Introduction:
It’s rare in popular music to encounter a band whose legacy has not only endured but grown richer with time. Yet for the Bee Gees—and especially for Barry Gibb—their music has done just that. Apple Music Essentials recently took listeners on a deep dive through the Bee Gees’ extensive catalog, offering not just a playlist but a journey into some of the most innovative and emotionally resonant pop songs of the 20th century. In this special feature, Barry Gibb opens up with candor, humor, and humility about the songs, the memories, and the sheer serendipity that shaped the Bee Gees’ story.
Barry begins by recalling the band’s earliest days, when three brothers from Australia plunged into the heart of 1960s London psychedelia. “We were as naïve as you could possibly be,” he says with a laugh. Signed to Robert Stigwood’s management and swept into the scene, the Gibb brothers wandered through King’s Road in caftans and beads, unknowing yet eager. That innocence birthed “Massachusetts,” their first number one hit—a song born not from firsthand American experience but from Robin Gibb’s imagination while on a tourist boat in New York Harbor.
Moments like these define the Bee Gees’ creative process. Whether it was a melody sparked by Otis Redding (“To Love Somebody”) or a falsetto discovered accidentally at the urging of producer Arif Mardin, the magic often emerged from spontaneity. Barry’s falsetto—now iconic—wasn’t a calculated choice but a response to a creative challenge. “Once we discovered what it was,” Barry reflects, “everyone started jumping up and down… and I couldn’t escape from it.”
Songs like “Jive Talkin’” and “Stayin’ Alive” didn’t just dominate the charts—they became cultural landmarks. Barry fondly remembers the moment the synth line from “Jive Talkin’” clicked, the tight groove that later influenced CPR training, and the unlikely revelation that John Travolta preferred walking to “Stayin’ Alive” over dancing to it.
Justin Timberlake once likened the Bee Gees’ vocals to horns—layered, dynamic, and alive—and Barry agrees, in hindsight. Technological advances in recording allowed the group to experiment endlessly with harmonies. “Too Much Heaven” is the clearest example of that layered, shimmering sound. “We just kept adding more harmonies… and it worked.”
Some hits came easily—“How Deep Is Your Love” struck Barry during dinner in Paris and was finished the next day. Others, like “You Should Be Dancing,” required four sessions and relentless tinkering to find the right feel. But across their discography, one truth remains: the Bee Gees never rested on their past. They pursued the next sound, the next feeling, the next connection.
For Barry, the joy of music lies not just in writing hits, but in hearing how others reinterpret them—be it Janis Joplin at Woodstock or countless modern artists today. In every story, every riff, and every harmony, the Bee Gees’ legacy endures—not simply as a relic of disco, but as a testament to timeless songwriting, fearless experimentation, and the power of brotherhood.