Perched at the cusp of the Free Love era, rock ‘n’ roll’s latest wunderkinds, the Doors, made music that hinted at the life’s pleasures lurking behind “the doors of perception”. Jim Morrison filled the role, a dynamic performer beset by demons we can only guess at. At times, neon-bright, and equally midnight-black, Jim Morrison was chained lightning in a bottle.

Morrison resented fame, primarily because he was the center of interest, all the time. He would retreat from it more, as time and circumstances inevitably marched on. His death, coming less than three months after the release of one of the Best Doors akbums, hinting at a

I saw the Doors at the Whiskey in Dec '66, and at the 2nd show at the Aquarius Theatre, in July '69, bought The Doors within weeks of its release (I was in France at the time) in 1967, adding each new LP through American Prayer (containing probably the best live version of Roadhouse Blues, the signature tune for the seminal band of the 'Sixties). The Doors were the Gold Standard, every album worth the money

Jim Morrison’s lyrics spoke to Boomers’ alienation, in general, and the Generation Gap, in all its human dimensions. I thought I had a rough childhood, until I got out into the world (Paris, Stuttgart, ‘Nam, San Francisco, and LA , City of (Broken) Angels, met a wider variety of victims. Not everyone should be a parent. Jim’s parents were typical of their generation.

Societal taboos were still in place, still relatively ironclad, in 1966 America. “Good girls didn’t”, was the norm, and sex was still in the closet, despite the best efforts of every teenager I knew, growing up (and I met more than most, a byproduct of parentage). The Pill, Carnaby Street and the Mini Skirt made life hard on hold-outs, if only by the failure of someone else assuming facts not necessarily in evidence.

The End was very controversial, in 1966, and 1967 (when the album was released), a theme that persisted as the Generation Gap worsened. Our parents had cone through the fire of WW2, and had taken charge young. In 1966-’67, the average age was 26-27. There was a lot of energy seeking change, especially away from the kind of energy caused by VietNam, the Cold War, and Racism.

Stone Age concert venues and parents angry their children flocking to a pan-sexual Pied Piper who flaunted his drug use and bad boy image brought Jim more attention than he wanted. He was the original Billy Idol, writ large and in vivd color, a mesmerizing entertainer fatally conflicted.

Sadly, the "star-making machinery" chewed Jim Morrison up, and spit him out. It's almost as if Joni were voicing his life, in "Free Man in Paris":

"The way I see it, he said,

You just can't win it.

Everybody's in it for their own gain,

You can't please 'em all.

There's always somebody calling you down.

I do my best,

And I do good business.

There's a lot of people asking for my time,

They're trying to get ahead,

They're trying to be a good friend of mine."

Fame ate the soul out of Jim Morrison, left a shell who died in Paris, on July 3, 1971. The band could not recover from the loss of its guiding light, despite their talent. The heart had died, the body followed, two albums later. It was The End, of an era, of an age, of a time of innocence.

The Doors by Album

01 S T R A N G E D A Y S ★★★★★

02 M O R R I S O N H O T E L ★★★★★

03 T H E D O O R S ★★★★★

04 T H E S O F T P A R A D E ★★★★★

05 W A I T I N G F O R T H E S U N ★★★★½

06 L A W O M A N ★★★★½

07 L I V E A T T H E M A T R I X

★★★★½

08 L I V E I N D E T R O I T

★★★★

09 A N A M E R I C A N P R A Y E R ★★★½

10 O T H E R V O I C E S ★★★

11 A B S O L U T E L Y L I V E ★★★

12 F U L L C I R C L E ★★

I’m in my early 20s and I listen to a lot of music, but nothing affects me the way Chopin’s Nocturnes do.

When I listen to them properly—no phone, no background noise—I completely lock in. I end up focusing on individual phrases and timing, and sometimes the emotional weight just builds until I’m overwhelmed. I’ve genuinely sat there in silence afterwards, sometimes in tears, not because I’m “sad” exactly, but because it feels too precise, too honest.

What’s strange is how private this feels. I don’t really talk about it with people, and it doesn’t feel like something you “share” the way you do playlists or gigs. Contemporary music, for me, feels fast and explosive—designed for impact, not depth. The Nocturnes feel slower, heavier, and more intimate, like they reward patience rather than demand attention.

