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Really nothin to it, anyone can do it, it's easy and we all know how. Now begins the changin, mental rearrangin, nothing's really where it's at, Teeth Now the Eiffel Tower's holdin up a flower. Can you picture that? Interlude Fact is there's nothin out there you can't do Yeah, even Santa Claus believes in you. Beat down the walls, begin, believe, behold, begat. Be a better drummer, be an up and comer.
Clad in regulation skintight jeans, even tighter T-shirt or often as not no shirt at all, his long hair tied in a ponytail to distract attention from the fact that he was already balding, Rothchild would come striding through the studio door, avoiding all eye contact until he was settled behind the console, where he would snap open his briefcase. Paul was a loner, super-focused and as self-absorbed as any artist. Plus, Paul owed Jac big — and despite reservations gave in when Jac reminded him of it.
Rothchild had just been released from prison after serving eight months of a two-year sentence for possession of marijuana — several suitcases full of the stuff. While Paul had been incarcerated, Jac had given his wife part-time work at Elektra, to help her meet the bills. First, though, Rothchild insisted he work with the band at some intense pre-production rehearsals. The prime example was Light My Fire , which the stickler-for-detail producer sculpted from the musical miasma of its sprawling live incarnation into something with real shape and gravitas.
Yet the band was so paranoid about being ripped off, at the end of every session the doors would be double-locked. Dropping in on the sessions, Holzman was also convinced this was precious cargo. The guys were in the studio itself. They could see one another. I always kept the lights dark in the studio.
You know, they needed to have that. Down to screwing in some red light bulbs in the studio that glowed like that. The thought that Paul had was that we were to be invisible — to allow them to capture the magic of The Doors as you went to hear them. But then, in truth, despite regularly being hailed since as one of the all-time great rock debuts, the first Doors album was a mixed bag of disposable 60s pop and a truly gothic form of rock, with layers of Indian raga, jazz stylings and neo-classical pretensions.
All of which were recorded during the sessions — and would be included on future Doors albums — but passed over when it came to the final sequencing of their debut. According to Robby Krieger, the beautiful Indian Summer , though it would not be released for another four years, was the first song the band ever fully completed, with Moonlight Drive coming after. Because we were recording when Jim was at one of his most insane points, when he was deep into acid.
So they got it on the second night instead, shrugged Rothchild. In fact, the recording of The End , which would eventually roll out to almost 12 minutes in length — unheard of for a rock song at that time — precipitated one of the most oft-told, yet always exaggerated stories from the making of the first Doors album.
According to legend, the band was two-thirds of the way through playing the track, just after Jim had turned his on-stage announcement of wanting to fuck his mother into an incoherent yowl, and as he began to dervish around the studio he noticed — oh, the insult! Speaking now, however, Botnick sighs and claims it was a far less dramatic moment. It did not explode.
It did not catch on fire. He did not pick it up and throw it through the glass as Ray Manzarek said that he did. None of that happened. But he knocked it off and yes it went on the floor, and the tape continued.
In between takes I walked out into the studio and got it and turned it off. And then we did a second take. The End comprises two takes and we edited it together — the first half and the second half. For the performance aspect we made the cut.
Because everything that happened on that album was based on performance. The other flashpoint from those sessions that has since gone down in history has also been exaggerated, according to Botnick: the one in which a fiercely tripping Morrison — on the same night they completed splicing the two best performances of The End together — returned alone to Sunset Sound and proceeded to trash the studio, throwing ashtray-sand over the floor and emptying a fire extinguisher into the mixing console.
According to Botnick, though, this was not merely an act of acid-crazed petulance, but a genuine attempt, albeit with lid flapping wide open, to avert what Morrison saw as a disaster. He came back to the studio and the gate was locked. That was locked. But the studio was open and the red lights were on and he thought it was on fire so he grabbed a fire extinguisher and knocked over the ashtrays that were full of sand and tried to put out the fire.
When Paul got there Jim was shoeless and shirtless. As he walked through the door of his Laurel Canyon home his phone was ringing. It was studio owner, Tutti Camarata, apoplectic with rage, saying the studio had been trashed: fire extinguisher foam all over the mixing console, sand from a stand-up ashtray hurled across the room.
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