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The Hollywood Reporter, February 10, 2003
The Doors At The Universal Amphitheatre, Universal City, California
Friday, February 7
John Lappen

Let's dispense with the obvious right off the bat. It's not 1967. Jim Morrison passed into the ether 32 years ago. And the landscape of rock 'n' roll has changed dramatically since the legendary Doors first walked onto a Los Angeles stage more than 35 years ago. But for the cynical and jaded who can't fathom the band without Morrison at the helm and would question the validity of a Doors reunion in the 21st century; well, they probably never really got it to begin with.
   For one night time stopped and thousands of loyal fans rejoiced as the Doors – the 21st century version featuring founding members and Rock And Roll Hall Of Fame inductees Ray Manzarek and Robby Krieger – performed a magical concert that, more than any show in recent memory, illustrated the power and influence of timeless, life-changing rock 'n' roll.
   The City of Angels' most infamous band showed, during a 135 minute set, that its reunion is not a mere exercise in time-worn nostalgia, one final fling. No, the Doors' first L.A. performance in more than 30 years was a potent statement as to how their music is a celebration of life and how much both band and audience enjoy being involved with it.
   From the minute the band hit the stage, the audience stood and cheered and didn't stop until the final note of Soul Kitchen had faded away. They'll remember a gig that not only honored The Doors' music but gave homage to Morrison through voice and song. After an appropriately trippy introduction by KLOS DJ Jim Ladd, the lights dimmed to reveal a huge picture of Morrison, one that remained on the three video screens throughout the opening raucousness of Roadhouse Blues, a bawdy paean to the lusty life and to Morrison.
   The band made several references to the departed rock icon that came off as tender and sincere, not over-the-top. Newly recruited lead singer Ian Astbury, who's carved his own prodigious path in The Cult, is a perfect choice as the voice of the new Doors. While he bears a striking resemblance to Morrison, he's still his own man. He didn't try to imitate Morrison or come off as a wannabe clone. He expertly channeled the vibe and shamanistic spirit of Morrison and the band's music while delivering straightforward renditions of the songs, done in his own impressive vocal style.
   Manzarek and Krieger still have incredible chops. Often staring at one another intently with big smiles on their faces while blending their instruments into extended jazz-influenced passages and rock-hard riffing, it was obvious that they were happy to be playing their amazing music live again.
   The video images added substance to the music, projecting colorful, psychedelic images along with anti-war sentiments, perfect fare for these dicey times.

Set list: 1. Roadhouse Blues / 2. Break On Through / 3. When The Music's Over / 4. Love Me Two Times / 5. Alabama Song / Back Door Man / Five To One / 6. Strange Days / 7. Spanish Caravan / 8. Awake / Ghost Song / The Hill Dwellers / 9. People Are Strange / 10. Moonlight Drive / Horse Latitudes / 11. Wild Child / 12. L.A. Woman / 13. Light My Fire / Encore: 14. Riders On The Storm / 15. Maggie M'Gill / 2nd Encore: 16. Peace Frog / 17. Soul Kitchen.

Yahoo! News, Monday, February 10, 2003
Doors Reunion Absolutely Deadly
Steven Mirkin

