The DOORS with Jim Morrison Vinyl LP Albums Gallery

 

Formation

The origin story isn’t complicated, which is probably why it stuck. Jim Morrison and Ray Manzarek were UCLA film students, and in the summer of 1965 they ran into each other again on Venice Beach. Morrison had words. Manzarek heard a band inside those words and basically said, “Fine. Let’s make it loud.” That’s the whole spark.

Krieger and Densmore came in soon after, and the four of them clicked in that unnerving way: not “nice chemistry,” more like a door quietly unlocking. They took the name from Aldous Huxley’s book The Doors of Perception, and if you’ve ever listened to “The End” at the wrong hour, you already know they meant it.

And yes: the bass thing. People keep trying to “fix” it, like the band forgot to hire somebody. They didn’t. Bassists auditioned, but live it was Manzarek’s left hand doing the dirty work down low, leaving this weird open space where the songs could breathe… or stalk you. It’s a big reason the Doors sound like the Doors.

Core Band Members

Jim Morrison (Vocals): Morrison wasn’t a “charismatic frontman.” He was a lit match with a poetry notebook. Baritone voice, sharp edges, and that stare that made a crowd feel complicit. He didn’t sing to entertain you; he dared you to follow him into the song and then acted mildly annoyed when you actually did.

Robby Krieger (Guitar): Krieger played like he had one foot in blues and the other in something more sideways. He could make riffs slither instead of march. And he wasn’t just “the guitarist” either—he wrote “Light My Fire,” which is basically the moment a lot of people accidentally became Doors fans and never fully recovered.

Ray Manzarek (Keyboards): Manzarek is the machine room. Organ lines that swirl, stab, and hypnotize—while his left hand holds down the bass lines like it’s nothing. That split-brain approach is why the band could sound huge with four people. It’s also why a lot of so-called “Doors-inspired” bands sound like they bought the outfit but forgot the menace.

John Densmore (Drums): Densmore didn’t just keep time. He steered. Jazz-influenced, quick to shift gears, and perfectly willing to let a groove simmer until it boils over. Listen to how the drums move under “Riders on the Storm” and tell me that’s just a guy counting beats.

Music Themes and Controversies

The Doors wrote about sex, fear, freedom, and the parts of the mind polite society likes to padlock. They didn’t “explore themes.” They kicked the door in and stood there smiling. That attitude didn’t play nice with TV censors either—on The Ed Sullivan Show (17 September 1967), they were asked to change the “higher” lyric in “Light My Fire,” and Morrison sang it as written anyway. Subtle? No. Effective? Completely.

Then there’s Miami, 1969: the concert that turned into a legal and cultural hangover for years. Charges, a conviction, and decades later a posthumous pardon. You don’t have to romanticize the mess, but pretending it didn’t happen is just rewriting history with a clean shirt on.

Enduring Legacy

The boring way to say it is “their influence endures.” The honest way is: their records still sound slightly dangerous. Morrison died in 1971 at 27, and the surviving trio kept going—two more albums without him, then later “An American Prayer” built around Morrison’s poetry recordings. Some people treat the band like a myth. I treat them like a test: if “Break on Through” doesn’t wake you up a little, check your pulse.

References

• The Doors (official) — “The Band”
• Encyclopaedia Britannica — The Doors
• University of California — UCLA film students background
• EdSullivan.com — “Light My Fire” lyric incident
• History.com — Miami 1969 legal trouble
• Vinyl-Records.nl — high-resolution album cover photos

The Doors didn’t ask permission, didn’t wait for approval, and didn’t tidy up after themselves. That’s why the songs still feel alive. Polished bands come and go. These guys left fingerprints.