Psychedelia in Los Angeles and elsewhere

From the 1960s the music industry accelerated its shift from New York to Los Angeles; the chief L.A. psychedelic representative is the Doors.

We have spent much time on San Francisco and London psychedelia; you might think only those two places truly had it. Indeed the psychedelic subcultures we discuss were most mature and important there. But in this period—early, mid, and late 1960s—the industry accelerated its move to Los Angeles. Reasons for the shift from New York to L.A. include Hollywood’s advanced film equipment. Television also moved west, so labels got more film and TV work. Film companies were local or had branches there. Many musicians moved from East Coast to West; so did labels. In 1965–67 new things appeared in Los Angeles.

We covered America’s reply to the British Invasion; the first important band we name for L.A. and psychedelia is the Doors. They differ from other psychedelic bands: generally psychedelic music carried utopian, flower-power positive energy. (Note: “flower power” was a late-1960s–early-1970s slogan for passive resistance and nonviolence.) So the most idealistic case for LSD was higher consciousness—pleasant, desirable, right? Again: I do not advocate LSD; I am stating one argument for it. But as Jim Morrison put it, if you break into another realm it might be heaven or hell. Let others talk about heaven; he would think about hell. In many ways Morrison’s take on psychedelic music was darker. It tied to spiritual matters we rarely discuss. His lyrics were also substantial. As a singer he did not play instruments or guitar chords, but he formed melodies in his head and sang them; the others figured out what he was singing, which notes, what chords, what rhythm. So in many ways the Doors were a very democratic band; often they split songwriting royalties four ways.

Their first album, The Doors, came out in January 1967—before Sgt. Pepper, actually before “Penny Lane” and “Strawberry Fields Forever.” So relative to the Beatles and Beach Boys they were ahead and relatively independent. They were a bit senior to some bands that followed them, nearly of the same generation as the Beatles and Stones. Main influences: late-1950s rock and roll and early-1960s jazz; unlike others, less shaped by the Beatles and the Invasion. Vision came from Morrison—a poet, college-educated, widely read. Ray Manzarek was a bit older, with much club experience; Robby Krieger a gifted songwriter; John Densmore a jazz-leaning drummer. They named the band the Doors after Huxley’s book on mescaline, The Doors of Perception. Huxley took the phrase from William Blake’s poetry about the doors of perception. So the links reach back to nineteenth-century literature and spiritualism. The album’s first song, “Break On Through (To the Other Side),” states the doors-of-perception idea clearly—but the other side may not be a good place. That first single did not do well. So they used Robby Krieger’s “Light My Fire,” originally about seven minutes; they cut the middle solos for an AM single, and it went to No. 1. A chart-topper mattered for the Doors and was Elektra Records’ best result to then; to a degree they helped grow Elektra. But at the album’s end, “The End” holds much darkness: Morrison in tribal-chant mode, almost frightening—walking at night, telling his father “I want to kill you,” then his mother “I want to be with you”—that is the polite version; the original is blunt, a complex hungry wish to marry the mother, very dark. Live, people were shocked. By confronting that darkness Morrison jolted people out of self-satisfaction. So: a very dark psychedelia. The Doors released six albums; the last, L.A. Woman, hit No. 9 in 1971. Ironically it is seen as a comeback—ironic because in July 1971 Morrison died of heart failure in Paris, the third rock star after Jimi Hendrix and Janis Joplin to die.

The Doors to a degree stand for L.A. psychedelia, but they were not alone. We have mentioned Arthur Lee and Love several times; Love signed to Elektra before the Doors. They could have had Doors-level success, but Arthur Lee would not fly—so no touring. Without touring, your music stays local. In L.A. they were very successful; beside them the Doors looked small. The Doors were lucky to open for Love; Arthur Lee thought they were good and recommended them to Jac Holzman, and signed Elektra himself—then the Doors took off and Love stayed ordinary. They had a relatively hot single, “My Little Red Book,” No. 52 in 1966—we mentioned it with Pink Floyd. Their third album, 1967’s Forever Changes, rock critics have long called a great overlooked psychedelic album. You might hear Forever Changes and decide if it is a neglected classic.

Another West Coast band, Iron Butterfly, featured heavy rock; they were from San Diego. Their second album was most successful: In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida, summer 1968. The title track began as “In the Garden of Eden”; they turned it into “In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida.” In one Simpsons episode it is again “In the Garden of Eden”—search “Simpsons In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida” for that bit. (Note: in the episode Bart hands out the song in church as the hymn “In the Garden of Eden,” credited to Iron Butterfly.) Anyway the title track is 17 minutes; each member solos; it is heavy-riffed, the solos skilled, a bit psychedelic too.

Vanilla Fudge, from the East Coast, we call a “symphonic” psychedelia. They were good at turning a short song into a psychedelic rock journey; most famous is 1967’s “You Keep Me Hangin’ On,” which a year earlier was a two-minute Holland–Dozier–Holland hit for the Supremes. Vanilla Fudge stretched it to five minutes with sitar; I often have students hear the first minutes and guess where it goes—most cannot. That idea of expanding short songs into large psychedelic symphonies was their specialty. Their 1968 album The Beat Goes On was produced by Shadow Morton, tied to the Brill Building and girl groups. The band was not happy with it, but they used Sonny & Cher’s “The Beat Goes On” as a motif recurring through the album. Arranged songs run from the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries through the twentieth, including Beatles songs—a highly ambitious concept album. I think Vanilla Fudge’s adaptations contributed a lot to later progressive rock: the essence of turning short songs into long works.

Since we are in this period, talk about upstate New York and Bob Dylan. After his 1966 motorcycle accident Dylan withdrew to Woodstock, New York—you may not know where; a few hours north of New York City, suburban in feel, rural and plain. There he recorded with the Band. They were first the Hawks, named for Canadian singer Ronnie Hawkins; all but Levon Helm were Canadian. They had toured the world with Dylan in 1965–66; they already worked together. While Dylan hid at Woodstock they recorded much of what later became 1975’s The Basement Tapes. In that stretch two important records came out—one by Dylan, one by the Band—that not only defined the Americana movement but also mattered for country rock’s rise. Both 1968: Dylan’s John Wesley Harding hit No. 2 on the album chart; the Band’s Music from Big Pink only No. 30, but it is considered very influential.

That covers L.A. and elsewhere. Next time: festivals—meaning after psychedelic music went national in summer 1967, hippie culture swept the country; that is the chapter’s last section.