Maybe you’ve seen Jimmy Fallon’s Saturday Night Live send-up, “The Barry Gibb Talk Show,” or Homer Simpson and Disco Stu dancing by “table five, table five.” (The Gibbs to Rolling Stone in 1988 about “Stayin’ Alive”: “We’d like to dress it up in a white suit and gold chains and set it on fire.”) It’s possible you have some vague awareness of their vastly underrated early work, like “To Love Somebody,” which they wrote for Otis Redding, who died before he could record it, or “Lonely Days,” which could be an outtake from Side Two of Abbey Road. “Big hair, big teeth, medallions,” as Barry once said. What do you think of when you think of the Bee Gees? Saturday Night Fever and “Stayin’ Alive” for sure. “I pray that you understand.” And then he hung up. But right now, I’m just too fragile, it’s one day at a time.” He hesitated, searching for the right words. “I like you,” Gibb went on, “and I think that you like me. I’m still dealing with the fact that I’ve lost all my brothers. I’m just really uncomfortable with having my life opened up right now. I called him and asked if everything was OK. But that night, I got back to my hotel and had a message from Gibb. “I’ll respond to every question you ask.” “Our group has always gotten criticism without anybody really knowing us,” he said. Robin and Maurice’s birthday was in three days, and Gibb was going through photos from their childhood, picking out some of his favorites. Now that Robin was gone, Barry was the only one left. America decided that disco sucked, and the Gibb brothers went from icons to punch lines overnight. There was no sensitivity about the fact that I’d lost my brothers.”Īnd then, just like that, they weren’t. “They were holding up pictures of Robin and me, trying to get a reaction.
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“The last few months have been pretty intense.” Recently, a German TV crew had come to film an interview with him, and the encounter left Gibb shaken. “All the men in my family are gone,” Gibb said. He was preceded in death by his twin brother, Maurice, as well as their brother Andy and their father, Hugh. Seven months earlier, his younger brother Robin Gibb had died after a long bout with cancer.
Gibb’s wife, Linda, was in the next room, wrapping a mountain of Christmas presents for their five children and seven grandchildren. All the money I see is mine.” On the floor next to him, an oscillating fan blew back and forth, gently disturbing what was left of his snowy mane. “I’ve set aside 40 percent in a tax account since we started. Gibb was flat on his back in white gym socks, his dog Ploppy at his side. John Boehner was talking about the fiscal cliff. A couple of Decembers ago, back before he had any idea he’d be launching his first tour in 15 years, Barry Gibb sat at home in Miami, watching Fox News on his couch.
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