Barry Gibb’s Hardest Song: A Journey Through Grief, Legacy, and a Lost Family Harmony
Barry Gibb stands today as the last surviving member of the legendary Bee Gees, the iconic trio of brothers whose unique blend of harmonies and disco beats helped shape the musical landscape and sold more than 220 million records worldwide. Now 78 years old and knighted for his unparalleled contributions to music, Barry has become a symbol of endurance and artistry across multiple generations. But despite decades of performing in front of millions, there remains one song that he cannot bring himself to sing—one melody that carries a weight no award, no stage, no audience can ever lift.
That song is “To Love Somebody.”
While the Bee Gees are celebrated for anthems that radiate energy and joy like “Stayin’ Alive” and “Night Fever,” their 1967 ballad “To Love Somebody” occupies a profoundly different place in Barry Gibb’s heart. Written originally for soul legend Otis Redding, whose tragic death prevented him from ever recording the song, “To Love Somebody” grew into an enduring classic, covered by artists ranging from Janis Joplin to Céline Dion. To the world, it remains a timeless declaration of tender love. But to Barry, it is an unbearable burden—a song transformed by grief into a “graveyard of memory,” echoing the voices of brothers lost and the wounds of a lifetime.
Barry himself shared the intense personal cost of facing this song onstage:
“Every time I try to sing *To Love Somebody* in recent years, the weight of grief is almost too much to bear,”
says Barry, whose journey has been marked by a succession of devastating losses that could break even the strongest spirit.
The Loss of Brothers: A Family’s Tragic Path
Barry’s life has been shadowed by the deaths of all his brothers, each loss carving a deeper cut in his heart and shaping his music in ways fans can only guess at.
Andy Gibb, the youngest, was famously described by Barry as the “fourth brother,” integral to the family even if he was never officially part of the Bee Gees. With Barry’s support, Andy exploded onto the charts in the late ‘70s, becoming the first male solo artist to have his first three singles top the Billboard Hot 100. Yet, fame soon became a crushing weight. Addiction to cocaine spiraled out of control, costing him his career and health. On March 10, 1988, just after his 30th birthday, Andy died of myocarditis complicated by years of drug abuse.
Barry recalls the harrowing impact:
“Losing Andy was like losing a part of myself. It was the start of a guilt that has never left me,”
he confided in a rare interview.
Maurice Gibb, the multi-instrumentalist and steadying force behind the group, carried the band with his musicianship and unifying presence. After battling alcoholism in his early years, Maurice regained stability in the 1990s, becoming a rock for the family and band. His sudden death in 2003, from complications following surgery for a blocked intestine, struck like lightning. Barry and Robin were left “shattered,” their brotherly trio broken.
Barry’s close friend and bandmate said,
“Maurice was the heart of the Bee Gees. Losing him was like losing the band’s soul,”
explaining the depth of that blow.
Robin Gibb, Maurice’s twin and Barry’s complex artistic counterpart, was known for his soaring tenor and emotionally charged lyrics. Despite tensions that once split the group, Robin’s presence was irreplaceable. His health declined after surgery in 2010, and cancer took him in 2012. Barry was left the last surviving Gibb brother, a status he never wanted.
Long-time collaborator Alan Kendall observed,
“Robin’s spirit was fierce but fragile; his passing left an emptiness Barry still carries every day.”
Songs Transformed by Grief
The Bee Gees catalog holds iconic dance tracks and joyous anthems, but for Barry Gibb, many songs have morphed into somber memorials. Robin’s “I Started a Joke” became a haunting tribute after his death, with recorded vocals projecting on large screens as Barry stood in poignant silence during solo tours. The mournful “Wish You Were Here,” penned after Andy’s death, carries raw brotherly grief—so much so that Barry admitted,
“I can hardly bring myself to listen, let alone perform that song.”
Yet, it is “To Love Somebody” above all that holds the heaviest emotional gravity. Unlike upbeat hits accoutered with survival and celebration, this ballad lays bare longing, absence, and unreciprocated love, each lyric resonating with the voices of Andy, Maurice, and Robin—harmonies now forever silent in reality. Fans clamoring for Barry to perform it do not realize that even four minutes of this song “breaks him down like nothing else,” he has revealed.
Carrying the Legacy Alone
In the aftermath of losing his brothers, Barry showed incredible resilience. His 2013 Mythology Tour honored the Bee Gees’ legacy with emotional tributes, allowing fans a glimpse into the family’s profound story. Later solo projects, including 2016’s In the Now, gave Barry space to tell his own narrative. His knighthood from Prince Charles in 2018 symbolized his stature as a music legend. His 2021 album Greenfields: The Gibb Brothers Songbook, Vol. 1, brought a new dimension to Bee Gees classics through collaborations with country artists, topping the UK charts.
Yet, behind the public acclaim, the cost has always been visible. Heard in the pauses when he stands on stage, seen in the distant look in his eyes, Barry carries survivor’s guilt like a secret burden.
“Every stage, every song, every silence,” Barry has said, “I carry them all with me.”
The Mystery Tape: A Final Brotherhood Echo?
Among die-hard Bee Gees fans and music historians, there is a tantalizing legend of a mysterious tape—a private, intimate recording made in the late 1990s after their Still Waters reunion. Rumored to capture moments of raw harmony, laughter, and brotherly camaraderie, the tape reportedly includes an unreleased version of “To Love Somebody” featuring Robin and Maurice’s harmonies entwined with Barry’s lead vocals.
No one outside the family has confirmed or heard this tape. Barry himself remains silent on the subject. Some fans believe he listens to it privately, preserving the voices of his brothers in the solitary way only he can. Others suspect it is merely myth, propagated by those unwilling to accept that the Gibb brothers’ chapter is closed.
Barry’s longtime producer, John Merchant, reflected on the myth’s poignancy:
“If it exists, it’s probably too sacred for him to share. A final secret among brothers, borne out of love and loss.”
An Enduring Legacy of Brotherhood and Heartbreak
The Bee Gees’ impact goes beyond disco glitter, falsettos, and global hits. Their music was forged in the deep bonds of brotherhood, a rare alchemy of shared blood and shared brilliance. Barry Gibb remains the last keeper of that story—the living embodiment of a family’s love, loss, and musical genius.
To the world, the Bee Gees’ songs embody celebration and joy. To Barry, they are the soundtrack of profound sorrow. At the heart of it all is “To Love Somebody,” once a simple love ballad, now the emblem of a wound that time has never healed.
And perhaps somewhere—in a secret place, sealed from the public ear—there exists a tape where three brothers sing together one last time, their voices forever intertwined in harmony. Whether the world ever hears it or not, Barry Gibb carries that harmony with him—through every performance, every song, every silence.
