Post by mortsahlfan on Feb 13, 2021 18:47:28 GMT -5
JIMBO; A LIZARD? A SNAKE?
by: Ed Leimbacher
New Times Journal - Portland, Oregon
September 7, 1970
Well, it's been a year since I last saw Morrison (at Grafmyre's Seattle Pop Festival - everything fits, you see), time enough to digest and assimilate that irritatiing encounter. So here it is, set down in print for the first time.
Sunday was the third big day of the festival and The
Doors were the headlining act. For the next several
hours, surrounded by reporters and sycophants John
Densmore and Ray Manzarek wandered around backstage. As for himself, Jim Morrison was nowhere to be seen.....
But one of Grafmyre's press agents knew where Jim was
holed up, and I badgered that p.r. dude so much that he
finally led me over to a flashy black limo, a Caddy,
parked off to one side backstage. Sure enough, hidden
inside behind curtains, sunglasses, and a beard was the
Lizard King. My chances of getting inside to talk,
however, were obviously minuscule-except that, as it
turned out, the car had actually been rented by Gram
Parsons of the Flying Buritto Brothers. He was there too,
and he invited me in.
A great coup! My big moment...Oh, I had brillant questions all worked out-non-interview-type questions aimed at Morrison's supposed literate mind, rather than at his sex life and eating habits. The only problem was, as I soon discovered, Morrison was playing Rock's Bad Boy again-that day: mumbling, introspective, he seemed stoned or drunk. Instead of grabbing a
quick snazzy interview, all I could do at first was
mumble back, nervously waiting for Jim's Muse, or a
lesser miracle, to strike.
Meanwhile we set off driving all over the Woodinville area, searching for a grocery store that was open and selling liquor. A powerful thirst had gripped the inhabitants of that air-conditioned dream (including your fearless reporter); besides, both Morrison and Mike Clark of the Burriots - his broken leg rammed out straight in a thigh-high cast were anxious to find some big ugly cigars.
We did find a suitable store after a time, then
continued our leisurely tour of the East Side, weaving
through a red-brown haze of wine fumes and stogie smoke.
I finally got Morrison going on the interview
too, but it proved to be as much of a rout as I'd
feared. He didn't trust me to write down his words,
instead insisted we utilize the tape recorder I was
carrying.
JIM: (singing) Well, I used to be a big
old cigar-smokin', wine drinkin' swinger a-runnin'
around town. Then all of a sudden I met my
fall-down...(talking again) Erase that...
JIM: Eject this citizen, eject him from the moon module. That's a declamation. Someone eject this man, eject this man from the limousine. I am not grooving, like my nerve ends are not sensitized to his wave-length. So he must be unfortunately ejected. Eject the man. No one's gonna eject the man, huh?.....somewhere in between, and those are the hardest ones to fit
in. And I'm sure you all know what I'm talking about,
don't you? I mean there've been times in your life when
you couldn't quite fit in...You got to go through
chaos to get to the Christian life...(with Gram Parsons
now adding a white gospel background) You must
remember this - your time is comin', your time IS COMIN',
the time when you will be a full-flegded individual,
and that goes for every livin' last one of you. And
don't forget the people who made it possible; don't
forget, don't forget all the farmers out there, growin'
them potatoes so you can have french fries when you go to the A & W Root Beer stand. Don't forget any of
it, because it's all part of the whole thing...
ED: Tell us please why a well-known poet once said
that poets themselves are "the unacknowledged
legislators of the universe."
JIM" Well, the penis of a poet out does the prick of a policitican.
ED: How does that compare with the well know
appendages of rock musicians?
JIM: I once knew a Mexican rock drummer with six toes, and if that wasn't an extra appendage, you tell me what it looked like.
ED: Did this encounter with the Mexican with six toes
take place in Juarez or Tijuana?
JIM: You know, there's a place about 20 or 30 miles south of Juarez called "Boys Town." I've never been there, but I heard all about it. The beer only costs a dime, the girls are upstairs - it's like the Old West all over again. As soon as this fantasic festival is over, I'm gonna initiate a proposition to rent a biplane and get a bunch of boys down there to old Boys' Town. Can you dig that? Get every thing you want, everything you
need...everything you ever dreamed about, man...
