The Doors
– L.A. Woman
If L.A. Woman were a place, it’d be a neon-lit back alley in Hollywood—dangerous, seductive, and full of ghosts. This was the last album Jim Morrison recorded with The Doors before heading to Paris and vanishing into legend, and you can feel the weight of that farewell in every groove. It’s bluesy, raw, and loose in a way their earlier work never quite was, like a band embracing the chaos instead of trying to contain it.
Gone are the psychedelic trappings of The Soft Parade or the polished weirdness of Strange Days. Here, The Doors strip down to something meaner, sweatier, and closer to the blues roots Morrison always worshipped. Robby Krieger’s guitar is all snarls and slide work, Ray Manzarek’s keys slink around like they’re stalking prey, and John Densmore’s drumming is as sharp as ever. Morrison? He sounds ragged, like he’s lived every lyric he’s crooning, howling, or whispering. This isn’t poetry class anymore—it’s a dive bar sermon from a man teetering on the edge.
It’s the perfect send-off. A record that embraces everything The Doors were, while hinting at what they could’ve been if Morrison had stuck around. Swampy blues, apocalyptic rock, and moments of pure, sunburnt beauty—it’s all here, packed into one of the most electrifying farewells in rock history.
Choice Tracks
Riders on the Storm
A ghostly, rain-soaked dream of a song. The whispered vocals, the creeping keyboard line, the jazz-inflected drumming—it’s hypnotic, ominous, and cinematic in a way only The Doors could pull off. Morrison’s voice is half warning, half invitation, like he’s calling you into the storm with him.
L.A. Woman
If The Doors had a mission statement, this would be it. A rolling, restless epic that rides a wave of dirty blues guitar and Morrison’s finest rock vocal performance. The moment he breaks into that “Mojo Risin’” chant, it feels less like a lyric and more like a resurrection spell.
Love Her Madly
The album’s most radio-friendly moment, but don’t mistake that for softness. Krieger’s guitar sparkles, Manzarek’s organ dances, and Morrison plays the role of the doomed lover with effortless charm.
The Changeling
A funky, strutting opener that sounds like Morrison kicking down the doors to his own funeral. The groove is thick, the attitude is undeniable, and the whole thing oozes restless energy.
Cars Hiss by My Window
A slow, smoky blues number that proves Morrison could’ve been a great blues singer in another life. His vocals are part growl, part croon, riding over a guitar line that drips like melting wax.
Been Down So Long
A dirt-floor blues stomp that finds Morrison wailing like a man who’s seen the bottom and decided to make himself comfortable.
L.A. Woman isn’t just a great album—it’s a send-off, a statement, and a celebration of everything that made The Doors unforgettable. It’s the sound of a band going full tilt one last time, leaving behind a masterpiece in their wake.