Few bands master the long-form jam quite like The Doors did. Whenever "LA Woman" comes on the car radio it absolutely makes my drive. It builds slowly, perfectly, never losing steam or getting bored. "The End" on the other hand never fails to inspire nightmares--partially because I associate it with a drunken Martin Sheen blathering on about snails and straight razors in dim lighting, but still. When you get into the thick of it, it's a scary song, one that winds around and lingers in uncomfortable places. The Doors were not afraid of stretching the length limits of their genre, and they grew some great, huge songs as a result.