ED: (signing off) Ladies and gentleman, I've spent the last hour and half riding around in the back of a limousine with Gram Parsons and Mike Clark of The Flying Birrito Brothers and as you might have guessed, from the brief
words we've had Jim Morrison of the Doors. We've taped about 75 times as much as you've heard, all of which was either unprintable or erasable, eminently
erasable. These gentleman have had it and so have I. Good Night.
by: Ed Leimbacher
New Times Journal - Portland, Oregon
September 7, 1970
Well, it's been a year since I last saw Morrison (at Grafmyre's Seattle Pop Festival - everything fits, you see), time enough to digest and assimilate that irritatiing encounter. So here it is, set down in print for the first time.
Sunday was the third big day of the festival and The
Doors were the headlining act. For the next several
hours, surrounded by reporters and sycophants John
Densmore and Ray Manzarek wandered around backstage. As for himself, Jim Morrison was nowhere to be seen.....
But one of Grafmyre's press agents knew where Jim was
holed up, and I badgered that p.r. dude so much that he
finally led me over to a flashy black limo, a Caddy,
parked off to one side backstage. Sure enough, hidden
inside behind curtains, sunglasses, and a beard was the
Lizard King. My chances of getting inside to talk,
however, were obviously minuscule-except that, as it
turned out, the car had actually been rented by Gram
Parsons of the Flying Buritto Brothers. He was there too,
and he invited me in.
A great coup! My big moment...Oh, I had brillant questions all worked out-non-interview-type questions aimed at Morrison's supposed literate mind, rather than at his sex life and eating habits. The only problem was, as I soon discovered, Morrison was playing Rock's Bad Boy again-that day: mumbling, introspective, he seemed stoned or drunk. Instead of grabbing a
quick snazzy interview, all I could do at first was
mumble back, nervously waiting for Jim's Muse, or a
lesser miracle, to strike.
Meanwhile we set off driving all over the Woodinville area, searching for a grocery store that was open and selling liquor. A powerful thirst had gripped the inhabitants of that air-conditioned dream (including your fearless reporter); besides, both Morrison and Mike Clark of the Burriots - his broken leg rammed out straight in a thigh-high cast were anxious to find some big ugly cigars.
We did find a suitable store after a time, then
continued our leisurely tour of the East Side, weaving
through a red-brown haze of wine fumes and stogie smoke.
I finally got Morrison going on the interview
too, but it proved to be as much of a rout as I'd
feared. He didn't trust me to write down his words,
instead insisted we utilize the tape recorder I was
carrying.
JIM: (singing) Well, I used to be a big
old cigar-smokin', wine drinkin' swinger a-runnin'
around town. Then all of a sudden I met my
fall-down...(talking again) Erase that...
JIM: Eject this citizen, eject him from the moon module. That's a declamation. Someone eject this man, eject this man from the limousine. I am not grooving, like my nerve ends are not sensitized to his wave-length. So he must be unfortunately ejected. Eject the man. No one's gonna eject the man, huh?.....somewhere in between, and those are the hardest ones to fit
in. And I'm sure you all know what I'm talking about,
don't you? I mean there've been times in your life when
you couldn't quite fit in...You got to go through
chaos to get to the Christian life...(with Gram Parsons
now adding a white gospel background) You must
remember this - your time is comin', your time IS COMIN',
the time when you will be a full-flegded individual,
and that goes for every livin' last one of you. And
don't forget the people who made it possible; don't
forget, don't forget all the farmers out there, growin'
them potatoes so you can have french fries when you go to the A & W Root Beer stand. Don't forget any of
it, because it's all part of the whole thing...
ED: Tell us please why a well-known poet once said
that poets themselves are "the unacknowledged
legislators of the universe."
JIM" Well, the penis of a poet out does the prick of a policitican.
ED: How does that compare with the well know
appendages of rock musicians?
JIM: I once knew a Mexican rock drummer with six toes, and if that wasn't an extra appendage, you tell me what it looked like.
ED: Did this encounter with the Mexican with six toes
take place in Juarez or Tijuana?
JIM: You know, there's a place about 20 or 30 miles south of Juarez called "Boys Town." I've never been there, but I heard all about it. The beer only costs a dime, the girls are upstairs - it's like the Old West all over again. As soon as this fantasic festival is over, I'm gonna initiate a proposition to rent a biplane and get a bunch of boys down there to old Boys' Town. Can you dig that? Get every thing you want, everything you
need...everything you ever dreamed about, man...
ED: (signing off) Ladies and gentleman, I've spent the last hour and half riding around in the back of a limousine with Gram Parsons and Mike Clark of The Flying Birrito Brothers and as you might have guessed, from the brief
words we've had Jim Morrison of the Doors. We've taped about 75 times as much as you've heard, all of which was either unprintable or erasable, eminently
erasable. These gentleman have had it and so have I. Good Night.