Robby Krieger: Still Lighting Fires After All These Years
Imagine being 19, joining a band, and then, six decades later, still passionately discussing its impact. For most, that’s a far-fetched scenario. But when you’re Robby Krieger, the guitarist of the iconic Los Angeles band The Doors, such longevity is almost expected. At 79, Krieger remains a vibrant storyteller, brimming with memories from the five years his quartet dominated the airwaves and reshaped the cultural landscape.
"I think the combination of the poetry (of lead singer Jim Morrison) and the music was so different than anything else at the time, before, or maybe even now," Krieger reflects. He co-wrote "Light My Fire," undeniably one of The Doors’ most recognizable and influential songs. The lasting impact of their music is something Krieger witnesses firsthand. "So many people come up to me and say, ‘You changed my life.’"
For those whose lives were touched by The Doors, or for those simply curious about their enduring legacy, "Night Divides the Day: The Doors Anthology" is a must-read. This substantial new book from Genesis Publications ($75) offers a chronological journey through The Doors’ meteoric rise and their premature end following Morrison’s tragic death in Paris in 1971 at the age of 27.
This hardcover tome is more than just a collection of words; it’s a visual and textual feast. It’s packed with rare archival photographs of the band, showcasing both their on-stage magnetism and their more intimate, off-stage moments. The book also includes reproductions of memorabilia, offering a tangible connection to the band’s history. Complementing these visuals are quotes from contemporary musicians, ranging from Slash to Van Morrison, each offering their perspective on The Doors’ lasting influence. Adding to the book’s depth are contributions from the band’s surviving members: drummer John Densmore, now 80. The book also incorporates insights from keyboardist Ray Manzarek, who passed away in 2013 at age 74, providing a comprehensive and multifaceted perspective on the band’s story.
The book acts like a literary time machine. One captivating spread features a black and white photograph of the band from early 1967, captured in front of San Francisco’s iconic Golden Gate Bridge. The image captures the band at a high point, just days after the release of their self-titled debut album, an album brimming with hits. Morrison, the charismatic but troubled frontman, playfully holds a large stick, while the other band members share a smile, likely reacting to an inside joke.
Accompanying the photograph is a caption featuring excerpts from a review of The Doors’ performance at the legendary Fillmore Auditorium, where they shared the stage with The Young Rascals ("Good Lovin’"). The reviewer’s words make it clear that The Doors were unlike anything San Francisco’s flower child scene had encountered. "The Doors are a weird group," the review states. "They start off without much and gradually get into something which is not exactly the Frisco sound but some kind of Eastern-oriented improvisation."
For Krieger, The Doors’ unique sound and lasting appeal stemmed from the diverse backgrounds and personalities of its members. Densmore, a jazz drummer, brought a sophisticated rhythmic sensibility. Manzarek, with his deep roots in Chicago blues, provided a solid foundation and an innovative keyboard style. Morrison, a poet with a captivating voice and stage presence, added a layer of intellectual and emotional depth. And Krieger himself, a flamenco guitarist, brought a unique melodic and harmonic sensibility to the band’s sound.
What could have easily become a chaotic blend of styles instead coalesced into something truly special, producing iconic songs like "The End" (famously featured in the film "Apocalypse Now"), "Break On Through," and "Love Me Two Times," among many other classics. The Doors’ impact on music was formally recognized in 1993 with their induction into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.
"It was kind of meant to be," Krieger says, reflecting on the band’s formation and success. He notes that his current band has been performing entire Doors albums at the Whisky A Go Go, the legendary Los Angeles venue where The Doors were the house band in the mid-1960s. "It has to be that. We were all so different, but that’s why it worked." The Doors, he suggests, were an "accidental miracle."
The band’s origins were rooted in the film school at the University of California at Los Angeles (UCLA), where Manzarek and Morrison were students. Krieger was an undergraduate at UCLA. Densmore, a local drummer attending college nearby, joined a group initially formed by Manzarek and his brothers. "Then Ray’s brothers quit, so they needed a guitarist and John, who I knew, brought me in to rehearse with them and that was it," Krieger recalls. He remembers playing the haunting slide guitar intro to what would become the hit song "Moonlight Drive" at that first rehearsal. "Jim loved that slide," Krieger laughs. "He wanted me to put it on every single song. I said thanks, but no."
Morrison and Manzarek, both avid readers, drew the band’s name from a line in a poem by William Blake: "If the doors of perception were cleansed everything would appear to man as it is: Infinite." This literary influence was a key element in The Doors’ artistic identity.
The Doors’ heavy and often dark first album stood in stark contrast to the upbeat sounds of the Summer of Love in 1967. Many of the songs explored darker themes, reflecting Morrison’s complex and often troubled psyche. This was particularly evident in "The End," a song with its violent and Oedipal themes. During live performances of the song, Morrison would often enter a trance-like state, further intensifying the song’s emotional impact. Krieger says Morrison was an unpredictable force from the very beginning of the band. "Jim was something else, man, although remember in the 60s it wasn’t that crazy to be crazy," he says with a chuckle.
Krieger recalls that Morrison was under the influence of LSD during the recording of "The End." After the session, Morrison apparently snuck back into the studio and used a fire extinguisher to put out imaginary flames. "Jim could ruin a show, for sure, but one thing he never was was late," Krieger says. "He loved to create art, that’s what he was about."
While all four members of The Doors experimented with drugs, Krieger says that everyone except Morrison soon sought alternative ways to expand their consciousness. "We were into the Maharishi (Mahesh Yogi, the Beatles’ spiritual guru), and he came to Los Angeles and we got Jim to go. He looked at (the Maharishi) from about 10 feet away and just shakes his head and says, ‘No, he doesn’t got it.’ And walked away," he says. "I often wonder what might have been if he’d felt otherwise and given up acid and started meditating like we were doing."
Morrison, the rebellious son of a Navy admiral, possessed striking looks, so much so that a decade after his death, Rolling Stone magazine featured him on its cover with the headline, "Jim Morrison: He’s Hot, He’s Sexy and He’s Dead." He was also a handful, according to Krieger. "He’d be on acid with a bunch of people, and start turning the lights on and off really fast, just to see what would happen. Mostly we just rolled with it. I trusted Jim, but there were times I worried he might go too far."
"Night Divides the Day," named after a lyric from "Break On Through," dedicates considerable attention to Morrison’s infamous 1969 concert in Miami, where he was arrested for indecent exposure after allegedly removing his pants. Krieger maintains that the incident has been exaggerated. "It was close, sure, and he would have done it had Ray not said to our equipment manager, ‘Don’t let him take his pants down!’ But no, didn’t happen," he says.
Regardless, the damage was done. Morrison was convicted in 1970 of indecent exposure and profanity and was awaiting sentencing when he left for Paris with his longtime girlfriend, Pamela Courson. The stress and his continued substance abuse contributed to Morrison’s declining health, and his death in Paris was attributed to heart failure, although no autopsy was conducted. Morrison is buried in Paris’s famed Père Lachaise Cemetery, where his headstone is perpetually adorned with tributes from fans.
Krieger seems as surprised as anyone by the enduring fascination with Morrison and The Doors’ music. "Ten years ago we had the 50th anniversary of the band getting going, and I was going ‘wow, 50 years and we’re still being talked about,’" he says. "Now it’s 60. It just keeps going and going. It’s just crazy."