HOLLYWOOD (Variety) – Whatever you might think of Robby Krieger and Ray Manzarek, just don't call them "The Doors."
   With third surviving member John Densmore taking them to court, Krieger and Manzarek (along with The Cult's Ian Astbury) are now billing themselves as "The Doors Of The 21st Century." Ignoring the fact that this unwieldy moniker sounds less like the name of a rock band than a show on the House and Garden channel, it's also a misnomer. With a setlist and cheesy staging that wouldn't have been out of place when the band released L.A. WOMAN in 1971, a more accurate title would be "The Doors Of The 20th Century: A Re-creation."
   But even that wouldn't be quite right; a certain amount of historical revisionism was on tap at the Universal Amphitheater Friday night. As might be expected, the impression you come away with is that Manzarek and Krieger were The Doors' driving force, the band's truly essential members. Morrison, although he was the superstar front man (and the first image flashed on the video screen), comes across as merely a useful idiot. His good looks and moody lyrics were The Doors' meal ticket, but, hey, he's replaceable. Densmore, on the other hand, has been turned into a non-person, expunged from the band's history with a Stalin-like ruthlessness. It's an argument not completely without merit: Manzarek's keyboards, mixing postwar blues and Weimar cabaret, and Krieger's liquid, Wes Montgomery-influenced guitar gave The Doors a musical signature, and their improvisational flights were among the evening's highlights.
   The rhythm section of Angelo Barbera and Ty Dennis (the band's second drummer in less than a month; maybe they're also trying to be the Spinal Tap of the 21st century) performed ably.
   Astbury, whose work with The Cult showed him to be a singer distinctly in the Morrison mold, steps into the breech with an admirable confidence. It's the role he was born to play. He pored over the films and studied the band's playbook and has all the moves down – from Morrison's phrasing, to his little hop step dance, his leap during When the Music's Over and the way he held the mikestand.
   Manzarek and Krieger keep him on a short leash, and his performance never becomes more than an impressive act of mimicry. With his set jaw and poker-faced seriousness, the sly humor and headstrong brinkmanship that made Morrison a complex, involving presence is beyond him.
   Without it, Astbury sounds downright silly intoning Morrison's more self-consciously poetic lyrics (especially those of Horse Latitudes, with its invocation of equine "mute nostril agony"). The evening's low point comes when he is asked to recite one of Morrison's poems, Ghost Dance.* He's not helped by the flaccid cocktail jazz that accompanies the recitation; when the band is joined by a group of dancing Native American shamans, the specter of self-parody that was hovering in the wings most of the evening takes center stage.
   Moments such as this make it clear why these Doors didn't stray from the band's classic hits. Moonlight Ride,** Five to One (which was accompanied by a video montage of political figures, including Nixon, Mao and LBJ, making it clear that like generals, The Doors are fighting the last war), and Roadhouse Blues were given straightforward readings, and retain their power; they're prime examples of classic rock. The medley of Brecht/Weill's Alabama Song and Howlin' Wolf's Back Door Man is reprised; it's still the band's most audacious musical leap. But a revamped Strange Days, which turns the original's eerie lysergic paranoia into an ungainly galloping tango, was tepidly received.
   This doesn't bode well for the band's plan to record a new album. But then, they kept any new material under wraps; the two-hour show was less a concert than dinner theater rock, an exercise in empty nostalgia without the original cast. When they were looking for a new name, perhaps Manzarek and Krieger should have opted for Dormant.

*   Note: The title of this Song is Ghost Song.
** Note: The title of this song is Moonlight Drive.

Los Angeles Times Calendar, February 10, 2003
Resurrected Doors
Natalie Nichols

Jim Morrison's old mates of The Doors (also known as "The 21st Century Doors" or "The Doors 21st Century"), keyboardist Ray Manzarek and guitarist Robby Krieger, appeared at the Universal Amphitheatre with Ian Astbury of English goth band The Cult handling vocals, but without original drummer John Densmore (or, for that matter, his replacement, Stewart Copeland, who was replaced, without explanation from the band members, by local drummer Ty Dennis). Densmore has sued his former mates for using the group's old name, but Manzarek insisted throughout Friday's show that The Doors, while continuing to honor Morrison's poetic tradition, are a new thing.
   OK, so what's this new thing got? A logo that looks a lot like the old Doors logo, a two-hour set of nothing but old Doors tunes and the promise of a new album later this year. Repeated claims that this group is "keeping the music alive" felt disingenuous. The Doors' music seemed to be living on quite well already, and while Astbury filled the part visually, his faithful following of Morrison's texts didn't make up for his limited vocal range and lack of risk-taking. The rented rhythm section did fine, but genuine sparks were minimal, furthering the sense that the whole affair was a sad replay of something that was once great. The fans in the packed house certainly enjoyed themselves. But what sort of honor was it, really, for The Doors to resurrect their singer's memory, just so they could bury him once and for all?

