Barry Gibb and the Songs That Still Make Him Cry
On a dimly lit stage, illuminated by a solitary spotlight, Barry Gibb often lingers longer than expected before singing. Once part of the iconic harmony shared with his brothers, his voice now carries the profound weight of memory and loss. As the last surviving member of the legendary Bee Gees at 78, Barry’s performances are less about entertainment and more about intimate conversations with the ghosts of his late brothers—Andy, Maurice, and Robin.
Among the songs that evoke this deep sorrow is “Immortality”, a tune written by the Bee Gees but first popularized by Celine Dion. Although it was never a commercial hit for the Gibb family, this ballad became something profoundly personal to Barry. The lyrics, infused with a sense of enduring love and survival, take on a new dimension when Barry sings them alone. The line “I make my journey through eternity…” reverberates with the lingering memory of Andy Gibb, the youngest brother who tragically passed away at just 30.
“There’s a demo of Andy singing that I treasure deeply. Hearing it still makes me cry because it’s a reminder of a boy who should have had so much more time,” said Barry Gibb in a rare moment of openness, reflecting on his brother’s early death.
Andy’s presence haunts Barry’s life in subtle but painful ways. Before fame enveloped the Bee Gees, Andy was the cherished youngest sibling with a golden voice, looking up to his famous brothers. Though the world saw a pop idol in Andy, Barry knew him as the boy who never had the chance to grow old.
Another song heavy with meaning is “I Started a Joke”, penned by Robin Gibb in 1968. This haunting melody, laced with irony, speaks through misunderstood words—a prescient soundtracking of Robin’s role as the melancholy poet of the Bee Gees. After Robin’s death in 2012, Barry found performing this song almost unbearable. Yet, when he does, it is as if Robin’s voice still lingers, a spectral harmony joining his brother’s solo.
“Singing *I Started a Joke* feels like speaking to Robin across time. It’s a moment of grief and love intertwined,” explained Barry Gibb during an interview, his voice breaking with emotion.
Maurice Gibb, often considered the band’s quiet foundation, remains present in spirit as well. Known as the “middle brother,” Maurice’s steady hand and calming influence helped shape the Bee Gees’ intricate musical architecture. His sudden death in 2003 left Barry feeling adrift.
At tribute shows, Barry frequently gestures skyward while singing classics such as “To Love Somebody”, acknowledging Maurice’s everlasting impact. While audiences might hear a flawless harmony, Barry experiences it as a missing chord, a gap only filled by memories.
“Maurice was the glue. Without him, it’s like a puzzle with a piece forever gone,” Barry once told a close friend, capturing the void left by his brother’s absence.
The loss of his brothers has profoundly transformed Barry’s outlook on music. The typical markers of success—charts, awards, and fame—have diminished in importance. Instead, the songs now serve as bridges, binding him to the family he’s lost. When Barry performs “Immortality” in recent years, fans witness not just a celebrated singer but a man engaged in an emotional dialogue with his past, striving to fill the silence left behind.
“Fame? It doesn’t mean much anymore. The songs keep them close. That’s what matters,” Barry said quietly during a rare, candid conversation about his life on stage.
Being the last Bee Gee carries a profound burden. The Gibb brothers sold over 220 million records, dominated disco charts, and gave the world timeless ballads that echo through generations. Despite this monumental success, the stage now feels vast and empty for Barry. In private moments, he has confessed to questioning why he was spared when his brothers were taken.
Perhaps, as Barry suggests, the answer lies within the music itself—a heavy but vital responsibility to carry not only his own story but also the enduring voices of Andy, Maurice, and Robin.
When the lights dim and Barry begins the first trembling notes, the tears he sheds are not his alone. They belong to every fan who treasures the Bee Gees’ harmonies—echoes of brotherhood, love, and loss. Through grief, memory, and song, Barry Gibb keeps the legacy and spirit of his brothers alive.
Because in the end, immortality was never just a lyric. It was the promise embedded in the timeless power of music itself.
Video
https://youtu.be/_pcjvIdFrSs?si=WL3JghsNrjWTD6IG
