Did a singer's name ever seem so prophetic and appropriate as in the
case of Robin, one of the great male songbirds of rock's golden
age? Bee Gee Robin Gibb succumbed to a longtime struggle with liver
cancer Sunday, a spokesperson confirmed. The Rock & Roll Hall of
Famer was 62.His death dashed the hopes of Bee Gees fans who'd hoped that a
miracle was in store after the singer emerged from a coma late last
month. Prior to his regaining consciousness, his family had revealed
that Gibb had been given only a 10 percent chance of surviving and
seemed to be preparing the public for his imminent death. Despite the
shock fans are now experiencing, family members surely feel grateful
for the month they had with Gibb after his unexpected awakening.
Disco fans are feeling their mortality this weekend, as the death of one of the principal voices of the 15-times-platinum Saturday Night Fever soundtrack follows the passing of Donna Summer by a mere three days.
A statement read: "The family of Robin Gibb, of the Bee Gees,
announce with great sadness that Robin passed away today following his
long battle with cancer and intestinal surgery. The family have asked
that their privacy is respected at this very difficult time."
Robin follows Maurice (a fellow Bee Gee) and Andy (a solo artist) in
death, leaving eldest brother Barry as the sole survivor among the
legendary Brothers Gibb. The Bee Gees had officially retired as a group
in 2003, following Maurice's passing, although Barry announced in 2009
that there were tentative plans to revive the act as a duo -- a
potential reunion that never came to be after Robin fell seriously ill
in 2010.
Some of Robin's health problems seemed to echo the maladies suffered
earlier by Maurice -- who was his twin. The cause of Maurice's death
nine years ago was attributed to a twisted intestine. Robin first
underwent emergency gastro-intestinal surgery in August 2010. In
January of this year, he revealed that he'd been diagnosed with colon
cancer, which had spread to the liver -- noting that "the strange thing
is, I've never felt seriously ill." But he had further intestinal
surgery in late March. And the combination of chemotherapy and repeated
operations had contributed to all-around depletion, his doctors
acknowledged.
Back in early February, Robin was still giving interviews and
describing reports of his dire health as exaggerated. "I was diagnosed
with a growth in my colon," he told the BBC then. "It was removed. And
I've been treated for that by a brilliant doctor, and in their words
'the results have been spectacular.'" The growth, he explained, "is
almost gone and I feel fantastic. Really from now on, it's just what
they could describe as a 'mopping-up' operation. I am very active and
my sense of well-being is good."
Sadly, that appears to have been the last time Gibb spoke with the
press. Fans first realized the severity of the situation when he was
unable to attend the premiere of his first classical work, Titanic Requiem,
in London on April 10. A few days after that work's bittersweet debut,
family members revealed that he had contracted pneumonia and was
"fighting for his life."
Then, his rallying over the last few weeks was reported as nothing
short of a miracle. "Robin has confounded his doctors by waking up from
the coma he had slipped into after contracting pneumonia," a statement
on his website read. "He remains in intensive care but is now fully
conscious, able to speak to his loved ones and breathing on his own
with an oxygen mask."
Gibbs' wife, Dwina, told an Irish newspaper that the family had been
playing music to help rouse her husband -- and that the newly conscious
singer had cried upon hearing Roy Orbison's "Crying." His doctor,
Andrew Thillainayagam, told the press, "It is testament to Robin's
extraordinary courage, iron will and deep reserves of physical strength
that he has overcome quite incredible odds to get where he is now" --
while cautiously adding that "the road ahead remains uncertain."
That road ended Sunday, leaving Titanic Requiem to serve as
his own unwitting requiem. He'd written the classical piece in
conjunction with his son, Robin-John, to commemorate the 100th
anniversary of the sinking of the Titanic, joining together original
vocal and orchestral themes with excerpts from the Latin Mass for the
Dead. Gibb had been intending to sing one vocal number at the premiere,
but instead, "Don't Cry Alone" was offered via a recording, according
to a four-star review in the London Telegraph.
It was only fitting, if you believe in symmetry, that "Don't Cry
Alone" should be the last vocal number unveiled during his lifetime,
since, for many, his notoriety began with the tearfulness of "I Started
a Joke."
Although falsetto-wielding Barry was the most prominent and
most-parodied Bee Gee in later years (see Justin Timberlake's comic
impersonation on SNL), Robin was often considered the unofficial lead
singer in the trio's late-'60s early days, and it was his tender
vibrato that early fans first associated with the Brothers Gibb, via
not just "I Started a Joke" but other hits like "I've Gotta Get a
Message to You" and "New York Mining Disaster 1941."
It was Robin singing on the group's first No. 1 British hit,
"Massachusetts," which also topped the charts in most of the
territories of the world (except the U.S., where it made it to No. 11).
He was a lad of 17 at the time, and, of course, had never even been to
the title state.
Competition with Barry led Robin to quit the group and go solo in
1969, though he returned in 1971, in time to participate in "How Can
You Mend a Broken Heart," their first No. 1 single in America. Their
real renaissance, however, kicked off in 1975 when, in the earliest
days of disco, they had a second No. 1 with "Jive Talkin'," followed by
the similarly rhythmic "Nights on Broadway" and "You Should Be
Dancing," which became the template for a block of Saturday Night Fever songs in 1978.
Fever revived "Jive' and "Dancing" along with introducing
the instant dance-floor standards "Stayin' Alive," "Night Fever," "If I
Can't Have You," and "More Than a Woman," plus a ballad in the more
traditional Bee Gees vein, "How Deep is Your Love." It was by far their
greatest commercial triumph, and also, in a way, their unmaking, since
only pockets of critics and fans were inclined to recall the pop chops
and cred of their early albums after they couldn't shake their
association with the waning disco tide.
The '80s and '90s were less kind to the brothers as hitmakers,
although they continued to sell well overseas and never stopped being a
concert draw. Befitting such a quintessential part of 20th century pop,
they gave their last real concert on the last night of the millennium.
Critics and fans who would want to defend the Bee Gees' pre-Travolta
reputation point to landmark albums like 1969's double-album Odessa
-- which, of course, produced no major singles. But the more
R&B-oriented smashes that came later provide their own defense,
even if there was an inevitable longing among hardcore followers for
the days when there was no beat to speak of except for the one inherent
in the throb of Robin's vibrato. As the principal songwriter, it may
have been brother Barry's job to start the jokes, and sobs, but in that
early peak period, at least, it was Robin who finished them.