I grew up with the Bee Gees, picking my favourite. As was always my way, I went for Robin over the big star Barry. My girlfriend Lynn and I listened to Saturday Night Fever constantly.
I thought Andy Gibb was dreamy.
They fell away come university, twenties, thirties. I’d hear about them without much thought.
A few months back, my husband and I watched a documentary on the Bee Gees. Andy had died decades before and Maurice had died in 2003. You could see the sadness in the brothers’ faces. Losses impossible to recover from totally.
I fell in love with them again. They were smart, funny, self deprecating, handsome, older, wiser.
Robin died yesterday.
It’s just Barry now.Print