Song Swarm: Light My Fire
The story goes that Jim Morrison hated Light My Fire, The Doors’ great breakthrough hit. Recorded in August 1966, it was released in January 1967, at the dawn of the so-called Summer of Love. If it was true that Morrison disliked it, I’d sort of concur with his judgment. In fact, he didn’t hate the song, but resented that he had only a small part in writing his band’s signature hit (most of it was written by guitarist Robby Krieger).
I don’t like The Doors much, and have more respect than affection for their version of Light My Fire. No, let me rephrase it. I dislike Jim Morrison and hate his mannered vocals on the song (as opposed to Ray Manzarek’s magnificent keyboard line). It is a great song that has been covered hundreds of times, usually to good effect. It is the mark of a fine song when it is difficult to fuck it up. And when a song is interpreted in so many different ways as Light My Fire is here, it incontrovertibly is a truly great song. I predict that the reader who will listen to all versions offered here in one go won’t get bored with it.
Of the 38 versions collated here, only one is gratingly bad: that by Train, which appeared, of all things, on a Doors tribute album (I have refrained from throwing Will Young’s chart-topping karaoke effort into the mix). I include Train’s version for the sake of curiosity, but the most curious interpretation here is that of Mae West, by then 79 years old. Clearly aiming for the gerontophile market, Mae purrs and pouts and outsexes Jim Morrision himself. The backing track, apparently by an outfit called The Hot Rockers, is quite good. I know nothing more about them, alas.
Some versions here take The Doors’ original as their template; more follow the path created by José Felicianio’s superior cover. The best of these, Minnie Riperton’s posthumously released take, sees Feliciano guesting (he turns up again later on a DVD rip of a Ricky Martin concert, when the somg morphs into Santana’s Oye Como Va)
Feliciano provided the blueprint for the pop and jazz vocalists, with Julie London’s flutey take and Shirley Bassey’s interpretation (which sounds much like a Bond theme) especially good. An early adopter was soul/jazz singer Spanky Wilson. I suspect that her version was as influential as Feliciano’s in attracting the many soul covers. Jackie Wilson, Clarence Carter, Rhetta Hughes (inspiring), Watts 103rd Street Rhythm Band (surprisingly understated), Erma Franklin, Stevie Wonder (gloriously overproduced) and the Four Tops (“sizzle, sizzle, sizzle me, baby”) all recorded their covers in 1969; Al Green and Isaac Hayes did so in 1971 and ’73. A few years later Carol Douglas and Amii Stewart issued disco versions. So did Baccara, whom I hold close to my heart, but not for their horrible 1978 version which I decline to inflict upon the kind reader.
Light My Fire has lent itself to instrumental coverage. Some of it is quite excellent (Young Holt Unlimited; Booker T. and the MG’s slower interpretation; Ananda Shankar’s Indian take), some veer into easy listening territory (Edmundo Ros’ cha cha cha flavoured version; Helmut Zacharias’ bizarre violin-dominated James Last-goes-psychedelic job). The Ebony Rhythm Band in 2004 recorded a quite splendid psychedelic retro soul version. And then there is English violinist Nigel Kennedy giving it a classical twist, with the arranging help of former Killing Joke frontman Jaz Coleman.
Bringing the threads of these different versions together is Mike Flower Pops, the outfit that specialised in recreating the sounds of the 1960s, having been invented for that purpose by restyling Oasis’ Wonderwall, scratchy vinyl and all, as a gag on allegations of the Mancunians’ alleged plagiariasm.
It is fitting, I think, that the mix should end with two recent songs from the Latin genre – Tahta Menezes’ bossa nova take and Uruguayan singer/actress Natalia Oreiro’s moody rendition – signalling that Light My Fire is indeed Feliciano’s song. Can you spot whose version is missing?
The first Song Swarm covered By The Time I Get To Phoenix. Interestingly, five of the 23 performers on that mix return here: Erma Franklin, the Four Tops, Johnny Mathis, Isaac Hayes and, of course, José Feliciano.
