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Authors: Pamela Des Barres
Rock Bottom: Dark Moments In Music Babylon (37 page)
BOOK: Rock Bottom: Dark Moments In Music Babylon
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The fourth album,
The Soft Parade,
took eight difficult months to record, and by the time it was completed in June, the Doors were starting to get a few bookings despite the “Miami incident.” Jim grumbled about the five-thousand-dollar bond that had to be posted for every show, calling it a “fuck clause,” but the shows were well received and without incident.
The Soft Parade,
took eight difficult months to record, and by the time it was completed in June, the Doors were starting to get a few bookings despite the “Miami incident.” Jim grumbled about the five-thousand-dollar bond that had to be posted for every show, calling it a “fuck clause,” but the shows were well received and without incident.
On July 3, 1969, Brian Jones was found dead in his swimming pool and Jim wrote a touching poem for him, “Ode to L.A. While Thinking of Brian Jones—Deceased.” Strangely, two years later to the day, Jim himself would be found dead in water.
In November Jim returned to Miami and entered a not-guilty plea. Bail was set for five thousand dollars, with the trial scheduled to begin the following April. And he was about to get in trouble again. After a rowdy plane ride to a Rolling Stones show in Phoenix, a very inebriated Jim and his friend Tom Baker were arrested upon landing, charged with “drunk and disorderly conduct” and “interfering with the flight of an aircraft,” a very serious offense. Both of them had a heated argument with the captain, and Tom, in particular, had made suggestive remarks to the flight attendant and grabbed at her thigh. He and Jim were held in the Phoenix jail for eighteen hours. Back in
L.A., Jim had a car accident that destroyed five trees on La Cienega Boulevard, where he left the car behind, claiming it had been stolen. At a party for his twenty-sixth birthday, a half-comatose Jim whipped out his member and proceeded to pee on an expensive rug. Guests caught it in goblets so the rug wouldn’t be destroyed. A day later he told Bill Siddons that he thought he was having a nervous breakdown.
L.A., Jim had a car accident that destroyed five trees on La Cienega Boulevard, where he left the car behind, claiming it had been stolen. At a party for his twenty-sixth birthday, a half-comatose Jim whipped out his member and proceeded to pee on an expensive rug. Guests caught it in goblets so the rug wouldn’t be destroyed. A day later he told Bill Siddons that he thought he was having a nervous breakdown.
One night around this time, I was at my den of iniquity away from home, the Whiskey. I must have been pretty hard up because the 1910 Fruitgum Company were playing, but I was determined to rock out. I was sitting with Miss Lucy from my group, the GTOs, when Jim Morrison slid into our booth and hollered, “Get it on! Suck my mama!” Jim definitely had a thing about his mom, no doubt about it. Anyway, we were nice to him (I still harbored a secret adoration), but he was in one of those infamous moods again, and very drunk, too. He reached across the table, yelled, “Get it on!,” grabbed Lucy’s beer, and hurled it into her face. She got pretty upset and told him it wasn’t very nice. He said, “I know,” with a sad, sorrowful voice, as if he couldn’t help it. Right before he crawled across the dirty Whiskey floor to climb onstage with the startled Fruitgum Company, he slapped me real hard across the face for no reason. It was as if he was trying real hard to feel something. With my cheek throbbing and mascara running down my face, I watched him grab the microphone away from the singer, moan, and shove it right down his pants. The owner of the Whiskey finally had to turn off the lights and sound to get Jim out of the way. The lights are turned out, I couldn’t help thinking, so I guess the music’s over.
Not quite. The relative failure of
The Soft Parade
got the Doors back into the studio within six months, where Jim pulled out his final bag of tricks. Critics raved about
Morrison Hotel Hard Rock Cafe. Rock
magazine said, “Morrison isn’t sexy anymore, you say; he’s getting old and fat. Well, you can’t see a potbelly on record, but you can hear balls … .” Jim claimed much of the album, including “Roadhouse Blues,” was written for Pam. He loved her but was also involved with a writer from New York, Patricia Kennealy, a white witch. When the Doors played a four-night stint at the Felt Forum, Jim spent his afternoons with Pam and his evenings with Patricia.
The Soft Parade
got the Doors back into the studio within six months, where Jim pulled out his final bag of tricks. Critics raved about
Morrison Hotel Hard Rock Cafe. Rock
magazine said, “Morrison isn’t sexy anymore, you say; he’s getting old and fat. Well, you can’t see a potbelly on record, but you can hear balls … .” Jim claimed much of the album, including “Roadhouse Blues,” was written for Pam. He loved her but was also involved with a writer from New York, Patricia Kennealy, a white witch. When the Doors played a four-night stint at the Felt Forum, Jim spent his afternoons with Pam and his evenings with Patricia.
