l.a. woman
My mixed feelings about the Doors's final album are probably best summed up in my review of Marianne Faithfull's Before The Poison: L.A. Woman might be one of the best swan songs ever, but Jim Morrison's raspy, drug-, cigarette- and alcohol-ravaged voice is a symbol of impending doom, promises unfulfilled and death in a bathtub. While claims that Faithfull was among those who discovered Morrison's body in that infamous Parisian tub might be the stuff of rock folklore, she had more than a few things in common with the self-proclaimed Lizard King. Had he survived, perhaps Morrison's voice, like Faithfull's, would have aged to achieve the kind of lived-in elegance and wisdom only time and atonement can provide.

L.A. Woman, along with Morrison's view of himself as a poet above all else (exemplified by 1978's An American Prayer), was an indication that his work was indeed maturing; though not exactly refined, the album is a more thoughtful, sober (figuratively and literally—he reportedly wasn't drunk this time around) and slightly less masturbatory work. Produced by longtime engineer Bruce Botnick, who also remixed the new expanded version of the album, and with a back-to-basics approach (old equipment, little reverb or fuss, and only a smattering of fuzz distortion), it's consistent in tone and quality. The album expands on and fully commits to the blues sound of Morrison Hotel, opening with the James Brown funk swagger of "The Changeling" and continuing with the rollicking lead single, "Love Her Madly."