Bitter Vintage

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  1. Bitter Vintage
  2. Explore the bitter vintage of Moby Grape
  3. Explore the bitter vintage of Moby Grape

All of a sudden he got up and asked for a glass of water. So we got him a little place of his own. He had a little white rat named Oswald that would snort coke, too. He was real bad. He could look in your eyes and play these things on the guitar that only he could think up.

He spent his remaining years alternating between homelessness and being a ward of the state of California, mostly hanging out in and around Santa Cruz and San Jose. Spence heard the album in the final days of his life, before succumbing to lung cancer on April 16, , two days before what would have been his 53rd birthday.

He was discharged months later after assaulting a fellow soldier, and, in due time, found himself homeless, as well. However, following its release, the band essentially broke up. The band recorded one album, which was finally released in , but still remains difficult to find.

Still, it seemed there was more life left in Moby Grape, even at that point. Although the band called it a day following the Warner Bros.

Bitter Vintage

Later, Mosley and Craviotto worked together in the Ducks, a one-off backing band retained by Neil Young. Katz again interceded, forcing the label to temporarily take the product off the shelves. Fortunately, the group won the right to reclaim its name in The following year, the four surviving members of the band performed together in Golden Gate Park as part of the 40th anniversary celebrations for the Summer of Love. Miller, Mosley and Lewis continued to release solo material throughout the s and into the new millennium.

Explore the bitter vintage of Moby Grape

She sighed, glanced at the clock and read twelve-fifteen. Better get some sleep while I can.

The Verve - Bittersweet Symphony (Lars Moston, Matchy & Bott Remix)

Sliding back under the covers, she closed her eyes. Minutes later, an odd noise jerked her bolt upright, her sleep-clouded brain straining to hear over the heavy whump, whump of her pulse. Blasted vandals must be at it again!

Explore the bitter vintage of Moby Grape

Flicking on the light, Risa clambered out of bed, yanked on a pair of jeans, stuffed her green cotton night shirt inside, and shoved her size ten feet into loafers. As she snatched her sweat jacket off a chair, she heard the faint, hollow-toned sound again. What have they done this time? The door stood open. Her mother, before she moved out, had often complained that Pop paid more attention to the vineyard and winery than he did his family. Risa dashed through the house, grabbed a five-cell flashlight in the kitchen and stepped out onto the screened porch.

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Wind and pelting rain lashed the towering maples overhead. Torn branches thudded on the roof. Nerves drawn taut, Risa stared into pitch blackness. Her father had been leaving the flood lights on all night ever since the vandals had started raising havoc in the vineyard. Her gaze swept the other buildings bordering the vast brick courtyard. Not a glimmer anywhere. Her spit dried up. Fear tightening her belly, Risa tugged up her jacket hood. She splashed through puddles to a hangar-sized structure built of rough cedar and fieldstone. Her breath coming in fast, ragged gasps, she eased the heavy carved door open a few inches, felt along the wall and triggered the switch.

Long banks of fluorescents suspended from the lofty ceiling flashed on, bathing the huge room in blue-white light. Risa peeked through the crack with a puzzled frown. A chill wriggled up her spine. Had one of the fermenting tanks blown a seam and injured Pop?