apparently like them, I personally found them to be demeaning, and not in the spirit (excuse the pun again) of these “Erotic Politicians,” and I so advised The Doors (again, that’s my job). There was a “Light My Fyre! “ action-figure doll, which I found particularly repugnant (it pained me just to write that out), and many other categories, like cheap belt buckles, cheap calendars (note the word “cheap”: it’s there for a reason), lizard this-’n-that, feather earrings, etc. I could go on and on here – ugly incense holders, a disgusting purple plastic-topped Lava Lamp-like table lamp, a Jim action-figure doll (but not the Todd McFarland one, which is cool, to us), tawdry tapestries (??!), magnets, and even bobbleheads! I mean, c’mon! How does one make a logical connection between “Soul Kitchen” and a BOBBLEHEAD??!? In fact, when I first came on board, one of our first actions as a management team was to terminate deals for over 150 items—all of which had already been approved, wittingly or unwittingly, by The Doors. We then terminated about the same amount of apparel items and designs as being hoary, uncool, stupid, ugly, demeaning, cheap, and usually some combination of these horrible attributes.” Jampol continued like that for pages. It was a rant for the ages.
Today, the Doors online “store” is not large. There are a dozen men’s tee-shirt designs, four women’s tees, a “Doors logo trucker hat” (baseball cap), a Jim Morrison scrapbook (with a young lion photo on the cover), a single refrigerator magnet, a single concert poster, and a select list of CDs and vinyl LPs.
Jampol also developed what he called “The Hippocratic Oath of Rock.” “It took forty years to build The Doors brand,” said Lashever, “and Jeff didn’t want to mess it up.” In time, this led to his taking on as clients other music estates, including those of Janis Joplin, Peter Tosh, and Rick James.
A coffee table book, The Doors by the Doors was intelligently compiled by a former Rolling Stone editor, Ben Fong-Torres, in 2006. I
ts authorization made the text fairly predictable—the internal fighting was downplayed—but the interview with Admiral Morrison made it worth the price of admission. He said he really didn’t know his son when he was growing up, but from all he’d heard and read since, “he sounds like someone it would be interesting to know.”
The next major project was a documentary produced for feature release, When You’re Strange, a film made entirely from archival film and minus the usual contemporary interviews. Still nursing feelings hurt by Oliver Stone’s narrow view of Morrison and the band, The Doors wanted another shot on the big screen, so when Dick Wolf came along, they said yes. As a university student, Wolf had booked an early Doors concert and since then had become the A-list Hollywood producer of Miami Vice and Law & Order, as well as Twin Towers, a documentary about two brothers, one a policeman, the other a fireman, who died in the line of duty on September 11, 2001.
With this track record, money was not a problem and Wolf brought in a director of narrative (rather than documentary) films, Tom DiCillo, too young to have seen The Doors at their peak but known for his sensitive use of music in previous features. “I did not see the Oliver Stone film,” DiCillo said. “I don’t hold it against him and I don’t want to talk negatively about it. But the pieces of it that I did see just struck me as being a little too obvious for my taste. I knew there was a great mystery surrounding The Doors, a great unsaid and unspoken thing that still, to this date, is undefined…and I wanted to take a stab at defining it.”
He said he approached the project as if it were a narrative film with Morrison as his protagonist, using outtakes from the unreleased fifty-minute-long film that Morrison made and starred in the year before he died, Hwy, much of which pictures the singer wandering in the desert. It took more than nine months to intercut this with previously unseen concert footage, DiCillo often improvising his scripted narration in the editing room. The “finished” film was premiered at the Sundance Film Festival in 2010.
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