Kermit The Frog*

linkage

Peace Frog lyrics were Morrison's own, culled from unpublished poetry/verse entitled "Abortion Stories"

There's blood in the streets, it's up to my ankles
She came
Blood in the streets, it's up to my knee
She came
Blood in the street, the town of Chicago
She came
Blood on the rise, it's following me
Just about the break of day
She came and then she drove away
Sunlight in her hair
She came
Blood in the streets runs a river of sadness
She came
Blood in the streets it's up to my thigh
She came
Yeah the river of red down the legs of the city
She came
The women cryin' red rivers of weepin'
She came in town and then she drove away
Sunlight in her hair

Indians scattered on dawn's highway bleeding
Ghosts crowd the young child's fragile eggshell mind 

Blood in the streets in the town of New Haven
Blood stains the roofs and the palm trees of Venice
Blood in my love in the terrible summer
Bloody red sun of fantastic L.A. 

Blood screams the brain** as they chop off her fingers
Blood will be born in the birth of a nation
Blood is the rose of mysterious union
There's blood in the streets, it's up to my ankles
Blood in the streets, it's up to my knee
Blood in the streets, the town of Chicago
Blood on the rise, it's following me

I linked the YouTube version of Peace Frog that also includes Blue Sunday because on the vinyl edition of Morrison Hotel they ran smoothly together. The latter song is a love ballad juxtaposed with the horror of Peace Frog.
__________________________
**pain?

Indian Summer

Then God commanded November to brighten the sky and to mitigate the air for the entire duration of Martin's travel. And since God does not rescind his orders, the first days of November are always cheered by a warm sun. We call this season Indian Summer. Link

If one is not inclined to the sacred, there is always the profane redeemed:

According to Robby Krieger, "Indian Summer" was the very first song The Doors ever recorded, in 1966. The version everyone knows was released in 1970 on Morrison Hotel.

"The End" of Jim Morrison

Jim Morrison and his father on the bridge of the USS Bon Homme Richard ca. 1964

1966 was a time when sons began open revolt against their fathers. Could there be a more egregious example than Jim Morrison and his father, Admiral George "Steve" Morrison (pictured together above)?

Obviously Morrison was a talented lyricist, and together with his looks and charisma (plus three talented musicians) The Doors' success was a no-brainer in hindsight. And yet I've always thought his most interesting material was culled from his pre-fame days: things he had written well before the band gelled in 1965 and honed their act throughout 1966 [for example Indian Summer from 1966].

Morrison's father is interesting in his own right. He doesn't seem at all like the authoritarian caricature that Oliver Stone portrayed in his fawning homage (surpassed in obsequiousness only by the earlier Danny Sugerman book No One Here Gets Out Alive).  Don't get me wrong.  I still love much of The Doors' music. But as I get older, it's interesting to consider the whole spectacle in a broader context. And it's also disappointing that people still don't take Bruce Harris's message seriously, that Jim Morrison didn't want to be an idol "because he believed all idols were hollow." To Jim Morrison, the whole spectacle was a theater art project. 

My backyard neighbor is the son of retired Navy brass and visits his parents down on Coronado Island. He met Admiral Morrison once before he died in 2008: "a good guy" he told me once. According to this San Diego newspaper account, the elder Morrison still biked around the island until the end, inviting friends to "Steve's Happy Hour."

Admiral Morrison visited his son's grave in 1990 and placed an engraved plaque written in Greek which translated recites:
 
True to his own genius

I wonder if the son, were he still alive, could have eventually forgiven the father for whatever drove him apart. I wonder if the poet-son could have spared even one poetic phrase for his father.