Jan 17 2009
Time to Bury: Remaining Bee Gees Robin and Barry Gibb
I’m talking about fevered falsetto maestros, the Gibb Brothers - Barry, Maurice and Robin. Of course, we have actually lost one, Maurice. This being the Oh Bitch You Ar/Is Obituaries, it would be disrespectful to slate him. Poor soul, may God rest him peacefully.
The other two shmucks are fair game though.
I can’t thank the seventies music-buying crowd enough for rocketing these ear-bashing ego maniacs to international stardom. I ain’t got enough letter bombs.
The only saving grace is, if you think about it, 1970 was thirty-nine years ago. Which means that everyone responsible for the Bee Gees’ early success is now seriously old. That’s their reward, and long may it last. It couldn’t have happened to a more tasteful bunch of people.
I could never stand all that warbling. Both Barry and Robin thought it was great. They call it falsetto. I call it false gender allocation. What do they think they are? You know, the more I hear it, the more I come to realize - that ain’t somebody singing. That’s a sound effect, created in a darkened recording studio, the sort of back street place that stinks of marijuana, and sees wannabe rock stars try out some dangerous experiments. I know what happened. I’ve got the inside scoop: a whole bunch of guys strapped Barry down and slammed a cat into his groin. The resultant mixed sound of Barry screaming while the cat howled for its life was casually recorded by his mum. Ever since, the boys have been churning out this gruesome noise as part of every track they make. With modern technology they’ve been able to make clearer words out of it, kinda like: “Waa-hoo-a-hooooo!’
Give me a goddamned break.
And just when you thought these aged yuck-stars would disappear back to the obscurity from whence they shoulda never climbed out, it seems they’ve gone and got hip replacements. Or something like that, because: they’re still doing stuff!
Why, oh why, do they, of all the possible people, show the tenacity to keep going? It must simply be for the torture value. They’ve got enough money, why don’t they slip silently away and enjoy it?
I hate them, but I think the reason they keep going is because they hated me first. My hate is a natural reaction to the sheer irritating quality of these guys added to their screechy noises. They’ve always hated every one of us, and that’s why they keep going!
That’s right. As recently as October 2008, Robin wheeled out some old tracks as part of the BBC Electric Proms Saturday Night Fever performance. Give me strength. I don’t know who was older - Robin, or the audience. We ain’t even safe on the internet though, because the damned BBC released the whole thing on interactive services.
People are bound to say ‘if you don’t like it, don’t listen to it’. Well, I don’t like it, and I don’t listen to it, but sometimes, just sometimes, a DJ in a fit of nostalgia will load up his gramophone. Then a Bee Gees original will assault me form the car radio.
I bet that kinda thing causes more crashes than alcohol and impatience combined.
Neither my ears, nor stomach can stand it.
Luckily, the Gobby Gibb brothers are going away, to an old penal colony. That’s right, Barry and Robin will travel to Australia in 2009 for a US documentary on how the Bee Gees conquered the world.
Bleahhhhhhurghhhh!
Afterwards, they’re gonna travel to Sydney, where they’ll be handed the keys to the city as part of a star-studded tribute.
Hopefully, they’ll lock themselves in and forget where they put that key.
I say that, but I know it’s too much to ask for.