Worries about the Phoenix “skyjacking” allegations were put to rest when, on April 6, the flight attendant changed her testimony, and Jim’s appearance was rescheduled. On the twenty-seventh Jim was acquitted of the charges. “They were just trying to hang me because I was the one that had the well-known face,” Jim said. “The trouble with these busts is that people that don’t like me like to believe it because I’m the reincarnation of everything they consider evil. I get hung both ways.”
After the
Morrison Hotel
tour, Jim took the master tapes for the new live Doors album back to New York and stayed with Patricia Kennealy Although his relationship with Patricia was as haphazard and unpredictable as all the rest,
on June 24 the couple were married in an ancient Celtic pagan ritual at Patricia’s apartment. A high priest and priestess performed the Wicca wedding, in which Jim and Patricia took vows and a few drops of their commingled blood were mixed with consecrated wine. Jim fainted after the ceremony, said Patricia, because of the huge amount of energy created inside the magical circle, and not because of the ritual bloodletting.
Morrison Hotel
tour, Jim took the master tapes for the new live Doors album back to New York and stayed with Patricia Kennealy Although his relationship with Patricia was as haphazard and unpredictable as all the rest,
on June 24 the couple were married in an ancient Celtic pagan ritual at Patricia’s apartment. A high priest and priestess performed the Wicca wedding, in which Jim and Patricia took vows and a few drops of their commingled blood were mixed with consecrated wine. Jim fainted after the ceremony, said Patricia, because of the huge amount of energy created inside the magical circle, and not because of the ritual bloodletting.
“What Pam and Jim had was a total love affair,” Paul Ferrara told me. “But there were those days when he disappeared. I’ve heard homosexual stories, I’ve heard everything. There were so many weirdos throwing themselves at him. Who knows? If they had the right drug at the right time—‘Hey Jim, let’s step in the alley and get off.’ I married one of Jim’s girlfriends. I slept with Pam. We were fairly liberal with our girlfriends. The night she took me home, she said, ‘Well, he’s with somebody else!’ Jim found out about it, but it wasn’t talked about. Maybe he cared, but he didn’t show it. He was with somebody else!”
After a three-week jaunt to Paris, Jim waited several edgy days in Dade County, Florida, for Judge Goodman to finally begin the trial. The state’s first witness was a tiny teenage girl, Colleen, her hair in a ponytail. “He pulled down his pants,” she said, appalled, “and … stroked it … . It was disgusting.” She clutched her hanky and whined that she had been “shocked.” Colleen’s boyfriend confirmed her testimony, then Mom hit the stand and agreed that her daughter had been “visibly upset” when she arrived home from the concert. The shocking audio evidence was played for a solemn jury. Two different people testified that Jim had exposed himself for “five to eight seconds.” Then somebody refuted their testimony, saying he had seen no oral copulation or exposure. On and on it went, like a
Mad
magazine nightmare, with Jim Morrison in the role of spoof scapegoat. Initially Jim took an interest in the workings of the law, copiously filling notebooks as the trial progressed. By the last few days he was amusing himself by giving the jurors nicknames.
Mad
magazine nightmare, with Jim Morrison in the role of spoof scapegoat. Initially Jim took an interest in the workings of the law, copiously filling notebooks as the trial progressed. By the last few days he was amusing himself by giving the jurors nicknames.
While the trial dragged on, Patricia Kennealy called Jim in Florida with the news that she was pregnant. He asked her to join him, but after their first evening together avoided her for the next two days. When she showed up in the courtroom, Jim was forced to deal with the situation, telling Patricia that a child would ruin their relationship, ultimately convincing her to have an abortion. Patricia says that she and Jim both cried, and he promised to be with her when the time came. But he didn’t even call.
Due to Doors gigs, the trial plodded on for a month. The 150 photographs displayed as evidence showed no exposure of any kind. When Jim finally took the stand, for four hours he was calm, eloquent, and gracious, all the while insisting that he didn’t expose himself or simulate oral copulation on Robby. After deliberating for two and a half hours, the jurors handed down a mixed verdict: innocent of lewd behavior and drunkenness, guilty of indecent exposure and profanity. (Jim had exposed himself, but it wasn’t lewd!?) Released on
a fifty-thousand-dollar bond, Jim told the press that the verdict would do nothing to alter his lifestyle because he had done nothing wrong. The Doors had lost over a million dollars in bookings, and Jim now had to await sentencing.
a fifty-thousand-dollar bond, Jim told the press that the verdict would do nothing to alter his lifestyle because he had done nothing wrong. The Doors had lost over a million dollars in bookings, and Jim now had to await sentencing.
