Doors, the - Waiting For the Sun
Review: Every band, should they be unwise enough to push their longevity past the point where the experience is more rewarding than its outcome (fame, money, sex, intoxication), will reach a state where the elaborate tapestry of their concept and image begins to wear thin, revealing the ungainly, nerdy, functional-utilitarian tentpoles beneath. For the groundbreaking 1960s apocalyptic Nietzsche-rockers, this was that Waterloo.
It is not a blatant defeat; some of their finest melodic lines are on here and it listens well but without the captivating magnetism of earlier Doors works. There's a lack of density, of subtlety, and most of all of belief; this is a band trying to reinvent itself from outside, looking back over a success and trying to recreate it without recalling anymore what drove it. "Hello, I love you" could be a recreation of "Light my fire," and "Love Street" a "Soul Kitchen II." The trademark poetry of nihilistic images (a careless end of all time) meeting hopeful, youthful Romantic poetry is here, but too often it is soured like concession stand milk: perhaps coming off of an acid trip in a police department, with all of its armaggedonish power and the depleting siren of fluorescent lights, would feel like this.
1. Hello, I Love You
2. Love Street 
3. Not To Touch The Earth
4. Summer's Almost Gone
5. Wintertime Love
6. The Unknown Soldier
7. Spanish Caravan
8. My Wild Love
9. We Could Be So Good Together
10. Yes, The River Knows
11. Five To One
But where there are moments of pure Morrisonian vocal glory, they are stretched out by work that sounds like a supporting band: zoot suit basslines bouncing up against goofy keyboards jarringly dissonant and sickly harmonious at the same time, guitar licks that years later would find homes on Guns 'n Roses albums. Its devices are more obvious and have the feeling of one or two sessions, while earlier albums were contemplated by moody souls who whether in themselves or publically fought out the details. It is perhaps revelatory of any kind of accurate philosophy in rock music, in that once one proclaims the end and the audience still wants the show to go on, there is nothing left to do but keep cranking out some kind of product however you can, even if it deflates the magic and reveals the incipient shallowness hiding there all along.