Thoughts On The Dead

Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To

Tag: bill kreutzmann (page 1 of 86)

Kreutzmenn

“Justy, I know you’re my son, but–”

“We’re not doing foot stuff, Pop.”

“–let’s do foot stuff. Why not?”

“It’s wrong.”

“Naaaaah. You ever hear about Abraham and Isaac from the Hotel Book?”

“The Bible. That book is called the Bible.”

“They did tons of toe-play. Nobody thought less of them.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’ve stayed in a lot of hotels, Justy.”

“I’m here to talk about drums, Pop.”

“Shit, you wanna talk drums, you should call up your Uncle Mickey. He won’t shut the fuck up about ’em. I keep telling him to get a hobby, but he just pretends his hearing aids aren’t working. Deaf as a coffee table that had the mumps as a kid.”

“I already talked to Uncle Mickey.”

“He tell you about the time he fucked half the UCLA ladies’ volleyball team? He had to climb most of those chicks.”

“Pop.”

“Eventually, he got tired and just started rubbing against their knees.”

“Pop.”

“Benjy, you went bald quick.”

“Not Benjy, Pop.”

“Am I getting paid for this?”

Why Even Bother Having A Dress Code?

Hey, Billy.

“Ass! Good timing! I was just about to take it out.”

Really?

“Well, honestly: I’m always just about to take it out. Little Billy’s on call 24/7. Like a doctor, but not Jewish now.”

Inappropriate.

“You’re right. Doctors are mostly Chinese now. You’ll never guess what my urologist’s name is.”

Dr. Wang?

“You guessed! Oh, man, I laugh my ass off every time.”

Sure. This is for Justin’s documentary, Let There Be Drums, right?

“Maybe. Could be. I got no idea. Justy showed up and told me I couldn’t see my grandkids unless I talked about Buddy Rich for a while.”

I believe you.

…Is A Vote For Nature In The Streets

“Thoughts on my Ass!”

Hey, Billy. Are you holding a pickle?

“Nah. Optical illusion. I stuck a half-sour up my ass once, though.”

Why?

“The thing about touring is that most of the country sucks. You ever been to Norman, Oklahoma?”

No.

“Best restaurant in town is a dead goat on the side of the highway. That’s the only entertainment, too. So, I shoved a pickle in my butthole. The brine makes for a very strange sensation. I’m convinced there’s phantom taste buds down there.”

There aren’t.

“Then why did I want a corned beef sandwich?”

I have no idea.

“Course, you can’t get any decent Jew food in Oklahoma. I called down to room service for some kascha varnishkes and they threw Mickey out of the hotel.”

Sounds right.

“And don’t order the tacos, either.”

Why not?

“They just give you a steak while singing La Cucaracha at you. Shit, even I thought that was racist, and I was wearing blackface at the time.”

Wow. Can we talk about voting?

“Shit, yeah. Love voting. Doing all my research right now.”

What are your views on the candidates?

“I’m beginning to think this Trump guy is bad news.”

Perceptive.

“Most likely not going for him again.”

Sure.

“Biden’s all right. I kinda see myself in him.”

How so?

“He’s an old, confused man that’s been coasting on his reputation for a few decades now.”

Sure.

“And I like the chick.”

Woman. And there are several in the race.

“Who’s the crazy one?”

Tulsi Gabbard.

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure she’d launch the nukes before she was halfway through taking the oath. I’d still bang her, but I can’t support her. What’s the other one’s name? I wanna say Lady Branford.”

Kamala Harris. And that is WILDLY offensive.

“I’d claim her like King Leopold.”

Jesus, man.

“And y’know what? I’d even toss Frowny Saltpeter a quick one.”

Her name is Elizabeth Warren.

“She’s an Indian, right? What’s her name, Softens Boners?”

Let’s move on. What about the men in the race.

“I’m not banging any of them, not even the two that enjoy that shit.”

This was a great chat.

“We push boundaries.”

Sure.

I’m Ready For My Close-Up Now, Mr. Kreutzmann

“Hey! Thoughts on my Ass!”

Hey, Billy.

“Camera’s set up! Get over here and take off my clothes.”

Wha?

“We’re shooting a porn, aren’t we? What’s the title, Grateful Head?”

We are in no way shooting a–

Dark Starfish?”

–porno movie.

Mississippi Hand-Job Yankmyshmoo?

I don’t even know what that means. No porn. That’s your son behind the camera.

“Which one? Linoleum?”

You don’t have a son named Linoleum.

“Fartin’ Ted?”

