Certainly, Manzarek had a point about living on the edge. Morrison was out there. The Lizard King, as he became known, liked William Blake, alcohol, Elvis Presley, Alfred Hitchcock, LSD, alcohol, women and alcohol. He made leather pants the essential trouser for would-be rock gods ever after and got into trouble once for removing his willie from said pants during a Doors performance.

Sadly, the Doors never reached their full potential. Morrison, on a mission of self-destruction favoured by many a creative genius before him, got too close to the precipice. In 1971, just five years and six albums into their reign, the singer's longstanding romance with the bottle ended in tragedy.

On bail and appealing a jail sentence over the willie imbroglio in Florida, Morrison moved to Paris, where he became ensconced in writing and booze. Three months later he died, in his bath, of heart failure. Like Jimi Hendrix and Janis Joplin, two other rock casualties of the era, Morrison was dead at 27. The Doors carried on for a couple of years, but without the charisma of Morrison at their helm, the magic was gone.

Wind on 34 years and the story of the Doors, which has had precious few developments for most of that time, has a new twist. In fact it has several twists, all of which have returned the group, or at least what is left of it, to the media spotlight. Amid the new-found and rekindled glory, some grubby developments have been caught in the glare.

First, there is the new incarnation of the band, which is called – for reasons that we'll get to shortly – the Doors of the 21st Century. This line-up, which includes Manzarek and original guitarist Robbie Krieger, has Ian Astbury, former singer with English goth-rock outfit the Cult, out in front. He plays the role, by recent reports, with just the right amount of respect for his predecessor and for his own abilities as an entertainer. This version of the band (with Ty Dennis on drums and bassist Angelo Barbera) opens its first Australian tour in Perth on February 19.

Running alongside this dramatic return to the stage, which began in the US a couple of years ago, is a soap opera being played out in the courts, centred on who has rights to exploit the band name the Doors (hence "of the 21st Century") and on who can profit financially from any enterprise using the term "The Doors".

On one side of this typically American scenario are Manzarek and Krieger, who claim that they are only doing what comes naturally – and, anyway, why shouldn't they exploit the band with which they became famous all those years ago? On the other side we have John Densmore, the band's original drummer, who slapped a lawsuit on his former colleagues in February 2003 claiming breach of contract, trademark infringement and unfair competition over their decision to re-form using Astbury. Densmore went so far as to suggest they call themselves the Hinges or the Windows rather than the Doors.

Two months later he was joined in legal proceedings by the executors of Morrison's estate, namely his parents, George and Clara Morrison and the parents of his partner Pamela Courson (who died in 1974). The two families share a 25 per cent stake in the Doors and claim that the other surviving members – excluding Densmore – have "maliciously misappropriated" the name and logo of the Doors and are using Morrison's poetry and photos without permission.

Adding to Manzarek and Krieger's 21st-century woes, ex-Police drummer Stewart Copeland also sued them, claiming damages after he was employed – but subsequently ditched – as Densmore's replacement. The matter was resolved amicably in June 2003.

As we went to press, a ruling on the remaining lawsuits was imminent. "Then we will find out what we can do and can't do according to the strange contracts that were signed by a bunch of kids [more than] 30 years ago," says Manzarek.

* * *

GIVEN the grief that has ensued since the Doors of the 21st Century got under way, Manzarek, 65, could be forgiven for calling it a day and retreating to his other post-Morrison pursuits of performing with beat poet Michael McClure, writing novels and making movies. But his hackles are raised high over the legal drama that has tainted the group's resurrection and he is sharp-tongued in his criticism of all opposing parties in the lawsuits.

"Who knew that John Densmore was going to go crazy?" is one of his many passionate – if unfounded – views on the matter. Densmore had agreed originally to be part of the new set-up but withdrew after suffering from tinnitus. Now mere mention of the drummer's name sends Manzarek off on a self-constructed, if hardly constructive, dialogue.

"Come and play with us, we told John.

"'I'm not playing.'

"Well, let us play then.

"'Oh no, you can't play unless you pay me.'

"But we'll pay you if you come and play.

"'I'm not gonna play.'

"The least important member of the band is suing," says Manzarek, exasperated. Clearly Densmore has not lived on the edge for all of us in Manzarek's eyes.

