Thoughts On The Dead

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

Tag: bill kreutzmann (page 1 of 74)

Once You Pop

This is 6/18/67 at the Monterey Fairgrounds. I don’t know if I’ve listened to it; I will now, though. This show was the Monterey Pop Festival, legendary for its unlegendariness (at least as far as the Dead goes). The Boys were scheduled in between The Who (beginning a long inter-band relationship) and Jimi Hendrix (beginning his and Bobby’s best friendship); both acts put on high-volume shows punctuated by instrument destruction, arson, and explosives. In the face of such showmanship, the Dead countered by standing there and playing Viola Lee for 14 minutes.

They also refused to be filmed for the movie, which gives them a perfect record for avoiding being in iconic Rock Films: Monterey Pop, Woodstock, Gimme Shelter. Dead missed ’em all by thaaaat much.

Paging Chez Ray, Paging Chez Ray

Where you going?

“Getting that meatloaf sandwich.”

You’re obsessed.

“I’m hungry.”

How did Brent do?


Brent. Your new keyboard player. This is his first show.

“It is? I thought Donna called in sick.”


“How about that? I’m sure he did great. When have we ever hired the wrong keyboardist?”

40% of the time.

“Close enough for rock and roll, right?”


“Now stop bothering me. Sandwich time.”


There’s Always One More

Here you go, Enthusiasts: this is my contribution. Previously, there were three pictures of Bobby in various stages of bunnification; now there are four. (I always figure if I haven’t seen a photo, then most haven’t. If that comes across as arrogant, well: consider the topic. It’s like bragging about Magic the Gathering. And plus I didn’t even claim to be the best at it, so it’s like bragging about coming in sixth at a Magic the Gathering tournament.)

The Grateful Dead, Younger Enthusiasts, didn’t do a lot of teevee. Possibly because the first time they were booked on a show,¬†Playboy After Dark¬†in 1969, they ended up dosing the entire building. But it also makes sense: there weren’t too many televised venues for any rock music back then. There was Ed Sullivan in the 1960’s, and the Smothers Brothers for a year or two, but after that the opportunities dried up. Pop stars were all over the dial, obviously, but not rock. Johnny Carson didn’t book bands at all until much later in his run. There was Don Kirshner’s Rock Concert, and that was about it.

And then, in 1975, came Saturday Night Live. They had rock bands on, good ones and wild ones and sometimes things would go terribly wrong, which was horribly entertaining, and they had very hip taste. Tom Waits was on in 1977, and Sun Ra in ’78. The first four musical guests in ’78 were the Stones, Devo, Frank Zappa, and Van Morrison. (Zappa was actually the host, and that went precisely as well as you’d assume. It turns out that “doing sketch comedy with stoners” wasn’t in Frank’s toolbox; he and the cast hated each other by the end of the week.)

Week five was the Dead. The comedy writers Al Franken (who is now a Senator) and Tom Davis (who is now dead) were massive Deadheads and lobbied Lorne Michaels to book the band. He didn’t want to–the Dead were not very cool at the time, and certainly not Lorne Michaels’ New York-centric version of cool–but one has to believe that Al Franken can wear you down. Lorne must have liked them because he had them back the following year, and even let Billy be in a sketch.


Told you.

Contrary to Frank’s Zappa’s surliness, the Dead are affable fellows (and Mrs. Donna Jean) and made friends with the cast; Belushi and Ackroyd would do their Blues Brothers routine at Winterland with the band the night they closed the place down.

Phil may or may not have gone to town on Lorraine Newman.

Dog, Bone

Well, hello there! What’s your name? What is it?

“It’s Billy, jackass.”

Not you. The dog.

“That’s Killer. I didn’t fix him, so watch out: he might fuck ya.”

Like father, like son.

“He pounds dog ass, man. You should see him. I get inspired.”


“Sometimes, I hook up bitches for both of us. Get a tandem-fuck going. Weird, though.”


“I do it doggy-style a lot, but Killer never does it Billy-style.”

Probably just being passive-aggressive.

“The breed is known for that He’s a Shanghai Appetizer.”

That is not a dog breed, but it is racist. I see you got an Apple Watch like everyone else.

“Yeah it’s the tits. It’s a phone you can wear on your wrist.”

Are pockets that inconvenient?

“I’m naked a lot.”


“I got an app on this thing that hooks up to Killer’s shock collar.”

A shock collar? Why?

“I like shocking shit.”

Okay. You’re terrible, but you have your reasons.

“Watch this.”

Dog didn’t move.

“Shock collar’s around my balls.”

You said it was Killer’s.

“It belongs to him, like, legally. But it is wrapped around my scrotum.”


“I like it.”

Jesus, Billy.

“It’s sexy and refreshing. Like a nap combined with a tugger. Not as good as the peanut butter trick, though.”

Do not make your dog lick peanut butter off your genitals.

“That’s disgusting. I make skank lick it off.”

Oh, that’s fine.

“Killer licks the peanut butter off the skank. He’s straight. But, you know, we get our fuck on.”

These conversations never turns out well.


This isn’t another dopey 5/8/77 joke. Look:

Wait: maybe this is Billy Kreutzman, Billy Kreutzmann’s evil fraternal twin.

Reunited And It Choogles So Good

“Hey, Billy?”

“Yeah, Mick?”

“Who are all the new people in the band?”

“Piano player’s named Keith. Some kinda bullshit last name.”

“What about the chick?”

“That’s his old lady.”

“You’re shitting me.”




“He got a big dick or something?”

“Haven’t seen it yet.”

“Tell me if you do.”


“Something wrong with her throat?”

“No, that’s what she sounds like.”

“Okay. Billy?”


“Who’s the little guy with all the synthesizers?”