During the trial Jimi Hendrix died, two weeks later Janis Joplin OD’d, and Jim’s imbibing increased. Ominously he told his friends, “You’re drinking with number three.” He and Pam fought so ferociously that she went to Paris, where Jim later heard that she had taken up with a French count. He became more and more morose and disillusioned.
On October 30, Jim faced Judge Goodman, who handed down the stiffest sentence he could—sixty days of hard labor at Dade County jail for each count, followed by two years and four months’ probation as well as a five-hundred-dollar fine. Jim’s lawyer filed an appeal. Jim drove back to L.A. after the sentencing, stopping in New Orleans, where he dashed off a postcard—“The Sacrifice of the Divine Lamb”—to the Doors’ office: “Don’t worry; the end is near, Ha Ha.”
Elektra released
13
, a Doors greatest-hits package, and Jim and the Doors went to work, writing new songs for a new album,
L.A. Woman,
which included the anagram for his own name, “Mr. Mojo Risin’,” and the eerie “Riders on the Storm.” But Jim was very unhappy. There was a bright spot when he recorded more of his poetry, but at a gig in New Orleans Ray Manzarek claims that he could see Jim’s spirit leave him. “He lost all his energy midway through the set. He hung on the microphone and it just slipped away. You could actually see it leave him. He was drained.” In defiance, Jim pounded the microphone stand into the stage, over and over until the wood splintered, then sat down on the drum riser. The rest of the tour was canceled. The last song Jim Morrison sang onstage was “Light My Fire.” The Doors never performed in public again.
13
, a Doors greatest-hits package, and Jim and the Doors went to work, writing new songs for a new album,
L.A. Woman,
which included the anagram for his own name, “Mr. Mojo Risin’,” and the eerie “Riders on the Storm.” But Jim was very unhappy. There was a bright spot when he recorded more of his poetry, but at a gig in New Orleans Ray Manzarek claims that he could see Jim’s spirit leave him. “He lost all his energy midway through the set. He hung on the microphone and it just slipped away. You could actually see it leave him. He was drained.” In defiance, Jim pounded the microphone stand into the stage, over and over until the wood splintered, then sat down on the drum riser. The rest of the tour was canceled. The last song Jim Morrison sang onstage was “Light My Fire.” The Doors never performed in public again.
Todd Schifman had gotten Jim together with MGM head Jim Aubrey, who Todd says was a “stone believer” in Jim. “We negotiated a contract with Jim that was unbelievable,” Todd said. “It gave Morrison the right to three pictures at MGM, to direct, produce, write, star, write the music—unbelievable artistic control. He set up offices and started writing, but his self-destructiveness wouldn’t allow him to really make what he should have out of the deal. After the first year nothing was accomplished, so Aubrey wouldn’t pick up the option.”
Demoralized and at his lowest ebb, Jim started snorting piles of cocaine, on the prowl for a woman who would stretch the limits with him. While he was staying at the Chateau Marmont, he spent a few wild nights with a buxom neighbor, instigating three-ways and once waking up in a tangle of bloody sheets after they shared champagne glasses of each other’s blood. As if on cue, Pam returned from Paris. Patricia Kennealy arrived soon afterward, and the
two women took their turns with Jim, actually encountering each other one mad, stoned night. After a couple of months, however, Jim was spending most of his time with Pam, and Patricia went back to New York.
two women took their turns with Jim, actually encountering each other one mad, stoned night. After a couple of months, however, Jim was spending most of his time with Pam, and Patricia went back to New York.
When asked to do an antidrug “Speed Kills” radio spot for the Do It Now Foundation, Jim surprisingly agreed, screwing up every take until the representative fled in abject frustration. Jim couldn’t seem to help himself. “I never did a song on speed. Drunk, yeaaahh … Shooting speed ain’t cool, so snort it … . Don’t shoot speed, you guys. Christ, smoke pot! … Please don’t shoot speed, try downers … .”
Jim worked hard on the
L.A.
Woman
album, and according to many of his friends, he then quit the Doors and quietly made the decision to leave for Paris, where he would pursue his life as a poet. Some of Jim’s friends say he was enthused and excited about the move; others, like Patricia Kennealy, disagree. She spent a week with him in L.A. while Pamela searched for an apartment in Paris. “I took one look at him and knew he wasn’t going to be around very much longer,” she said. “It seemed not to be
him
anymore; the dark side was taking over.” He walked the streets, sleeping with a different girl every night, smoked three packs of Marlboros a day, coughed blood, and mixed tequila, vodka, whiskey, and gin until he was violently ill. Another one of his girlfriends had an abortion. At barely twenty-seven, Jim told Michael McClure that he felt forty-seven. In a note to
Creem’s
Dave Marsh, Jim closed with “I am not mad. I am interested in freedom. Good luck, Jim Morrison.”