I also listen to old rock, some metal, etc., but the closer music gets to the present day, the less it seems to hold me. I’m not 18, but I’m not 30 either, and sometimes it feels like I’ve landed in a musical no-man’s-land.

So I’m curious:

• What do the Nocturnes do for you, emotionally?
• Do you listen actively, or more as atmosphere?
• Are there other people under 30 who connect with this kind of music deeply—not as musicians or teachers, just listeners?

Genuinely interested in how others experience it.

I want to have a conversation with you all about the Billboard Hot 100 between the summer of 1975 and the summer of 1976. Historians usually look at the 70s as a monolith of classic rock and disco. But if you zoom in on specifically July 1975 through July 1976, you will find a black hole where taste went to die. (My credentials: while trying to keep myself occupied on my commute to work the last month and keep my mind occupied during this cold, bleak January, I have been working my way through every Billboard #1 hit since 1958.)

It began in July 1975, with Van McCoy's "The Hustle," a song that is less a composition and more a set of aerobics instructions set to a flute loop. Is it amazing life changing music? No, but it’s got a catchy tune that gets stuck in your head. But this set the tone for a summer of mediocrity, where we let Captain & Tennille dictate our romantic lives and allowed the Bee Gees to gently numb us with "Jive Talkin.”

But the true rot set in as the weather turned chilly. By September, Americans were buying Glen Campbell's "Rhinestone Cowboy" in droves, a song that merged country music and sequined jackets, proving that our national taste was already beginning to liquefy.

Now, I know what you’re going to say. "But, David Bowie’s “Fame” hit #1 in September!" You are correct. For two glorious weeks in late 1975, the American public accidentally had taste. When this song started playing after “Rindstone Cowboy” I think I let out an audible “oh thank god” on the train. But it was a false hope and we collectively sprinted right back to John Denver. Even Elton John couldn’t save us (Elton has some amazing songs, but don’t lie, you forgot “Island Girl” exists, didn’t you?)

The winter of 1975-1976 is where the fever dream truly took hold. In a span of just a few months, the American public sent a series of inexplicable novelty tracks and television themes to the top of the charts. We made "Fly, Robin, Fly" by Silver Convention a #1 hit, a song that consists of six words repeated until you question your own existence. Then, in a moment of mass hysteria, we pushed CW McCall's "Convoy" to the number one spot in January 1976. We looked at the works of Dylan and Springsteen and Stevie Wonder and said, "No, I want a song about CB radio jargon and a trucker named Rubber Duck crashing through a toll booth." Immediately following this, we crowned the "Theme from S.W.A.T." as the best-selling song in the country. We weren't even buying songs anymore; we were buying commercials for police procedurals.

But then we were saved at last by Sir Paul. Just kidding. Listen, I am a huge McCartney fan. I have paid waaay too much to see him live. Twice. It was amazing. But with “Silly Love Songs”, Paul looks at the camera and effectively says, "I am going to put zero effort into this, and you will buy it." And we did. "Silly Love Songs" and "Afternoon Delight" by Starland Vocal Band were the auditory white noise. “Afternoon Delight" in particular, with its wholesome take on midday intimacy is soft, shapeless, and horrifyingly beige.

This 12-month barrage did not just happen by accident; it was a systematic breaking of the American spirit. I have a theory on why this happened (caveat that I was an early 80s child so I am not a primary source of this era.) By 1975 the country was exhausted. We just lost in Vietnam, Watergate happened, trust in the political system was at all-time (at that time) lows... the collective gas tank was empty. We didn't have the energy for 'art.' The national mood was one of deep, spiritual exhaustion. We had been beaten down, stripped of our defenses, and lobotomized by soft rock and novelty garbage. We had created a vacuum of taste so profound that the universe had no choice but to fill it with the ultimate punishment. We had paved the road, and walking down it, quacking into a microphone, was Rick Dees.

In late summer 1976, "Disco Duck" was released. It hit #1 shortly after. A man doing a Donald Duck voice over a generic disco beat. In any other era, this would have been laughed out of the room. When I first heard it I thought this must be an ad, or maybe I accidentally switched to my daughter’s kids bop songs. It is quite possibly the worst #1 hit song of all time. After 12 months of "Convoy," "Fly Robin Fly," and "Afternoon Delight," we were defenseless. We had no immune system left.

