Manzarek is a Chicago guy through and through. Which may explain how he kept his head amid the madness of The Doors between 1965-1971. Not that we Midwestern folks can’t go off the rails, but I’d like to think we have a greater capacity for…stability? Balance? I’m clearly biased. And I don’t want to get into a defense of that bias. Here’s why I mention it at all. As I was reading about Jim Morrison’s downfall, caused mostly by his own self-destruction, but also by outside forces feeding on him and handcuffing him, literally in a couple of cases, I couldn’t help thinking, Oh, but Manzarek will survive. He’s rooted. And he is. His authority, his ability to fuse the personal with the historical with the psychedelic is remarkable. The writing is crisp and hip and resonant of the sixties. Even the redundant use of Dionysian and Apollo and the word fecund mirrors the hypnotic pull of the music of The Doors. The other great thing about this book is that it will send you back to the music, to the songs beyond the hits. You will become newly entranced.
No matter how many times I read about the injustice blacks faced in decades past, not to mention the present, I’m always taken aback by stories of how a World Boxing Champion could not eat or shop at the same restaurants as other citizens of this country, simply because of the color of his skin. This book provides broad historical perspective on the racial divide, but also offers smart glimpses into the personal reactions to this injustice.