THOUGHTS OF YESTERDAY...Bob Mosley

When discussing The Golden Age of rock n’ roll, the sensationalism of the drug culture always seems to be the dominant topic resonating in our ears. There is no question that the drugs were instrumental in the creation of psychedelic music and LSD the vehicle for hippie awareness. Light shows and posters became instrumental in augmenting and perpetuating selected bands and the dance hall format of The Avalon Ballroom and the Fillmores would forever be etched in the memories of those of us who were there. At the apex of its popularity, psychedelic music would spell the end of the folk era. Guitar was now the instrument of choice with ancillary effects like staked amplifiers and wah-wah pedals. It was the dawning of a new communal lifestyle where the youth of America patterned their lives to the musicians that they most admired and emulated.

As a nineteen year old malcontent in search of my own identity after two tours in Vietnam, I also migrated to the hippie capitol of the world, i.e., San Francisco & Haight Ashbury. One can only imagine the migration to this storied suburb on the west coast, the wafts of many fragrances that permeating from Golden Gate Park, the Victorian homes of legendary bands like Jefferson Airplane and The Grateful Dead and the icons of the day that unconsciously dictated our attire, music and aspirations. The prototype musicians/hippies of that halcyon era were easily identified in my mind, Jack Casady of Jefferson Airplane, Dickie Peterson of Blue Cheer, John Cippolina of Quicksilver Messenger Service and Bob Mosley of Moby Grape. Bob was more than a cog in one of the myriad of musical wheels at that time and mediocrity was never a trait synonymous with his skills as an integral member of The Counter Culture and the music that defined an entire generation. He had a vocal range of at least three octaves, greater than that of Grace Slick and her two octave repertoire, he was an accomplished bass player and along with Daryl Hall and Gregg Allman, the greatest Caucasian blues singers known to mankind. With the release of Moby Grape’s eponymous record in 1967, America’s response to The Beatles was well on its way to monumental success and musical supremacy. Poor management, internal maladies and promotional taboos would see the meteoric rise to fame and fortune meet an early demise and the members drifted into “flower power” folklore.  Fast forward to the year 2007 and Northern California There were sporadic rumors of a reunion for January at The Fillmore Auditorium on Fillmore & Geary Streets but that innovation went awry but somehow amidst the Oceanside topography of Felton, California, Bob Mosley continues his musical journey and the quest for the perfect performance. His sabbatical from the genre years ago left a void that was never filled, and tunes like “Beautiful Day Today”, “Bitter Wind”, & “Rose Colored Eyes” never reached the adoring masses of a musical God who was somehow overlooked when discussing those who were instrumental in painting the musical tapestry of psychedelia. He’s older now, a bit more weathered, as we all are but he remains as a treasure of those carefree days when music was the universal solvent for peace. All of us have a saving grace, some factor that pulls you from the depths of despair and sparks you to achieve all that you were meant to attain with a gift such as that of Bob Mosley. His gift was Connie, and better late than never  It has become a resurrection of faith, a childhood idol that had to overcome his own personal demons, fight the efforts of universal greed that denied him the monetary gain comparable to his skills and become a better person for it. To be happy is always the ultimate goal and apparently one of the true Gods of our generation has found that equation and along the way, returned to the tools that made him a household name back in the glory days of flaxen haired mavens, bare feet and fee concerts in the Panhandle. Time has always been the best and most accurate denominator for greatness. His songs still resonate in our ears and now that he’s back, the adage “Better late than never” has more validity than just an antiquated proverb.  Kudos to Bob and Connie. With a genre in desperate need of an infusion of great tunes and performances, maybe Miller, Lewis and Stevenson will join him later this year for Grapestock. Any configuration of this immortalized band would be great but even without them, for bob to still be playing is like solving the riddle of the Rosetta Stone, it doesn’t get any better than this.

Planning to go to see him play soon, for personal satisfaction and documentation of one of the true Gods of the genre and after all, knowing that he has retention of skill that conjures the past augmented by the future. It is after all, “The Little Victories”.