Doors keyboard shepherd Ray Manzarek assured us that it was all about the music, but no. It was also about saving the planet; about real live feathered-up dancing Indians; about video projections of war dead and Nixon and trip-o-delic oil squoogles. The effect was like a preview of the next Disney theme attraction — Hippieland, a place you like to revisit but don't want to live. Singer Ian Astbury: "Are we goin' to war??!!" Audience, squirming: "Uh . . . no?"  Moreover, it was about frequent thanks to some guy named Jim Morrison. (The promoter?)  And it was about ignoring the anti-tour lawsuit by John Densmore, the Door Who Wasn't There.

The music was pretty good anyway. Manzarek tinkled prettily on "Riders on the Storm" and wonked wretchedly on "When the Music's Over," his hideous "scream of the butterfly" effects scraping lowest asphalt. Touring bassist Angelo Barbera was the solidest thing onstage. Drummer Ty Dennis, substituting for the broken-armed Stewart Copeland substituting for Densmore, contributed to a stiff, undynamic overall feel — not his fault, since the Doors' weird brand of Spanish blues requires marination.  Astbury, disguised in leather, wig and shades, tried out a whole range of visual impressions, from his Steve McGarrett Undercover (A+) to his Val Kilmer (C-), while baying serviceably though not sensitively.  Bandleader imitations were offered by Astbury ("The music lives!"), Mr. Interlocutor Manzarek ("Turn off the fuckin' head, feel the music!") and even MC Jim Ladd ("The ceremony is about to begin!"), but something or other seemed missing . . .

It wasn't Robbie Krieger, who was on fire. Much improved from olden days, he's perfected a rocking, blasting guitar tone that he pushed to the brink of spin-out, injecting spirit into the night's best moments: a heavy "Wild Child," a blue-mean "Maggie McGill," a jazz/rock/reggae "Light My Fire" interpolating the Wailers' "Get Up, Stand Up," and a cruisin' "L.A. Woman," the one song every guy in the band obviously loved (but did we really need that horrible video with John Doe in it?). Note to Krieger's loved ones re his tiger-print shirt and camouflage cargo pants: Please don't let him go out like that.

The audience — from old fans like this reviewer to curious plutocrats squiring the kind of fake racks you'd ogle at a Crue concert — wanted badly to lose itself and mostly succeeded, pouring over the security and onto the boards to dance along with the closing "Soul Kitchen." Learn to forget.