A Tribute to the Doors Ray Manzarek

WORDBEAT L.A.s Poetry   Music Hotspot _Ray Manzarek RIP 05 20 by WordBeat   Blog Talk Radio

The Doors keyboardist Ray Manzarek died Monday, he was 74 years old.

Our Friend Yvonne DeLa Vega, Poetry Editor at The LA Examiner and radio host held a tribute last night for Ray Manzarek, her collaborator on numerous projects and friend.
Ray was an accomplished keyboardist and musician, and a founding member of the Doors. He worked with Roxy Music and Byan Ferry as well as others.  He also was well known as a jazz aficionado.
Ray also penned the forward of her new book, “Tomorrow, Yvonne. Poetry & Prose for Suicidal Egotists (Volume 1)”
Please check out the show, for great memories of her friend, poetry, parts of her interviews and jazz music. A fitting and moving tribute. Grab your hanky…
Hear the original interviews here.51RKY729PzL._BO2,204,203,200_PIsitb-sticker-arrow-click,TopRight,35,-76_AA300_SH20_OU01_


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  1. Ray’s keyboards were a staple of The Doors. He’ll certainly be missed after such a long and fruitful career helping to create such haunting music. The Doors’ songs opened my mind to other realms of possibilities and cleansed my perception. I paid tribute to Ray when I heard of his passing by creating a new portrait of him and some melting doors which you can see on my artist’s blog at http://dregstudiosart.blogspot.com/2013/05/in-memoriam-ray-manzarek.html Drop by and let me know how The Doors influenced you too.

  2. When The Music’s Over
    Ray Manzarek
    Feb 12, 1939 – May 20, 2013
    By Chris Parisi

    I was born in late 1961. I never saw The Doors in total. I never met Ray Manzarek personally.
    But I remember hearing ‘Riders On The Storm’ on the car’s AM radio for the first time on a vacation road trip with my family, Cape Cod bound from Upstate New York, as The Doors were experiencing a revival of sorts with the release of An American Prayer, several years after they had broken up.

    And what I remember were the raindrop tones of Manzarek’s Vox Continental organ rolling down within my sixteen-year old mind. I remember that moment; remember wishing I had been born just a few years earlier so I could experience that music as it was created. The Doors became one of my favorite bands, still are, and one of the most compelling and unique sounds in all of music.

    Most Doors fans know the story of how Ray Manzarek met Jim Morrison in the mid-Sixties on Venice Beach after a spring semester at UCLA where they were film students and acquaintances but hardly friends. How Ray was sitting on the beach when Morrison sauntered up, and after chatting for a bit, singing a song he had been toying with, a tune called ‘Moonlight Drive’.

    Ray Manzarek was hooked, feeling the poet’s musing become lyrics and the blues riffs that would do justice to such. The Doors followed soon after, burned incredibly hot and bright, flaming out an all-too-brief six years later. I was nine years old when Jim Morrison passed away in Paris in early July of 1971.

    Eventually, I was lucky enough to see Ray Manzarek and guitarist Robby Krieger tour together several times with various stand-ins for Morrison and drummer John Densmore, most recently this past September. The energy Manzarek bled as he belted out bass lines and electric blues rhythms, melded with Krieger’s virtuoso performances – especially when he ventured into his trademark flamenco style – made me marvel at what must have been.

    When Manzarek was on stage you could almost see those rimless shades and the bell bottoms, the long straight hair and professorial countenance. He spoke here and there between songs, much more so than Krieger, but never too much, just wanting to share a little of what he had, of what had been, trying to bring us back with him just for a moment, if only because he might just be able to do so. His music did that for him, more than well enough.

    He talked of the infamous recording of “When The Music’s Over”, when Morrison delivered masterfully on the first take after walking in hours late and not in the best of conditions. He joked about how he met Krieger and Densmore when they were all into Transcendental Meditation.

    And now Manzarek has moved on. His legacy is cemented, if based on nothing more than the storm of tributes that came riding on the tail of his passing. I’m pleased that he gave us what he did; glad to have experienced what I could. I’ll always remember that day it was raining inside.

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