I'm very sad. Robin Gibb died yesterday. He was my favorite Bee Gee. When I was a little girl, my mother loved the Bee Gees. I grew to love them too. In fact, aged approximately 10, I began writing a novel (haven't finished it yet) called 'Patti and the Bee Gees'. (For anyone who knows anything about me, the fact that a Patti was my protagonist way back then is more than a little ironic. The fact that I have yet another unfinished novel laying around somewhere will surprise no one). I loved the Bee Gees pre and post disco music much more than their disco sound. I didn't really 'get' disco. I'll hit skip to get from Jive Talkin' to Massachusetts any day. But anyway.
The Bee Gees were talented, brilliant musicians, amazing in concert and very funny, thoroughly nice, down to earth guys. I was blessed to have met Robin Gibb and his brothers Maurice and Barry a couple of times through my work over the years. I once had a very funny conversation with Robin about his checkered past as a teenage arsonist before he became famous. It was a stupid bit of trivia I had unearthed and during a press conference in Sydney, I decided to ask him about it instead of trotting out the extremely tiresome 'how are you are enjoying our beautiful city?' question. (This particular time they were in Australia as part of their One Night Only world tour in 1999). Let's just say it changed the tone of the press conference! He sought me out afterwards at an event the promoter was hosting and we joked about setting fires and other dumb stuff. Such as my unfinished novel featuring him and his brothers. It was sweet. (Shortly after this, in an ill-advised fashion move, I began wearing round, steel-rimmed, blue tinted mirrored sunglasses. They looked so cool on him. On me, as photographs from that time amply testify, not so much!)
I was setting tables in a Russian restaurant in London when I heard Andy Gibb had died in 1988. He was the youngest Gibb brother; a musician but never officially a Bee Gee. For some reason, this stabbed me through the heart. I wasn't even a fan of his but something about his death really affected me and stayed with me for a long time. When I heard that Maurice (Robin's twin) had died, in 2003, I was trying on wedding dresses in a fancy store. I remember trying very hard not to cry but losing it when my aunt, who adored him, called me to ask if I'd heard the news. And last night I found out about Robin via a text from my husband while I was at a 7 year old's birthday party. Of course, I had known for a long time he was sick. I just kept praying he would get better. I had to leave the room before 20 kids wanted to know what was wrong with me.
Is it stupid to be upset about the death of someone you didn't even really know? I don't care if it is. I am upset. And I'm sad.
God bless you and keep you, Robin. Go set some fires in heaven. And make sure you find my mother and say hi. She would love that.
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