TRACKLISTING
1. José Feliciano – Light My Fire
2. Spanky Wilson – Light My Fire
3. Johnny Mathis – Light My Fire
4. BJ Thomas – Light My Fire
5. Julie Driscoll, Brian Auger & The Trinity – Light My Fire
6. Julie London – Light My Fire
7. Jackie Wilson – Light My Fire
8. Clarence Carter – Light My Fire
9. Rhetta Hughes – Light My Fire
10. The Watts 103rd Street Rhythm Band – Light My Fire
11. Erma Franklin – Light My Fire
12. Booker T. and the MG’s – Light My Fire
13. Young Holt Unlimited – Light My Fire
14. Nancy Sinatra – Light My Fire
15. Astrud Gilberto – Light My Fire
16. Stevie Wonder – Light My Fire
17. The Four Tops – Light My Fire
18. Edmundo Ros – Light My Fire
19. Ananda Shankar – Light My Fire
20. Shirley Bassey – Light My Fire
21. Larry Page Orchestra – Light My Fire
22. Al Green - Light My Fire
23. Free Design – Light My Fire
24. Helmut Zacharias – Light My Fire
25. Mae West – Light My Fire
26. Isaac Hayes – Light My Fire
27. Carol Douglas – Light My Fire
28. Amii Stewart – Light My Fire
29. Minnie Riperton feat José Feliciano – Light My Fire
30. Massive Attack – Light My Fire
31. Mike Flowers Pops – Light My Fire
32. Ricky Martin with José Feliciano & Carlos Santana – Light My Fire/Oye Como Va
33. Nigel Kennedy & Jaz Coleman – Light My Fire
34. Train - Light My Fire
35. Cibo Matto – Light My Fire
36. Ebony Rhythm Band – Light My Fire
37. Tahta Menezes - Light My Fire
38. Natalia Oreiro – Light My Fire
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James Dean has a lot to answer for. The American youth of the late 1950s and early 1960s was decimated by unnecessary motor accidents, at least in song. Among the most maudlin of the many teen death records was Tell Laura I Love Her, which was so popular that it was recorded by several artists. Ray Peterson’s 1959 hit version is probably the best known.
In Act 2, the delightfully named Skeeter Davis plays the part of Laura (as did Marilyn Michaels, Laura Lee, and someone called Pitersen Ray). She cuts straight to the chase in catching up with Ray’s mawkishness: “Tommy my sweetheart has gone now. He’s up in the heaven somewhere, so little star high above, if you see Tommy tell him all my love.” As we valiantly choke back the puke, Skeeter/Laura recounts the story of Tommy’s death, turning it into as much of a cautionary tale as a lovelorn lament: “Why did he do such a reckless thing?” Hear that, kids? DON’T RACE STOCK-CARS!!! Still, she implores the little star high above (eurgh!) to “tell Tommy I love him, tell Tommy I miss him, tell him though I may cry, my love for him will never die”.
This song will turn up again on this blog. In this context, we concern ourselves with McGuire’s righteous anger about the “exploding” “eastern world” and civil rights and, well, everything. It’s 1965, and Barry’s “blood’s so mad, feels like coagulating” because people who are too young to vote are old enough to kill, and the war-mongers don’t want to believe that we’re “on the eve of destruction”. Four decades later, so little has changed that Nobel Peace Prizes are awarded to a US president for saying peaceful things while increasing troop deployments to Afghanistan (bit of political comment always goes down well here).
McGuire implicitly invited those who didn’t share his view that we’re on the eve of destruction to justify their view. The modestly named Spokesmen, who included David White of Danny & the Juniors, take the time to offer a fairly reasonable if unrefined response with their furiously punning title. Rush Limbaugh’s antecedents they are not, nor are they redneck racists (they do welcome racial integration and even dig the Peace Corps). But they do hate the Reds who presumably must be contained by the simultaneous means of napalm bombing civilians and nuclear deterrence. “So over and over again, you keep sayin’ it’s the end. But I say you’re wrong, we’re just on the dawn of correction.”
