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AND THEN THERE WERE TWO

I was guilty of a tacky joke when a friend called with the news that Bee Gee Maurice Gibbs was dead at the age of 53.

I said: “So much for Staying Alive”.

In retrospect the joke wasn’t that surprising. We never took the Bee Gees seriously.

Even with that death I mentally chided Kevin Jacobsen, their friend and mentor, when in the press he said they were as good – in fact better – than the Beatles. Gimme a break!

But maybe he wasn’t that far wrong. These gawky transplanted Poms snuck up on us and in retrospect have not been given the kudos they deserve after decades of hit records.

Think about it. For decades they were brilliant. They wrote songs for Barbra Streisand, Kenny Rogers, Dionne Warwicke and even Elvis.

In fact, the death of Maurice Gibb belatedly rams home how good they were.

In the obituaries it became clear why they were so harshly judged. Why their star couldn’t ever shine as bright as the one reserved for the Beatles.

Disco destroyed them. Tainted them forever.

Barry Gibb himself – all hair and hairy chest -- once said “We call ourselves the enigma with the stigma”.

And the disco stigma never left them. Their soundtrack for the movie Saturday Night Fever (which made John Travolta and his white suit) was undoubtedly one of the greatest albums ever made. Play it tonight. Hit after hit after hit. But when disco died so did the Bee Gees. At least for a while.

They weren’t helped by the savage and satirical HeeBee-GeeBees and their notorious Meaningless Songs in Very High Voices.

That industry mockery clouded their cleverness. It must have been a heartbreaker even when they wrote a huge hit by the same name for Dionne Warwicke.

With Maurice Gibb’s sudden death you look back on some of the stuff they wrote and it was awesome. Islands in the Stream for Kenny and Dolly. A classic. And Barry Gibb crafted one of the great albums, in my mind, of thirty years with Guilty for Barbra Streisand.

I know I am showing my age (or maybe hiding it) but How Can You Mend A Broken Heart has to be one of the greatest, saddest, ballads of all time.

Molly Meldrum, a Bee Gees promoter and music guru, remembers a concert moment when they dedicated that to families of a Bali-sized disaster.

To be fair we have seen Bee Gee rubbish. In my opinion, I Started a Joke was a joke. I wasn’t impressed by their first Aussie No. 1, Spicks and Specks. And Massachusetts was unmitigated rubbish. I am listening to it now. Absolute garbage.

How about “ now I have found that the world is round”. Shakespeare!

But the soundtrack of Saturday Night Fever was brilliant. One of the top five albums of all time.

And a personal Bee Gees memory. Incongruously, I was in India for Community Aid Abroad. We visited poverty camps and saw starving children and irrigation projects. As we jolted from village to village on the back of a bone-jarring truck I mentally switched off from the heartache by turning on a new-fangled gadget called a Walkman.

The tape? Barbra Streisand’s Guilty. Few people knew what an influence the Gibb boys had on that album – on and off air.

The brothers’ falsetto never sounded so good.

Frankly, with the bouffant and bravado, I always thought it was Barry Gibb who ran the whole show. The younger brothers the twins, Maurice and Robin, were bit players. Not so.

The Bee Gees were a genuine trio. Their music unique. The stuff they wrote for other artists, especially during their anti-disco down period, was awesome.

I sat in a pub one night – one Christmas Day – and they replayed a video tape of a Bee Gees concert. It was kitch as hell. Long flowing, blowing, hair and high-pitched voices. It was also stunningly entertaining. A mesmerising two hours.,

Three generations of Australians were charmed by three kids who made it and made it well.

And I thought how we never really recognised, or honoured, a trio of entertainers who were up there – wherever that is – with The Beatles and the Rolling Stones.

Up there as three of the best song writers and harmony planners in the past fifty years. And most Aussies wouldn’t even know if they passed goofy Maurice Gibb and his funny hat in the street.

I don’t understand all of which they wrote and sang about. I mean: “Have you seen my wife Mr Jones? Do you know what it’s like on the outside?”

But there was then the line…. “ on the event of something happening to me..”

Maurice Gibb – goodbye. God bless. Too young and never revered. A talent of Beatles proportions. Truly.

19/1/02

hinch@hinch.net

©Copyright Derryn Hinch 2002