Riders On My Wall

As we grow older, we filter our memories so that the happiest stay with us. One of my abiding memories is driving towards a campsite  on a hot summer night somewhere in the north of France. I was probably about five, and I was lay across my sleeping brothers on the back seat of my parents' old Vauxhall Carlton. I can remember the paneled lighting of the motorway streetlights sliding across the face of my dad, past the darkened sun roof and then gone, left behind us.

I can also remember the music my dad was playing. The ripple of thunder. The crackling rain. The trickled organ. And then, Jim Morrison's voice... 'Rider's on the Storm.'

It's my first memory of hearing The Doors, and it's one that will stay with me until I'm old and grey.  Hearing that song now, no matter where I am, relaxes me. It takes me back to that five-year-old sleepily asking his mum for a wine gum at 3am as our car rolled off the ferry. I suspect everyone has a song like that.

And so The Doors have stuck with me. Perhaps in a way they wouldn't have had I never heard Ray Manzarek's descending scales over the crackle of a storm and Morrison's whispered vocal track.

So, with all that in mind, you can imagine how pleased I was recently when my brother presented me with a framed poster wrapped in parcel paper and it turned out to be a collection of my favourite Doors' lyrics. Better than any of the official posters and re-prints I've tracked on eBay, it has been designed by him with me in mind.

 
I don't hang straight, but what man does?

So now it sits pride of place on my wall, across from the Forrest Gump one he made for me a few months ago. My own piece of Doors fan art, there to appreciate, whenever the rain starts pattering and the organ starts playing.

* if you're interested in your own custom-designed fan art, get in touch with Tom Wood via Twitter (@TomWood1987).

read more "Riders On My Wall"

Dear Santa...

Being that I only learned the truth about Father Christmas at the age of 13 (I know, even I don't know how it took that long), I thought I'd celebrate the 10-year anniversary of the end of my childhood by writing out my Christmas wish list* this year. I hasten to add that I also learned the truth about the Tooth Fairy and the Easter Bunny in the same car journey back from Tesco. Scarred on my memory, you might say.

I know it's still November, but as soon as the advent calendar comes out, it's Christmas time for me. And if, like me, your list contains a number of items which would be cheaper to order internationally, it pays to think ahead. For your family's sake, of course... So here it is:

 

First on the list are, unsurprisingly, records. I still have Lana Del Rey's Born To Die at the top of my must have list and I'm hoping to get it checked off pretty soon. My usual eBay store imports it from America for around £25, although HMV stock it in store for a similar price. I'm also hoping to tick off the Arctic Monkey's debut, Whatever People Say I Am, That's What I'm Not, and Kanye's Late Registration (remember? Before he became a dick).

Continuing on the music theme, I have No On Here Gets Out Alive, the Jim Morrison biography in my sights. At just a tenner, it would make a great stocking filler - if I don't buy it first.

And what could go better with a music biography than, you guessed it... BBQ sauce? A teenager in a man's body, I've been religiously tuning into WWE since the late nineties and will forever hold good ol' Jim Ross as the ultimate play by play commentator. So, when I found out over Twitter that the big man has his own brand of 'Bar-B-Q' sauce, it had to go on my list. You can find it for just £3.99 a bottle over on American Soda.

Another small bottle of joy, but not quite so cheap, is my favourite aftershave: Le Male by Jean Paul Gaultier. I've been wearing it since I was 16 and no Christmas would be complete with topping up the supply store.

A little off the general Christmas track, I've been hoping to see Book of Mormon since it arrived on the West End earlier this year. Wouldn't it be nice if tickets turned up come Christmas morning? Mormons do Christmas, right?

Generally, when I can't think of anything that I'd like for Christmas, a trip to the January sales is the way forward. This year is clearly different, but if I do pop to the sales, I'll be on the look out for a pair of Chelsea boots. Office do a pair by their house brand, Ask The Missus,  for £74.99. Not the most outrageous price to pay.

And finally, the present I always wanted but never got (woe is me), a Mr Frosty ice lolly maker. I'll always remember the advert jingle; 'Mr Frosty is such fun, he makes treats for everyone.' 

Maybe, just maybe, this year's the year...

*very much wishes and not all realistic

read more "Dear Santa..."

An American Prayer

Yesterday, I descended into a moment of pure bohemian pomp. Sitting on the shag rug in my living room, listening to poetry, a cup of herbal tea short of being a complete douche bag. Stick with me here and you'll understand why. I might own a tweed suit and a literature degree but I'm not a huge fan of spoken verse and you'll do well to catch me at a poetry bash.

You see, this was Jim Morrison's poetry. And if, like me, you love The Doors, then you can see why I muted Soccer Saturday and took a perch.

This is the first Doors record I've managed to find looking through record shops and it would seem that they're pretty hard to come by without paying a premium. So, although I didn't immediately recognise it, I wasn't going to pass the record up. As it turns out, An American Prayer is the Doors' final album and was produced in '78, seven years after Morrison's death. It's essentially old recordings of Morrison's poetry, some of which ended up as lyrics on earlier tracks, played on top of new music by the rest of the band.

Now, I'm not a huge fan of poetry. As I mentioned before, despite spending half of my degree studying the stuff, it never really enthused me and I was pretty happy to see the back of the likes of William S. Borroughs and Jack Kerouac - funnily enough, the professor who lectured us on Beat poetry had the hair and the beard to fancy himself as a Morrison tribute act.

Conveniently enough, the record comes with a booklet of the verse to trace along. Some of the text was clearly developed and (potentially) discarded for other tracks, and the record alludes to that, dropping in Morrison's vocals from tracks like 'Peace Frog', 'Roadhouse Blues' and my favourite, 'Riders on the Storm'. 

When I was out in the desert, ya know,

Like a dog without a bone 

An actor out on loan

I don't know how to tell you,

Riders on the storm

but, ah, I killed somebody.

There's a killer on the road

No...

His brain is squirming like a toad

It's no big deal, ya know, 

I don't think anybody will find out about it, but...

Of the words I'd not heard before, my favourite is in the picture below. As you can probably tell, it's not the deepest of thoughts on the record. But then again, that's poetry, you take what you want from it. 

It's not the most beautifully laid out album note - I can't imagine production techniques were great in the seventies - but there are some of Morrison's original illustrations included, in a similar fashion to the more explicit passages. It's already one of my favourite buys and is exactly why I always check the 'Ds' out first whenever I go sifting. Not sure I'll be sharing Morrison's 'Lament (for the death of my cock)' with my mum though. Then again, maybe I will - he was pretty interested in that Oedipal mess.

read more "An American Prayer"