“He belongs to Phil. Neil? I wanna say his name is Neil.”

“Is he contributing?”

“No one’s quite sure. Tell you this, though: this whole tour, him and Phil have been making the most unholiest racket you ever heard during set break. Merch sales went up 20%.”


“They scared everyone into the lobby.”

“Sure. Hey, Bill, it’s nice to be back.”


“The Rhythm Devils are back together!”



“That’s what I said. Yay.”

Horny Billy

“Ass! I got horns on my dick!”


Nice dick-horns, Billy.

“Gonna play ’em again!”


That is a very comical sound. What’s with the headphones?

“Listening to the game. Got five grand on the Pistons.”

Holy shit, is that a ponytail?

“I’m going through one of my mid-life crises.”

One of?

“Yeah, I’ve had like a half-dozen. I grow my hair out, buy a sports car, and start plowing real young skank.”

How is that different from your normal life?

“I told you: I grow my hair out.”


“Real young, too. Wait, maybe not. When am I?


“Still socially acceptable! Real young, too.”

Jesus, Billy.

“I got a whole system with ’em: first I get ’em an all-day sucker.”

And then?

“Then I buy ’em a lollipop.”

Badum bum.

“I can’t help myself. They’re still covered with, like, a downy fur.”

You’re talking about baby ducks.

“Tawny. With a dewy lip. Oh, Ass, they’re loamy of loin.”

Stop being weird and obscure.


Stop it.

“I actually use these horns on the skank.”

In God’s name, how?

“Stick in in their crotches and blast it off. If y’hear an echo? Find new skank.”

We’re done.

The Sunshine Boys

Bobby is over at Phil’s place tonight (no word on Elvis or Putin’s attendance) to help celebrate Terrapin Crossroad’s 5th anniversary; Radio Busterdog is streaming it live right here.

Whatever Became Of…

The Kriebel sisters went on a three-state murder spree; an off-duty Tallahassee sheriff named Skelton Mangrove shot them both in a Dairy Queen bathroom.

Suzanne Krinard wrote a series of unpublished children’s books; among the titles were Fire: Your Friend and Teacher and Mommy Thinks You’re Shit. She was decapitated in a pontoon boat accident in 1983.

Gerald Kunishige set several Vietnamese villages on fire while looking for Kurtz. Unfortunately, the war was the Gulf War.

Judy Kurtz was the Kurtz I was talking about.

Lori Kyle married a struggling haberdasher named Jerome Foote and moved to Reading, Pennsylvania. They divorced, and then she lost both feet to diabetes. “First, I lost a Foote; then, I lost my feet,” Lori likes to say. Some people would have lost their sense of humor, but not Lori.

Patrick Lampe was beaten to death by two sisters in a Dairy Queen bathroom in Tallahassee.

Barbara Landes went to medical school in San Felipe, a small island known for their shitty medical schools, and then moved to Hollywood. She has served as “The Abortionist to the Stars” for almost 40 years. Fun fact: without Barbara, there would be three more Kardashians.

Joy Langle never lost her head, even when she was giving head. Shoulda seen her go.

“Janet Larsen” was actually a 28-year-old Chinese man named Pyin Ming Ah.

Gail Latta married a man named Jim Forma; she is now known as Gail Forma-Latta.

No one knows what became of Bill Kreutzman after he punched the members of the Yearbook Club in their dicks for spelling his name wrong. Some say he still punches dicks to this day.


(Hat tip to the great Jesse Jarnow for sending me the link to the Ebay auction. You should all go buy his book.)

Honey, Disconnect The Phone


Hey, Billy.

“I should stay in the past more. Look how much hair I got.”

Mustache is looking well.

“Betcha can’t guess what I use to condition it.”

I totally can.


Don’t want to.

“Pussy juice!”

I told you I didn’t want to.

“Was that what you guessed?”

Yes, Billy. Everyone guessed it.

“Gotta rub it in real good. Work down to the roots.”

Why must you be like this?

“I’m a man of sensuality!”


“Recently discovered my prostate, and hoo boy is that sucker in the mix now. Need a girl with a strong thumb, so I been hanging out at video arcades.”

Please stop talking.

“Not gonna lie: I enjoy being milked.”



“Is that you?”

I haven’t owned an actual telephone in eight years.

“Oh, here’s the phone.”

“Weir here.”

“Is not Weir there. Is Billy Grateful. I know these things.”

“New phone. Who dis?”

“Is Putin.”

“From the Flaming Groovies?”

“Vat is Flaming Groovies? Vhy are everyone talking about Flaming Groovies?”

“Who’s this?”

“Putin. Vladimir Putin.”

“The Russian fucker?”


“You’re calling to book us, you gotta call Irving. Or Benjy. Call whoever my Jew is.”

“Putin is not calling to talk to Jews. Is calling for Billy Grateful. Ve have tapes of you, Billy Grateful.”

“Dirty shit?”


“Awesome. Can I get copies?”

“I do not understand?”

“I like to watch tape after I plow skank. Look for my weaknesses, where I can improve. And I also usually jerk it.”

“Nyet, nyet, nyet. This is blackmail.”

“For the skank?”

“Nyet! For you! You vill spy for Mother Russia, or ve vill release these dirty tapes.”


“Pooty, lemme ask you something.”

“Do nyet call me Pooty.”

“How’s my wood?”




“Goddammit, you foreign fuck: stop talking like a dracula! My boner! How’s my bone?”

“Oh! Is, uh, is strong bone.”

“Strong bone?”

“Da. Strong bone.”

“Release the tapes, asshole. God bless America.”


Good for you, Billy.


You’re a patriotic man.

“Nah, I just want everyone to look at my dick.”

Or that.

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