Throughout this insipid mess, Astbury fails to find his own identity let alone that of Jim Morrison. Despite cribbing a few moves from Oliver Stone’s revisionist movie, he can’t decide whether to sing in his own voice or a facsimile of Morrison’s. Emitting his trademark “Yay-uh!” during “Back Door Man”, you can’t help but pine for a blast of “Li’l Devil”.

But let’s not heap all the blame on the most gloriously ludicrous man in rock; despite apeing Morrison’s looks down to the last lock of hair on his head, it’s the two ageing hippies on either side of the stage that should be vilified and pilloried for this utterly pointless event. Seemingly still stuck in the late 1960s, organist Ray Manzarek and guitarist Robby Krieger wheel out the legacy of The Doors and proceed to squeeze out anything resembling the sense of theatre that characterised them first time around by noodling as endlessly as they do remorselessly. Eagerly aided and abetted by two anonymous sessioneers on drums and bass, Manzarek and Krieger revel in the very worst musical excesses of that turbulent era and if ever there was a convincing case against the detrimental effect of drugs on music, then this is it; an elephant could gestate in the time it takes to play 'Break On Through' and 'Love Me Two Times' let alone 'LA Woman' and 'Five To One', the songs that are supposed to go on for ages. Quite what tonight is all about is anybody’s guess; with Jim Morrison long dead and gone and with absolutely nothing new on offer, The Doors 21st Century are little more than one of the more expensive tribute bands on offer. The ceremony is over and The Doors are firmly closed. Let’s leave it at that.