"Rock'n'rollers don't always see eye to eye. There's always someone in the band who will lose [it] and sue you. Pink Floyd had a law suit. The Beach Boys had lawsuits. Even Grand Funk Railroad had a lawsuit."

Nor is he particularly benevolent towards Mr and Mrs Morrison. "'You're using the name the Doors?"' he says, mimicking them. "'You gotta pay us.'

"But Jim's not here. You're nobody. You are old fools," he replies. "They are just going along for the ride. They're hoping they can get a taste. They want a taste of the live gigs."

This fractured state of the Doors is in sharp contrast to the close relationship formed by Manzarek and Morrison 40 years ago when, as artistic emigres from Chicago and Florida respectively, they united in hedonistic fashion as film students at the University of California in Los Angeles.

"We were both going to be film-makers until we got distracted by rock'n'roll," says Manzarek. A shared interest in film, music and drugs forged a strong bond between them and with the recruitment of Krieger and Densmore, the Doors – named after a line from a Blake poem: "if the doors of perception were cleansed it would appear to man as it is, infinite" – were born.

Their eponymous first album in 1967 spawned their first hit, the much-covered Krieger song Light My Fire, and over the next four years a succession of hits and exceptional live performances made them one of the most talked-about acts of their generation.

What made them different came from the unlikely combination of influences and the fact that, unlike every rock band in the world, they didn't have a bass player.

"You have a guy on keyboards who plays blues, jazz and studied classical," says Manzarek of himself. "Then you have a guitar player who plays with his fingers and is a flamenco and blues slide guitar player and a jazz drummer and a French symbolist poet influenced by gothic literature . . . and they write these songs that are, quite frankly, complex, with a whole Latin foundation because they are in California. You mix all of those elements together and it's a real southern Californian kind of mixture. That's what makes it unique. Then you have the influence of hallucinogenic LSD. There you have the Doors."

The band's music hasn't had the same impact through the decades as, say, the Beatles or the Rolling Stones. It's easy to spot Fabs' references in countless groups over the past 30 years but, while many singers have taken a leaf out of Morrison's book and wardrobe (Michael Hutchence for one), few are the bands whose music could be said to derive directly from the Doors' catalogue.

Their Californian literary, psychedelic rock and pop songs – Break on Through (to the Other Side), Light My Fire, LA Woman, Riders on the Storm – were a world apart from the heavy blues-influenced rock and electric folk blossoming around them in the late '60s. Perhaps for that reason the songs have endured. It is easy to see why their renaissance so far has proved popular. They have played stadiums in the US and performed before a crowd of 35,000 at a gig in Argentina last year.

Their re-formation has been helped also by the repeated tellings of the Doors story over the past 30 years. Manzarek did it in his 1998 book Light My Fire: My Life with the Doors. Densmore gave his account in Riders on the Storm. The group's long-time fan, gofer and eventual manager Danny Sugarman, who died last month, also wrote a successful chronicle with Jerry Hopkins, No One Gets Out of Here Alive (1975), which helped preserve the sex, drugs and rock'n'roll mythology. Oliver Stone's 1991 film The Doors followed a similar path and included an uncanny portrayal of Morrison by Val Kilmer.

Morrison's iconic status is undiminished and it doesn't hurt that, like Kilmer, Astbury bears a striking resemblance to the singer he has replaced.

* * *

SO, lawsuits or not, Manzarek is confident the Doors of the 21st Century have a future. To that end the band will retreat to an LA recording studio following their Australian tour, when an album of new material will be put down for release later this year. This will include music by Krieger and Manzarek, with lyrics commissioned from such luminaries as Jim (The Basketball Diaries) Carroll, McClure, Astbury and singer-songwriter Warren Zevon, who died last year.

Manzarek is keen to keep the band on a part-time footing, however. "We're not doing 60-city tours or anything. We're doing five, six, seven gigs and then going home, which is great. Who would have said the Doors would ever play again?"

And is the group's legacy one that has relevance to today's rock fans and musicians?

"If young bands don't know who the Doors are then . . . what can I say . . . shame on them. I suppose they don't read books either. Do they know who Tennessee Williams is? Go to the library and get it. Listen to some Little Richard."

And no matter the outcome in the courts, the doors of perception will remain open. The legacy of Morrison, Manzarek, Krieger and Densmore will be maintained.

"We just have to go through it, and when it's over it's over," concludes Manzarek.