If one compares Door, Door to later albums made by these
soon-to-be-infamous Aussies (albums released under the Birthday Party moniker)
it sounds fairly tame and relatively straightforward. But that's not to say
there's anything wrong with it. In fact, it's a frantic, edgy, and surprisingly
catchy piece of post-punk mayhem; just don't expect anything as original or
downright disturbing as "Big-Jesus-Trash-Can" or "Zoo-Music
Girl." The album starts out in high gear with "The
Nightwatchman," replete with ringing guitar figures, a boppy punk-pop
chorus (yes, those are "ooh-ooh-ooh-oohs" you're hearing), and dirty
sax lines. Sax pops up on "Brave Exhibitions" as well, providing a
meaty partner to the lead guitar on circular, descending scales that bring some
weirdness to a straight-up rocker. Things begin to get slightly more strange
and troubled as the record plays on: "The Voice" and "Somebody's
Watching" are filled with a paranoid mania and creepy, memorable musical
phrases that make them two of Door, Door's highlights. (The lead guitar parts
in the latter song make it seem as if Rowland Howard spent time listening to
Television at the wrong speed.) And "Roman Roman" is a frenzied
schoolyard chant that hints at some of the anarchic pandemonium the group could
create on-stage. It's impressive how, even at this early stage, Nick Cave was a
confident and unique singer, perfectly aware of the strengths and limitations
of his voice; although he's not much for range, he knows how to come across in
a scary and theatrical manner that perfectly complements the music. Nowhere is
this more apparent than on the band's closing, mournful ballad, "Shivers,"
an unashamedly melodramatic example of post-adolescent anguish.
