Greg Elmore

It’s hard to believe we’re saying goodbye to Greg. January 1st, 1947, brought a whole lot of joy into this world, and it continued to ripple outwards for nearly eight decades. I’m going to miss him terribly. Greg wasn’t a man of many words, but when he *did* speak, you listened. He had this quiet, steady presence, a warmth that just drew you in. I first met Greg back in the late 70s, a wide-eyed kid trying to navigate the San Francisco music scene. He was already a legend, of course, a cornerstone of Quicksilver Messenger Service, and he took me under his wing, patiently teaching me the basics of drumming – mostly through a lot of laughter and a healthy dose of gentle correction. He’d always say, “Feel the beat, son, don’t just hit the drums.” That simple advice stuck with me, and it’s something I still carry with me today. Greg’s life was filled with music, naturally. From his early days with The Brogues, to his incredible run with Quicksilver, he poured his heart and soul into every beat. But beyond the stage, he was a collector of beautiful things – vintage guitars, old records, and, most importantly, people. He and Mary, his beloved wife of over 50 years, built a home filled with love, laughter, and the comforting aroma of Mary’s incredible cooking. They were the kind of couple who just *were*, a testament to a deep and enduring connection. He adored his kids, Sarah and David, and his grandchildren – their faces were his sunshine. He’d spend hours just watching them, a quiet smile playing on his lips. Greg’s passion wasn’t just about music; he loved tinkering with cars, spending time in his garden, and losing himself in a good book. He had this incredible ability to find beauty in the simplest things – a perfectly formed leaf, a stunning sunset, a well-played song. More than anything, he was a genuinely kind and generous soul. He had a way of making everyone feel seen and valued, offering a listening ear and a steady hand without ever asking for anything in return. He touched so many lives with his quiet strength and unassuming grace. Greg’s rhythm may have faded, but the music he made, and the love he shared, will continue to resonate within all of us. He’ll be deeply missed, but never forgotten. Rest easy, my friend.