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The Las Vegas Sun, Monday 20 January 2003
Updated Doors Survive Specter Of Morrison
Spencer Patterson

"This is the Doors for the 21st century. Singer Ian Astbury stammered while making the announcement, as if he – like so many in the sold-out crowd at Rain in the Desert at the Palms – could not fully embrace The Doors playing without Jim Morrison. While the concept may sound preposterous to many, however, there was no denying the quality of the performance Sunday night. Put quoation marks around "Doors" if you prefer, but the modern incarnation of the legendary Los Angeles band stood up relatively well to the daunting challenge before it in its third show in 30 years, and first concert of its 2003 comeback. With original members Ray Manzarek and Robby Krieger joined by longtime Cult frontman Ian Astbury, former Police drummer Stewart Copeland and bassist Angelo Barbera (formerly of the Robbie Krieger Band) the quintet gave the audience of around 1,600 a taste of what a Doors concert sounded like during the band's heyday from 1965 until Morrison's death in 1971. From the opening notes of Roadhouse Blues through the closing bars of the second encore Soul Kitchen, the ensemble filled the room with raw energy, keeping most of the crowd dancing throughout. Sounding as if he'd spent the past decade studying Val Kilmer's masterful portray of Morrison in Oliver Stone's 1991 film The Doors Astbury sang the evening's 15 selections in a voice eerily similar to Morrison's own. In fact, until Astbury addressed the crowd between songs with a few spoken words in his natural accent, fans would have been hard-pressed to remember the singer actually hails from England. Astbury even conjured up the image of the man he replaced, with flowing, curly hair, sunglasses, and a black leather jacket all serving as reminders of Morrison's enduring presence. The night was filled with other icons from The Doors' past: a classic photo of Morrison towering behind the stage, American Indian dancers onstage for Ghost Song and the words "NO/ONE/HERE/GETS/OUT/ALIVE" flashing onscreen during Five to One. Morrison and original drummer John Densmore aside, the only key component to The Doors' fabled live set missing was a spirit of adventure that often bordered on a sense of danger. With the unpredictable Morrison at the helm, anything could happen at a Doors show. But Sunday's apperance essentially followed the script. Coming from the lips of 40 year-old Astbury, the lyric "Show me the way to the next little girl" from Alabama Song should have even sounded more menacing than it did when sung by Morrison, who died at age 27. But Astbury, who regularly thanked the crowd for its support, came across as more polite than threatening. Heavy on hits, the set list alternated between tight rockers such as Love Me Two Times and Wild Child and looser numbers such as When The Music's Over that gave the musicians ample oppurtunity to stretch out. Then there was also a few less successful songs, signs that the five men require more time on stage together. Break On Through and Alabama Song both stalled at points. The band took just one stab at "new" material, actually a reworking of an old tune, Strange Days. The new rendition, which Manzarek said will likely appear on a new Doors album due by the end of the year, hardly sounded like a dramatic departure from the original. Manzarek, whose dynamic keyboard gave The Doors' music a unique quality during a period dominated by guitars, sizzled all night, even adding a few new twists to his two most recognizable solos in Light My Fire and Riders on the Storm. Looking professorial in spectacles and a suit jacket, the silver haired 63 year-old beamed like a proud papa as he watched his bandmates fulfill his lifelong vision of a Doors reunion. Krieger, third fiddle to Morrison and Manzarek in the old days, showed that he may be worthy of his own page in rock's history book. The 56 year-old demonstrated impressive range, from hard-driving rock and blues to psychedelia and even a surprising turn at reggae as Astbury sequed into Bob Marley's Get Up, Stand Up midway through Light My Fire. Copeland, whose broken arm forced the postponement of the Las Vegas gig in December, seemed a bit unsure of himself, a far cry from his last Las Vegas appearance – a powerful guesting stint with Les Claypool's Frog Brigade last June. Clocking in at one hour 45 minutes (including dead time between two encores), the concert could have been a bit longer. A few of Manzarek's keyboard blasts were far too loud in the sound mix, perhaps explaining Densmore's severe hearing damage during 2000's Storytellers. But the band proved itself capable of carrying on The Doors' tradition, with much to build on as it carries on with a reunion few thought they would ever witness.

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. Moonlight Drive / Horse Latitudes / 8. Wild Child / 9. Ghost Song / The Hill Dwellers / 10. Light My Fire / Encore: 11. Riders On The Storm / 12. Maggie M'Gill / 2nd Encore: 13. Soul Kitchen.

Las Vegas Review-Journal, Tuesday, January 21, 2003
Reconstituted Doors pull off decent show at the Palms
Doug Elfman

Half of The Doors has reunited to play concerts, even though half of the psychedelic-rock band is indisposed: Jim Morrison is deader than Elvis; drummer John Densmore's ears ring with tinnitus. So when the half-Doors came to Las Vegas on Sunday, I dusted off my hippy mom to go see the band's first tour in three decades. She saw the band in San Francisco, before I was born. Did she go, back then, to see Morrison's good looks? "No. Because it was $2," she said. "I don't think he was even headlining. That's how long ago it was."
   We settled into the crowd at The Palms. The introduction was just like it ever was: "Ladies and gentlemen, from Los Angeles, California, The Doors." On a video screen behind the stage, images gurgled up of a globby, psychedelic goo of colorful, tripping bubbles. Mom reminisced at the screen: "See that? It looked like that. And then, at the end, it looked like fire, and burned away." The '60s did that, too.
   The original members Ray Manzarek and Robby Krieger played keyboards and guitar, respectively, and ex-Police drummer Stewart Copeland handled the sticks. In Morrison's place was singer Ian Astbury, of the rock band the Cult. Astbury wore dark shaggy hair, a black jacket and shades. He didn't look like Morrison. He looked like the late punk hero Joey Ramone. At first, Astbury sounded mostly like Astbury. He used vibrato on a loud note or two. But Astbury settled in, and sang with Morrison's brand of natural husk and dark, fatalistic trail-offs. It was not an impression, but impressionistic.
   Songs were faithful renditions. Roadhouse Blues and Break On Through were acceptable but rehearsal-crisp. Love Me Two Times rocked. Light My Fire was too fast and sloppy, but somehow good. Five To One meandered and crashed, like it got hit on the head by a confused staircase. Two men in American Indian clothes danced onstage during Ghost Song. The video screen showed images of violence and peace flags. But no pot clouds wafted by. The show seemed to inhabit all the elements of a flashback, but with all back and no flash.
   Astbury read some of the lyrics off of sheet music on a music stand. Did he memorize the words or not? "This is The Doors for the 21st century," Astbury said. And later: "They said it couldn't be done; they said it shouldn't be done; but it's being done."
   When it was all done, Mom smiled. And a noodle-dancing hippy who saw The Doors way back then told me he loved the 90-minute show. “But, there was no new material, and it was too short."