The Storm We Rode | A Boomer’s Reflection on Morrison’s Legacy

by William Aura

We were children of the gathering storm. Born into the post-war boom but raised under the shadow of Vietnam, assassinations, and a world unraveling at the seams. And then - there was ‘The Doors.’ Jim Morrison didn’t just sing - he ‘incanted.’ His words, drenched in shamanistic mystique became the sacred text of our rebellion. Now, decades later, as the Playing For Change remake of “Riders on the Storm” rises like a shadow from the desert, I realize something. Legacy isn’t just what’s left behind. It’s what keeps speaking.

We were the pioneers of consciousness, the first generation to explore LSD - not as escapism but as a search for deeper meaning in a world that made no sense. Morrison - our self-appointed shaman - gave voice to that journey. His lyrics weren’t just poetry - they were incantations, weaving together Native American mysticism and Nietzsche’s embrace of chaos as a creative force.

It wasn’t just about tearing things down – for many of us, it made space for new ideas to grow. Morrison channeled that energy into The Doors’ music, turning turmoil into a kind of liberation, a refusal to accept the static order of the times. It was a soundtrack for upheaval, and today, in another era of collapsing norms, that same fire burns - not as darkness, but as a call to reinvent. 

“The shaman is the wounded healer,” he wrote in his UCLA thesis. And weren’t we all wounded? The draft notices. The napalm footage. The riots. But Morrison gave us a language for the pain: "Into this world we’re thrown." (No explanation, just survival.) Yes, there were drugs. Yes, it was messy. But in that mess, we felt awake for the first time.

Jim Morrison never lived to see his thirties, but his fascination with Native American shamans indicates he knew his role. The Heyoka, the shape-shifters, the ones who danced with chaos - they were his kindred spirits. He wasn’t an activist, not in the traditional sense. Instead, he channeled something older, reflecting Indigenous resistance through music and myth. Now, the PFC remake of “Riders On The Storm” closes the circle. By weaving Lakota voices and the medicine drum, one could say the shaman’s journey is complete.

Hearing Morrison’s voice resurrected in Mark Johnson’s remake is like catching lightning in a bottle twice. Robbie Krieger's guitar wraps around the melody like a wise elder sharing stories by the fire, while John Densmore's drums dance with that signature jazz inflection - that sublime, time-bending swing that made The Doors' sound so revolutionary. The Lakota singers' mournful defiance beneath it all feels like history refusing to fade.

For us boomers, it’s a wake-up call. Back in the day, we were riders in a storm of our own making - naive, reckless, desperate to ‘feel.’ And now, the storm’s still here - climate collapse, inequity, cultural erasure. Yet the song reminds us that we’re still here too. Morrison’s legacy isn’t nostalgia. It’s proof that the best art outlives its creators to guide new generations.

Mark Johnson didn’t just remix a song. He reanimated a spirit. And what a privilege to witness it. To be the bridge between the youth who first heard ‘Riders’ crackling through AM radios and the kids who’ll discover it today as a map for their own rebellion.

We boomers? We’re the elders now. But this glorious, reimagined triumph proves we’re not done yet.

Playing For Change builds bridges - one song, one connection at a time. If this story resonates, don’t let it end with you. Become a member. Keep the music alive for the next generation searching for their voice.