Singer Barry Gibb performs at the Glastonbury Festival at Worthy Farm, in Somerset, England, Sunday, June 25, 2017. (Photo by Grant Pollard/Invision/AP)

I’ve been a huge fan of the Brother’s Gibb, or as the world has always known them, The Bee Gees, for more years than I care to remember. Their legacy is one that is defined by soaring highs that were tempered by soul crushing lows. Today, the oldest Gibb brother, Barry, the band’s front man and principle songwriter, is the last one alive. Across different generations it is difficult for some people to believe that Barry is now 74 years old. In him, their own fading youth and mortality is reinforced. There is an aspect of tragedy associated with the Gibb family as younger twin brother, Maurice, and Robin Gibb have been gone for many years now. Maurice died in 2003 from complications of surgery, and Robin died of cancer in 2012. The youngest brother Andy, the solo artist among the Gibb brothers, died from a drug overdose in 1988.

There was a moment in time when the Bee Gees stood in a spotlight that was as warm and glowing as that of the Beatles and Rolling Stones. In their long-ago and far away pre-disco days, their sound captivated people all across the world through timeless songs like “Gotta Get a Message to You,” “To Love Somebody,” “Words,” And “Massachusetts” to name but a few. Today, so many years later, way down in the deepest depths of my memory vault, I can still hear the glorious sound of the most beautiful sibling harmony that I can ever remember. There was a pure, pristine and almost magical quality to it that took my breath away … it still does today. Every time I draw the shades on the outside world, sit back and listen to the Bee Gees Greatest Hits CD, the purity of their voices softly washes over me once again like a gentle ocean wave in summer. It’s beautiful.

Quite recently I watched an interview that veteran CBS reporter Anthony Mason did with Barry Gibb on CBS Sunday Morning. The piece was done in connection with the release of the new critically acclaimed HBO documentary “The Bee Gees: How Can You Mend a Broken Heart.” What struck me immediately was the deep sense of sadness that seemed to hang over the last surviving member of the group like a pall. Even through the camera lens it was palpable and seemed to reach out from my TV set. With downcast eyes and an emotion that seemed to cloak him all these years later, he told the interviewer that it is unlikely that he’ll ever watch the entire documentary because it’s too painful for him. He disclosed that he has watched pieces of it, but not the entire film. When prompted by the reporter as to why he hasn’t seen it in its entirety he said, “Because I can’t handle watching the rest of my family. I just can’t handle it. I think it’s perfectly normal to not want to see how each brother was lost, you know? And I don’t want to address it. I’m past it.” He admits that it has been a long struggle for him to finally let go of his brothers. From my living room I could see him replaying the deeply held images of his past in front of the world. He said, “It was really tough, because we’d never not been together, you know?”

As a viewer, I also found myself swamped under a tsunami of half-forgotten images of Australia’s greatest musical group. In my mind’s eye, the curtain of the past lifted and once again I saw those timeless shining smiles and heard those amazing voices in my ear. When they first burst onto the world stage with “New York Mining Disaster 1941,” they evoked images of the Beatles and the Hollies. However, the world quickly discovered that they were never Beatles clones, and that Barry Gibb was indeed a prolific songwriter who, over the years, would craft hit songs for Dolly Parton and Kenny Rogers, Dionne Warwick, Frankie Valli, Celine Dion and Barbara Streisand. Watching Gibb on CBS, the murky images of distant days became sharp again. What emerged were old videos of the angelic voices of him and his brother Robin at the zenith of the Bee Gees career. Barry with that once thick and glossy mane of lion-like hair and teeth that shone as brightly as piano keys under the stage lights.

Perhaps the regret of the sibling rivalry and the bitter quarrels through the years is what is at the heart of Barry Gibbs’ sadness today. The fighting was a catalyst for Robin to leave the band in 1969, returning in 1971 for their last number one hit “How Can You Mend a Broken Heart.” After that, the group sank into the depths of musical oblivion. They fell out of fashion and were exiled to the musical hinter lands.

Years later they scratched and clawed their way out of the shadows and reinvented their sound with a series of chart topping disco anthems that included “Jive Talkin’,” “Nights on Broadway,” and “Night Fever.” Their new sound of the disco-fueled mid 70’s was indeed a far cry from the sweeping beauty of “Words” or “I started a Joke,” and ultimately resulted in perhaps the biggest comeback in music history. So much so, that Barry became Sir Barry Gibb in 2018, joining the lofty ranks of McCartney, Jagger and Elton John.

In all honesty, I always loathed disco, and always will. That said, when I look back on the career of the Bee Gees, I am convinced beyond any doubt that they were an amazingly talented band. I don’t believe that they were a fad or a trend in their time. The music that they created defined them, and their relevance in the same unique way as the music that the Beatles and Stones created defined them. Fast forward to today, and suddenly, the Bee Gees are once again in the spotlight. PBS has been airing their legendary concerts frequently, and the world finally views Barry Gibb as the gifted songwriter that he always has been. As for me, I’m still a huge fan, for their musical legacy is enduring.

Paul Collins is a freelance writer from Southborough, Massachusetts.