Musically similar to Hayes’ classic, but a damn sight funkier. Hell, let’s face it, the son eats the sex machine to all the chicks for his funky breakfast. The son of John Shaft had a tough time of it, “thrown in the street; problems of a man at the age of three”. Now Shaft Sr is dead, and Junior will be just as bad a mutha as Daddy. “I love by the clock and live by the gun. If you met my father, soon you’ll meet his son.” Can ya dig it?
Women have I Will Survive to articulate for them how all men are bastards. Nottingham’s Mr Sex of the brilliant 
One of the most foul stories of songwriting theft must be the story of Mbube (the song known more widely as The Lion Sleeps Tonight or Wimoweh), with even the venerable Pete Seeger involved in the deceit; though he comes out of it a lot better than others.
The Tokens’ version took even greater liberties. But this time nobody could claim ignorance because Miriam Makeba, who grew up with the song, released it in the US in 1960, a year before The Tokens’ version was created, as Mbube, or The Lion (mbube means lion). It is fair to say that George David Weiss, who rearranged the song for The Tokens, at their request, should not be denied his songwriter credit (that would be the same Weiss who co-wrote 
In Volume 19 we looked at Joe South’s original of Rose Garden. South enjoyed chart success himself with Games People Play, and wrote a couple of hits for Billy Joe Royal, including Royal’s signature hit Down In The Boondocks (1965, originally intended for Gene Pitney) and Hush (1967). Royal — it is his real name — had a country background, though one influenced by the soul stylings of Sam Cooke and Ray Charles. He performed with the country singer likes of Jerry Reed and George Stevens, but aimed for a pop audience. For a while he succeeded, but when his pop star waned, he successfully crossed back into traditional country. His final pop charts entry, a 1978 version of Under The Boardwalk which peaked at #82, was followed in 1985 by his first country charts entry (Burned Like A Rocket, #10).
Whatever mind-altering substance it was that possessed the record buying public to turn Tiny Tim’s bizarre rendition of Tip-Toe Through The Tulips into an international hit, I want some. Usually a baritone, Tiny Tim sang the old standard in a bizarre falsetto which he had “discovered” by accident when singing along to a song on the radio as a young man in the early ’50s. Somehow he built up a loyal cult following with that falsetto shtick, ultimately leading to his novelty hit (possibly aided by his cryranoesque physiognomy) following its performance on the comedy variety show Rowan and Martin’s Laugh-In.
But Tiny Tim, known to his mother as Herbert Khaury, was more than a bit of a court jester. In his real life, which ended in 1996 at the age of 64, he was a serious student of American music history. He didn’t do Tip-Toe as a parody but as a tribute to the song’s original performer, Nick Lucas. Indeed, Lucas sang it at Khoury’s 1969 wedding to one Miss Vicky on Johnny Carson’s Tonight Show (
Johnny Rivers is mostly remembered as the ’60s exponent of rather good rock & roll covers, especially on his Live At The Whiskey A Go Go LP. He was also the owner of the record label which released the music of The 5th Dimension. In that capacity, Rivers gave the budding songwriter Jimmy Webb his first big break, having The 5th Dimension record Webb’s song Up, Up And Away and thereby giving Webb (and the group and the label) a first big hit in 1967. By The Time I Get To Phoenix is another Webb composition, and this one Rivers recorded himself first for his Changes album in 1966 (when Webb was only 19!).
Another seasoned session musician took Phoenix into a completely different direction (if you will pardon the unintended pun). Isaac Hayes had heard the song, and decided to perform it as the Bar-Keys’ guest performer at Memphis’ Tiki Club, a soul venue. He started with a spontaneous spoken prologue, explaining in some detail why this man is on his unlikely journey. At first the patrons weren’t sure what Hayes was doing rapping over a repetitive chord loop. After a while, according to Hayes, they started to listen. At the end of the song, he said, there was not a dry eye in the house (“I’m gonna moan now…”). As it appeared on Ike’s 1968 Hot Buttered Soul album, the thing went on for 18 glorious minutes.
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