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Backstage, amid the constant announcements and the hum of an airport terminal, the Bee Gees remain unmistakably themselves—witty, grounded, and deeply devoted to their craft. Sound checks may be imperfect, monitors unreliable, but to the brothers, the chaos is part of the ritual.
“When you can hear yourself properly on stage, you sing better,” one of them explains. “You have more power, and it comes across because you’re performing better. But when you can’t hear yourself, you start thinking, ‘Where the hell am I?’”
It is a candid insight into the reality of live performance, far removed from the polished harmonies audiences hear from the seats.
That evening, the brothers were preparing to perform at the Prince’s Trust Gala, where they planned to sing two songs: their then-current single You Win Again and the ever-popular Jive Talkin’. The latter, they note with amusement, had enjoyed a renewed surge in popularity thanks to a recent reinterpretation by George Michael—one they admired for staying faithful to the original spirit.
“It was very loyal to the original,” they say. “We were really knocked out by it. It made the song fun to sing all over again.”
Whether they would join the gala’s large ensemble finale remained uncertain, but the answer carried their trademark humor. “We’ll be there,” they laughed. “We’re the boys. We’ll just get on stage with everyone else.”
Away from the spotlight, the Bee Gees were far from idle. At the time, they were deep into writing material for a new album, with recording sessions scheduled between London and the United States. They had also just completed a track for an upcoming Olympic album—Shape of Things to Come—set for release as a single later that year.
Afterward, they planned a short but well-earned holiday before rehearsing for a tour the following year. “Two weeks in Barbados,” one of them adds with a grin. “Very nice.”
Barry Gibb, momentarily quieter as his brothers bantered, was also involved in a different creative venture: a feature film titled Hawks. Due for release by the end of summer, the film starred Timothy Dalton and Anthony Edwards and leaned toward comedy.
“I’m pleased with it,” Barry says simply. “We even did some of the music, so we had to see the final cut. It works.”
The project, he explains, grew from an idea he had developed with a close friend years earlier. Whether the film would succeed commercially was not something that weighed heavily on him. “If it’s a hit or a flop, I haven’t really thought about it,” he admits. “I’m just happy that the film got made.”
The conversation briefly turns somber when the subject of personal loss arises. The brothers gently but firmly decline to discuss the recent death of their younger brother, Andy Gibb.
“It’s something we’ve agreed not to talk about publicly,” they say. “We’re not ready. He was too young. And it wasn’t what the papers said.”
They emphasize that grief is not something that can be neatly explained or analyzed. “It’s a feeling you can’t describe. You have to experience it yourself.”
Soon, the focus returns to the stage. Despite decades of success, the nerves never disappear. “You never lose that feeling,” one of them confesses. “It’s like hearing your song on the radio for the first time. Every time, it still knocks you out.”
The same holds true for performing live. The anxiety fades after the first couple of songs, but the thrill remains—a necessary spark that keeps them sharp.
As for the future, the Bee Gees have heard every prediction imaginable. “People have written us off every ten years,” they say. “They’ve been saying we couldn’t possibly go on—three times now.”
Yet they continue, not out of obligation, but love. “We carry on because we love to write. We love what we do. We can’t do anything else.”
And with that, amid laughter and backstage bustle, the Bee Gees head toward the stage once more—still nervous, still passionate, and still doing exactly what they were born to do.