The Music Will Always Play
by Cris Janoff

How blessed we are to have seen the band in all of its glory
and to have been part of such a magical story
Songs full of beauty and grace
Spectacular suns shining in inner space.
Golden notes so wise and pure
The key to open heaven's door.
Now the band has packed up and flown away
But in our hearts the music will always play.

Jim Morrison Is Back
by David Mark Dannov

A couple friends and I
went to that book fair at U.C.L.A.
to see Ray Manzarek from The Doors
speak about the band and his book and such.
It was held in some music classroom
and Ray played the piano on stage
and that was all in good fun, of course.
But then the questions started.
"Yes," he said, calling on this one woman.
"What bands are you into NOW, Ray?"
"Well," he said, obviously pretty disgusted
with the talents of music nowadays. "I don't know. I like
Moby. Things like that."

Moby, I thought-oh brother. What a copout.

I mean, granted, most bands in this age are about as good as a polka-dotted trashcan. But if you look deeper, beyond the big screen of radio and media, you'd definitely be surprised on what's out there.

That's why it pissed me off that Ray couldn't come up with somethin' better; somethin' worth spreadin' for the bleeding ears. He could've mentioned bands like The New Deal, Deep Bannana Black Out, String Cheese Incident, Disco Bisquits or even Medesky, Martin and Wood.

"Jesus, Ray!" I wanted to tell him. "What have you been doin' all this time? Lookin' up the crack of M.T.V's ass?"

And to top all that, he started baggin' on the movie The Doors by Oliver Stone.

Ray, I thought-that movie was what got me INTO the band.

And it was true. Hell, I dropped acid for the first time while watchin' that beautiful film. Okay, maybe some of the details were distorted. But really, it was no reason to kick it in its gut like that.

Well, anyway, after about an hour so, Ray was finally finished and people started filin' out of the classroom.

My friends and I, (Quint and his wife Keeva)
stood outside the doorway, waiting for the man to walk out.
We had a book of poems (Quint and I had written)
and we wanted to hand it to the original keyboardist of The Doors.
And then he came out, swarmed with an entourage of people.
"There he is," Keeva grabbed Quint's hands.
"Oh my gosh," Quint blushed,
almost turning around in awe.
"Okay, guys," I said. "Jesus. Calm down."

I grabbed the book from Quint's hand and walked right up to the guy. "Hey, Ray," I said.

He stopped in his tracks.

"Is it alright if I give this to ya'?" I held out the book.

"Sure," he said. He grabbed the book and looked at the cover. It was an orange planet in the background of space with a single white flower blossoming from it's peak. It read: Poems From A Planet Called Alive.

Ray looked up at me, smiled, then continued on down the sidewalk path with his pack of needling fans.

For some reason, that gratified me. Even if he never WOULD read the poems. It was the moment that counted. It was as if Jim Morrison himself had come back from the grave and walked up to Ray in the midst of that zombie crowd and handed him a book of poems from those psychedelic days and Ray recognized me (or at least his spirit) from the walk and the long hair and the casual sarcasm of my eyes and dammit! I guarantee you it took that guy to a planet he hadn't been to in a long god damn time.

"Is that you, Jim?" his squint seemed to say.

"Yeah, it's me," my smirk answered back. "Still the same ol' naïve bastard, huh, Ray? Get with it, man. Don't age like an overstuffed jacket. You've got work to do."

Well, alright, delusions of grandeur? Perhaps. But still, whether this was all fabricated in my head or not, I guess it doesn't really matter.

SOMETHING sacred happened that day.

All

in our fragile-

egg-shell-