Nor do you have a–

“Philsucks?”

–son named…are we just gonna do the same joke over and over?

“I’m in that kinda mood, to be honest.”

Stuck in a rut?

“Oh, yeah. I stick it in, and then I rut.”

I walked into that one. This interview is for Justin’s documentary about drummers. Aren’t you proud of him?

“Proud enough. Kid’s not a complete letdown, but he’s not living up to his potential. I didn’t want him to be a director.”

What did you want him to do?

“Bullfighter.”

Weird.

“We lived on a farm when he was a boy. I would sneak into his room at night and chuck goats at him.”

For God’s sake, why?

“Well, you don’t start off with a bull in bullfighting. Gotta work up to it. First, you fight reptiles and maybe an owl. Not one of those big fuckers, though. Little owl.”

This doesn’t sound right.

“Boy was gonna be a toreador. Y’know how much money I spent on tights and those fruity slippers?”

Since when were you a fan of bullfighting?

“Ah, I was really into Hemingway at the time.”

I didn’t know you enjoyed Ernest Hemingway.

“Not Ernest. Mariel. I was cranking two or three out a day to that chick, man. Tits and a pedigree? The Bill was tolling damn hard.”

Always good catching up.

Solo Of A Thin Man

Hey, slim.

“Why, thank you for noticing.”

Really?

“No, man. Don’t comment on other men’s bodies. It’s suspicious.”

What are the chairs for?

“Marina Abramovic is coming by in a bit. We’re gonna stare at each other.”

Cool.

“Art for art’s sake, man.”

In Which Novelty Rears Its Head

Phil? Fat.

Garcia? Skinny.

Cowboy? Fancy.

Must be 1979. Go listen to 12/5 from the Uptown Theatre in Chicago, the third show of a run recently showcased in the Dave’s Picks series. The He’s Gone is dreamy, y’all. D-R-Eamy. Someone call the nurse, cuz Dr. Eamy is scrubbin’ in.

Are you going to be obsessed with “Dr. Eamy” now?

Yes, I am.

Saturday In The Park, I Think It Wasn’t The Fourth Of July

40% casualty rate is good, right?

OR

Billy found his drum kit in a Cracker Jack box.

OR

Why are they set up like a normal band? Pig should be on a different truck ten yards away, or Phil should be in the driver’s seat. This is, like, how you’re supposed to do it.

OR

Phil still weighs exactly the same, and still has the same amount of hair.

OR

Young Garcia = Chubby Slash.

OR

That fucker was at every single rockyroll show in the 60’s. The shirtless dude with no body fat doing his freaky-deaky arm-wavey dance? He was at every show.

OR

Obviously, Pig is not playing the gargantuan Hammond B3 organ that was his usual instrument; that is a far more portable (and affordable) Vox Continental, and it is unbelievably cool.

See? Sounds good, too:

Hear?

 

Eye Of Horus, Forgotten Chorus

“Hey, Billy?”

“What, Mick?”

“You and me are Bass Drum Buddies.”

“Yuh-huh. That’s right, pal.”

“Billy?”

“Whaaaat?”

“And we’re Mustache Muchachos.”

“We both got mustaches, yeah.”

“Bill?”

“WHAAAAAAAAT!?”

“I love drumming with you.”

“It’s a treat, man.”

Plays Central Park About A Quarter To Nine

The rarest (and scariest) Billy of them all: Shirtless Billy.

OR

“Are we all playing red guitars, man? It’s gonna look like we planned it.”

“Ah, the dummies out there will hardly notice.”

“I’ve, uh, also got my shirt off.”

OR

The scariest (and rarest) of all possible Mickeys: Mustache Mickey.

OR

Picture courtesy of the great Jesse Jarnow, who wrote about this show (6/22/69) in his outstanding book Heads: A Biography of Psychedelic America, which you should buy and read. You can also listen to the afternoon’s offering via a two song SBD (which is crappy) or a full-ish show AUD (which is also crappy).

OR

Ramrod’s Little Orphan Annie afro is always so easy to pick out in a group shot.

OR

This is the Naumburg Bandshell in Central Park. Martin Luther King once gave a speech there, but did not play Dark Star. WINNER: Grateful Dead.

Someday, Your Name Is Gonna Be In (Bush League) Lights

Precarious?

“Yo.”

You know what I’m gonna ask, right?

“They’re Christmas lights.”

Thought so. Jesus, that looks terrible.

“You should’ve seen the first version.”

Was it spelled wrong?

“Yup.”

Hell of an organization you guys had.

“Yup.”

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