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kid who wanted to be a rock star, the name had all the right cultural connotations.
    Morrison then set about moulding his band into the kind of vehicle he felt comfortable with. The cover versions slowly began to disappear, and all of a sudden the band stopped smiling onstage. This was an important turning point: how could you peddle esoteric, philosophical rock if you looked happy about it?
    Columbia had taken the bait, but Ray’s brothers decided to leave, unsure about the group’s new direction. Short of a guitarist, they recruited the mild-manneredRobby Krieger, a friend of John Densmore (they had played together in a band called the Psychedelic Rangers) and a member of John and Ray’s meditation class. A native of Los Angeles, Krieger was studying psychology at UCLA. He was only nineteen, the youngest in the group. Krieger’s was a highly original guitar sound, an idiosyncratic, folk-based noise, and he often used a bottleneck (preserved for posterity on ‘Moonlight Drive’, the first song all four Doors played together).
    The band honed their sound during their many gigs in the LA area, though at this time Manzarek did most of the singing, Morrison standing with his back to the audience, too shy to perform to anyone other than his friends. They played bar mitzvahs, birthdays, weddings – any gig they could get. They really wanted a residency at a club, but were turned down by all of them because they didn’t have a bass player. Just as they were about to recruit one, Manzarek stumbled upon a Fender Rhodes piano bass being played by the house band in one of the many clubs they auditioned for.
    The piano bass sounded like a bass guitar but played like a keyboard, and as Manzarek had been trained in the boogie-woogie, stride-piano technique (in which the hands work almost independently of each other), he decided to use it in the band. And so the Doors’ sound was born: Morrison’s throaty baritone vocals; Krieger’s intricate, clean guitar; Densmore’s sharp,unobtrusive drums; and Manzarek’s oceanic keyboards. They were now playing crisp, jazzy, white-boy blues – sensual, cinematic vignettes dramatised by Morrison’s primordial lyrics.
    The more concerts the Doors played, the more confident Morrison became onstage. And as he started being pursued by the gangs of girls who were now appearing in the audience, so he grew into his image. Morrison soon discovered he could be sexy as well as brainy.
    After rehearsing for three months, in January 1966 the Doors finally got their residency, and were lucky enough to become the house band at the London Fog, a small, sleazy club near the Whisky a Go Go on Sunset Strip. The Fog was usually frequented by drunks, hookers, sailors and the occasional hipster – the kind of habitual fly-by-nights who weren’t interested in the textural subtleties of a band like the Doors. As far as they were concerned, the four long-haired college students up on the stage were a bar band, good and simple. But the Doors thrived. Just like the Beatles in Hamburg, they would play four or five sets a night, starting at nine and continuing until two or three in the morning with fifteen-minute breaks in between.
    It was in this atmosphere that the band developed their sound, perfecting new material like ‘Light My Fire’, ‘Hello I Love You’, ‘Break On Through’ and ‘Waiting for the Sun’, songs which would serve themwell on their first three albums. They knew these songs so well that when they came to record them they did it almost live. And because they played so often they were able to experiment continually, allowing themselves the luxury of long instrumental breaks. They played the London Fog for four months, making $5 each per night and $10 at weekends.
    The Doors’ relationship with Columbia was brief, and they were soon dropped. They were also dropped by the Fog, though they were signed up almost