L.A.
Woman
album, and according to many of his friends, he then quit the Doors and quietly made the decision to leave for Paris, where he would pursue his life as a poet. Some of Jim’s friends say he was enthused and excited about the move; others, like Patricia Kennealy, disagree. She spent a week with him in L.A. while Pamela searched for an apartment in Paris. “I took one look at him and knew he wasn’t going to be around very much longer,” she said. “It seemed not to be
him
anymore; the dark side was taking over.” He walked the streets, sleeping with a different girl every night, smoked three packs of Marlboros a day, coughed blood, and mixed tequila, vodka, whiskey, and gin until he was violently ill. Another one of his girlfriends had an abortion. At barely twenty-seven, Jim told Michael McClure that he felt forty-seven. In a note to
Creem’s
Dave Marsh, Jim closed with “I am not mad. I am interested in freedom. Good luck, Jim Morrison.”
L.A.
Woman
was garnering raves and the single “Love Her Madly” was the Doors’ first Top Ten hit in two years, but instead of the usual chaotic touring, Jim was cramming his poetry notebooks with reflective, scathing insights, trying to put some order back into his disorderly life. For a very brief time, at 17 rue Beautrellis on the Right Bank in Paris, it seemed as if Jim might be able to make some sense of it all. He lost weight, shaved his unruly beard, didn’t drink as much, and wrote daily, telling people he’d finished one book and was beginning another about the Miami trial. He and Pam seemed to be living inside a gentle truce, but wicked habits die hard—or not at all. Creativity soon fled, and Jim sat for hours in front of an empty page. There was a new set of drinking buddies, sleazy, unexplored nightclubs to fall down in at four A.M. But on July 1, 1971, Jim once again resolved to overcome the battle with his old demon, alcohol. On July 3 he was dead.
Woman
was garnering raves and the single “Love Her Madly” was the Doors’ first Top Ten hit in two years, but instead of the usual chaotic touring, Jim was cramming his poetry notebooks with reflective, scathing insights, trying to put some order back into his disorderly life. For a very brief time, at 17 rue Beautrellis on the Right Bank in Paris, it seemed as if Jim might be able to make some sense of it all. He lost weight, shaved his unruly beard, didn’t drink as much, and wrote daily, telling people he’d finished one book and was beginning another about the Miami trial. He and Pam seemed to be living inside a gentle truce, but wicked habits die hard—or not at all. Creativity soon fled, and Jim sat for hours in front of an empty page. There was a new set of drinking buddies, sleazy, unexplored nightclubs to fall down in at four A.M. But on July 1, 1971, Jim once again resolved to overcome the battle with his old demon, alcohol. On July 3 he was dead.
The statement that Pam gave police the day Jim died says that she and Jim returned from a Robert Mitchum movie about one A.M. Jim watched some home movies while she washed dishes, then they listened to some records and fell asleep about two-thirty. Jim’s noisy breathing awakened her about an hour later, and after pacing the room a few times, Jim told her he didn’t feel well and wanted to take a warm bath. While he was in the tub, Jim felt nauseated and Pam brought him a pot from the kitchen and he threw up. When he threw
up a second time, Pam noticed some blood, but Jim said, “It’s over,” he was feeling better, and not to call a doctor. Pam woke up a while later and found that Jim was still in the tub. She said his head was tilted to one side, his eyes were closed, and he was smiling. She thought he was joking with her and she told him to stop it, until she noticed blood dripping from his nose and started shaking him. After trying to get Jim out of the tub, she called some friends, Alain Ronay and Agnes Varda, saying, “I can’t wake him up, I think he’s dying.”
up a second time, Pam noticed some blood, but Jim said, “It’s over,” he was feeling better, and not to call a doctor. Pam woke up a while later and found that Jim was still in the tub. She said his head was tilted to one side, his eyes were closed, and he was smiling. She thought he was joking with her and she told him to stop it, until she noticed blood dripping from his nose and started shaking him. After trying to get Jim out of the tub, she called some friends, Alain Ronay and Agnes Varda, saying, “I can’t wake him up, I think he’s dying.”
When the police arrived and confirmed that Jim was dead, Pam told them his name was “Douglas James Morrison” and that he was “a poet.” The official cause of death was listed as “natural causes.” The doctor decided that Jim must have had “coronary problems” that were exacerbated by heavy drinking, complicated by a lung infection, which caused “myocardial infarction”—a heart attack.
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