Movie Poop-Shoot, February 17, 2003
Check Your Cynicism At The Doors
Chris Ryall

So, The Doors are reunited. Manzarek is calling this THE DOORS: 21ST CENTURY, but even that date-stamp isn't enough for Densmore, who finds the whole idea abhorrent and disrespectful of Morrison's memory. Like most fans of the band, I don't disagree with this way of thinking and yet – I was too intrigued not to go see this show.

The Doors, Universal Amphitheatre, Los Angeles, CA, February 7, 2003

This is another of those instances where you go in wanting to hate the show and just don't. When the lights went out right before nine, the crowd was almost frantic in their enthusiasm. Hearing Krieger tear into Roadhouse Blues was as exciting as hearing Keith rip into Start Me Up. Singers lose their voices but guitarists – they only get better. The lights came up some and Ian Astbury joined the others on stage. Clad in jeans, black t-shirt and black leather jacket (and dark sunglasses, for the first half of the show), he busted into the song with solid voice but little else – he seemed very reticent this first song, standing stock still and singing. His voice, probably stronger than Morrison's in its prime, sounded reminiscent of Morrison's yet never came off like a tribute. It became clear, throughout the night, just how inspired by The Doors his other band really was, but he never gave the illusion of this being just a glorified cover act. By the third song, When The Music's Over, he had gotten over his nerves and began swaying to the music and jumping around in moves that Val Kilmer could have used in the movie. He never really got too into a stage patter with the crowd, but that's understandable – my biggest concern about this show was not his ability to pull off the songs but whether or not he'd try to do a riff on Morrison's obtuse stage patter during the jams. Luckily, he never did.
   In all, though, the show was treated as a celebration of Morrison. Ray Manzarek explained that he wanted to keep Jim's music alive for the 21st century, that the singer may be gone but the music prevails. When he says that, it really doesn't feel like he's just cashing in. He's cashing in and trying to keep the music alive.
   Musically, I doubt the band ever sounded this good in the '60s. They've added a bass player, which added needed weight to their sound. The bass lines in this show really grounded the sound, gave it a bottom that was missing in most of their recordings and definitely in live recordings. Anchoring things was on percussion – well, not Stewart Copeland. Evidently Stuart was hurt, so drumming was now handled by Ty Dennis (Dennis was mentioned as the drummer but no explanation was given). Still, he handled his part able and really complemented the other members well. But the show belonged to Manzarek and Krieger. Both members took numerous solos, with Krieger switching from hard rock to jazz to flamenco with ease. There was something about watching Robby Krieger and Ray Manzarek enthusiastically play songs such as Alabama Song, People Are Strange, Five To One, Spanish Caravan, Love Me Two Times and others that just wiped any cynicism away. And since Astbury has had a career outside of being just a Doors tribute singer, it never felt like he was ripping off Morrison's moves or sound. It just worked, and really well.
   Manzarek worked in some anti-Bush rhetoric and stayed true to the hippie ideal by preaching love to help save this terrible world of ours (I don't know that love can counteract dirty bombs or ricin gas but it's a noble sentiment, anyway). Astbury managed to make statements through the music as well, adding some of Bob Marley's Get Up, Stand Up to the bridge of encore Light My Fire.
   Misfires? Yeah, there was one. After announcing a new Doors disc planned for late 2003, he said they'd like to pay direct homage to Jim with a spoken word reading of his song Ghost Song. As Astbury started the song, fog machines filled the stage – and so did about a dozen Native Americans. In full dress, feathered headdresses and wings and costumes and rainmakers. Dancing typical Indian dances around the stage. Now, Manzarek mentioned that all the dancers were authentic, Kiowa and Sioux and others, but – something about it all felt very Vegas. A minor slip in over two hours of a pretty enjoyable night.
   Musically, the songs don't feel dated, I have to say. They owe a lot to the fact that Krieger carried nearly every song with his expert playing – this guy is a really great guitarist – but also to the fact that the songs aged much better than most 30-year-old tunes.
   I know people will always see any band, especially one who's lost such an iconic frontman as The Doors, as being mercenary and capitalistic for regrouping like this, but I have to say that, after seeing them, I'm pretty glad this is not "The End".