The Doors – Morrison Hotel

From the notes from the 1967-1971 box: Indian Summer left over from the 1966 1st album sessions - Maggie M’Gill - Ray on 2nd guitar, Lonnie Mack bass

Was able to find one of these in VG+ condition and it sounds great. Very vibrant and clear and good separation. I have had great success with Allentown pressing also for S/T (mono and stereo). The problem has always been finding good vinyl which is always the issue for all Doors original albums. Very impressed with this original Allentown. Up there with my AP.

someone can tell me which is the absolute first pressing? and is it a good sounding one?

Waiting for the Sun on this press is a experience….
Buy if you see in wild.

Mine is pressed in , BUT it has the red/orange coloured labels with the straight (not tilted) 'E' in white outline centred on the top of label. I cannot find WHAT the hell pressing it is since all the German pressings listed here are either the older butterfly label or the white label with a stylized 'E', but none look like mine 😕

Does anyone have any NEW information regarding the Analogue Productions-Quality Records Pressing of the REPRESSED 45 RPM on 180gm vinyl since QRP is NO LONGER doing 200gm pressings of it. According to Mr. Kassem of QRP, they will continue to press their UHQR products on Clarity vinyl at 200gms.

I ended up with an interesting matrix variation of this Morrison Hotel - Allentown pressing, not listed above.
A.) EKS-75007-A AL ARC 21610
B.) EKS-75007-A AL ARC 21210

Waiting for the sun, Peace Frog, Blue Sunday, The Spy et.c et.c, every single second of this record rules. This is probably my favorite Doors album.

Please ... pull up a chair, have a hit if you wish. I love this time of day, reminds me of the years I spent in Africa working for the Mercs after my hitch in Vietnam, getting paid with gold, in numbered Swiss Bank s. But that’s all a thing of the past now, except for the setting sun, and I tell you true, you’ll never see a more beautiful sunset then over the Serengheti during mid summer.

Now you can say I’ve taken too many mushrooms if you want, or chalk it up to that Finger Hash from back in the 60’s, but they needed a nurse in the outback, seems some horse rancher had taken a spill, punctured a lung if I correctly, and flying there in one of those tiny puddle hoppers was the only way of getting to him. The voice at the other end of the radio said there’d be a pilot waiting for me at the airport, if you can call an airport a dirt strip lined by lighted 50 gallon oil drums, and a wind directional sock that wasn’t much more then an undistinguishable flag from some country or other.

Anyway, the pilot wasn’t at the airport, he was at the local bar, which was pretty much an oil lamp on top of an old door, laid across two sawhorses. He was pretty much face down with a bottle of Jack cradled in his arms. I him looking up as I dropped my medical bag on the table, he grabbed his bottle, afraid it may fall over. “You the pilot,” I asked? He rubbed his beard, then his eyes, then the top of the bottle before putting the cap back on, and sliding it into his jacket pocket. “I’m the only one here,” he said looking around the empty room, “So I must be.” I handed him the map and pointed to a box, saying, “This is where we need to go.” He checked his pocket to make sure his bottle was still there, lit a cigarette, and said, “Yeah, I know the place, dropped some hunters in there two weeks ago. “Come on, Sinn’s out back, all fueled and ready to go.”

Sinn turned out to be a vintage Grumman low wing, and about as tired and dusty as my pilot ... though I will say that even in the low light, this guy looked a bit familiar. Once in the plane, the engine fired quickly, and I tapped him on the shoulder from my rear seat and introduced himself. “Nice to meet you,” he said taking a swig from his bottle, “James Door, a citizen of the world, and a pilot of the universe.” In this part of the world one gets used to eccentric characters, and most people drink far more then they should, it’s just that some do it behind closed doors, and others do it in public.

Geeez ... will you look at that setting sun, just beautiful. Where was I? Oh yeah, anyway the flight was uneventful, when we landed it was nearly midnight, and the plantation workers lined the road with handheld torches, making for a rather surreal image. James took out a bed roll and went right to sleep under the wing as I headed over the the big house, and my patient. Seems his lung wasn’t really punctured, just grazed by the rib bone, and there’s not a lot you can do for a broken rid other then wrapping the rib cage, keeping the patient flat, and istering pain meds. He was an old timer, been in Africa for nearly 30 years, knew everyone, and if he didn’t, he knew someone who did. He asked who’d flown me in, saying that it was pretty insane of them to make the landing in the dark like that. Without looking up from my work, I gave him an injection and said, “Some guy by the name of James Door I think. Seems to be a drunk, but knows his way around the skies.”

“James Door,” replied Mr. Dean. “I know everything about everyone, but that guy's a mystery. Near as I can figure, and mind you, much of this is second hand, the guy used to be some sort of rock n’ roll star, got himself in trouble in America, and one day just up and walked away. I don’t know much about rock n’ roll, not my cup of tea, but you’re young enough, you may have heard of him, had a big hit with some song called “Light My Fire,” or “I’m On Fire,” I can’t . He’s been here for about 10 years now, lived in Paris before that, reads a lot, and tends to keep to himself.”

“Really,” I said, checking the bandage? "Seems that would have been Jim Morrison, but he died of a heroin overdose in Paris just about 10 years ago.”

“Well,” replied Mr. Dean, “People come here to either lose themselves of get lost ... take your pick.”

“Is that so Mr. Dean? You’re going to need to lay still for at least 2 weeks.”

“Please,” he said taking my hand softly, “Call me James, or Jimmy, everyone does.”

“Well then Jimmy, what brought you to this part of Africa?”

“Ohhh sweetness,” he said looking off into the darkness, “Guess it was a case of bad driving.” Then he laughed and said, “Not much to run into out here in on the Serengheti”

*** The Fun Facts: The actual Morrison Hotel is where the cover art was taken by photographer Henry Diltz, at 1246 South Hope Street. Security would not allow photography in the $2.50 a night hotel, meaning that each member of The Doors had to walk in individually, and over the course of a half hour or so, take their place in the front window, where the picture was taken using a telephoto lens from across the street. Now, the photos for the gatefold were taken at the Hard Rock Cafe located at the corners of East 5th Street and Wall Street in Los Angeles (300 East 5th Street in the Skid Row neighborhood), a dive-bar from which the Hard Rock Cafe chain appropriated their name.

Review by Jenell Kesler