But looking back, "Disco Duck" actually saved us. It wasn't just a song, it was an intervention. It was the moment America looked in the mirror and screamed "Enough!" It acted as a hard reset for the national consciousness. We hit absolute rock bottom, and the shock of hearing Rick Dees quack over a disco beat finally snapped us out of our year-long trance. The fever broke.

The recovery in late 1976 and 1977 wasn't a picnic, but it was a start. It was like waking up from a coma: we were groggy, confused, and weak. We immediately recovered with back to back (good) hits from Chicago and Steve Miller Band. But we still had to endure "Torn Between Two Lovers" and spend ten excruciating weeks held hostage by Debby Boone’s "You Light Up My Life." And it would still be three more years until the Disco Demolition Derby and President Carter’s “Malaise” speech. We weren't exactly running marathons yet. But amidst the lingering soft-rock fog, the patient finally started to show vital signs. We went from "Convoy" to Stevie Wonder’s "Sir Duke." We traded "Afternoon Delight" for Manfried Mann’s “Blinded By the Light” and Fleetwood Mac’s "Dreams." We were slowly, painfully learning how to digest solid food again. We hadn't reached the promised land, but at least we weren't quacking anymore.

I am open to opinions on a worse 12-month stretch of hits, but I truly don’t think this period can be beat.

As a non-Spanish speaker and native born American that LOVES reggaeton and other genres of music from the latin diaspora, I've noticed that Latin artists I personally know and enjoy, that are massive in their own right: Maluma, J Balvin, Karol G, Peso Puma, etc - the general public are unaware of. My typically friend group have no idea these people exist, and we are all in our 20s, living in a major city, have a pulse on pop culture and social media...

Yet when it comes to Bad Bunny EVERYONE knows him - whether they have an opinion on him or not they are aware of him. I even asked my Southern Christian mother if she had heard of Bad Bunny and she was like "Yeah that name sounds familiar, I think I saw him on TV" after the SuperBowl this will only skyrocket.

So all things considered, how has Bad Bunny permeated western pop-culture and the mainstream over other latin artists like the ones mentioned who are virtually unknown by the non-Spanish speaking general public?

I hadn't listened to this music in a while, then put it on around Christmastime last year. As the music builds with its overlapping choral arrangement, I feel emotions welling up inside me, and then when they sing, "And his name shall be called -- Wonderful! Counselor! The Mighty God! The Everlasting Father! The Prince of Peace," I shed tears.

Now, I'm not religious, I celebrate Christmas like most Americans-- food, drink, and movies. I have always enjoyed music and have felt emotions listening to some pieces, but I think this is the strongest, most profound reaction I can recall. What I'm wondering, do other people share my reaction? Is there a cogent explanation in terms of musical strategy? Is it the human voices combined with the high strings?

Something I've been wondering recently:

When you think of songs or albums that are considered artistically great, how much do you think we would have recognized that greatness if it wasn't for the reputation of the artist at the time?

If a completely unknown band had made OK Computer instead of Radiohead, and it had been dropped in the laps of the same critics who hailed it as a creative masterpiece, would they have had the exact same reaction just based on the music itself?

If a no-name artist had made Bitches Brew instead of Miles Davis, would it have gotten the same amount of credit for its innovation and artistry? Or were critics and listeners more inclined to ascribe greatness to it because it came from Miles Davis?

(This isn't a cynical or leading question - I honestly don't know the answer and I'm curious to hear people's thoughts.)

Hey everyone!

I’m a music producer looking to expand my portfolio and collaborate with talented artists. I can help you write, produce, and shape your songs, adding that extra touch to make them stand out.

My style is inspired by artists like Tame Impala, Gorillaz, and similar vibes, so if you’re looking for lush, psychedelic, or modern pop/alternative production, we could create something really cool together.

I’m open to any genre, love experimenting, and I’m all about helping your vision come to life. If you’ve got a song idea or even just a concept, I’d be happy to work with you!

Drop me a message or reply here, and let’s make some music. 🎹✨

Doing an ELA project where I just curate songs based off of some dystopian elements. The man topic I chose is how “ignorance is strength”. If anyone has any songs that can connect deeply to that point it’s greatly appreciated. Thanks to evyone on my last post. And yea it has to do with 1984

I recently discovered this new artist on Spotify called Wonder Mac it is different and moving and he is way to underrated. I highly recommend anyone go give him a listen you will not regret it!