Tribute Robin Gibb by David English

'The best white soul voice of all time': Bee Gees manager on the Robin Gibb he knew

David English, Bee Gees manager and friend for 40 years, pays tribute to generous, modest, amusing and talented Robin Gibb

 

Although we all knew this sad day was coming, I still can’t believe Robin Gibb has gone.
It might sound soppy and sentimental, but the Gibb boys – Barry, Maurice, Robin and Andy – were like brothers to me.
At times I felt like The Other Bee Gee.
One by one I’ve seen them go… first young Andy, then Maurice, now Robin. Poor old Barry is the last one standing. 
I’d known them all since 1973 when they joined RSO Records which I had started with Robert Stigwood.
I quickly learned the strength of the Bee Gees was their closeness, their incredible love for each other and for their families.
That never waned – from when they were little lads growing up together in Chorlton, Manchester, singing three part harmonies in the bath, while they were learning their trade singing at speedway circuits in Australia or when they were performing to a sell-out crowd at Madison Square Garden.
As songwriters they were phenomenal. Next to Lennon and McCartney they were the most successful song-writing team in history.
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They were like tailors who could cut a suit to fit anyone – their songs were perfect for whichever artist they were writing for, be it Celine Dion, Elvis, Barbra Streisand or Kenny Rogers and Dolly Parton.
And as artists they were uniquely talented. Nobody could sing a three part harmony like those Gibb brothers did.
But Robin had the greatest voice – in fact, I think he had the best white soul voice of all time.
It could take you to heaven. He also had the biggest heart of anyone I’ve ever met, and cared for others more than himself.
That’s why he was such a wonderful writer of love songs.
Robin truly understood the workings of the human heart and was able to portray that through his music and touch millions of people of all ages.
But I don’t think he ever realised the magnitude of his talent.
Robin was so generous in his charity work too.
<:figure class="inline-image clearfix "> <:figcaption>Close bond: Barry, Maurice and Robin Gibb
In 1978 the boys donated all the proceeds of their song Too Much Heaven, to UNICEF, and Robin was always ready to turn out and support my own charity cricket team, the Bunbury XI.
He also campaigned for years for a memorial to the heroes of RAF Bomber Command who lost their lives in the war – and said that was one of the greatest achievements of his life.
But bizarrely enough he was terrified of flying himself.
Despite Robin becoming an international star and living the jet-set lifestyle I had my work cut out getting him on a plane.
In 1980 we were due to fly to Kansas City but at 1am there was a knock at my bedroom door and Robin is standing there with an old blue suitcase containing his toothbrush and a couple of pairs of underpants.
He said: “I’ve been looking at the weather, Dave – it’s not looking good over the Gulf of Mexico, so I’m going to get the train.”
I spent the next couple of hours saying “Robbo, trust me, it’s going to be all right” until I managed to talk him round.
And despite being so modest about his talent, Rob was fanatical about topping the charts, being on every radio station playlist and getting the Bee Gees to number one.
He once called me at 3am from Paraguay because he’d gone into some obscure back-street record shop and found there was no promo poster for the new album in the window.
I had to get one sent round.
But I remember sitting with Robin and the boys in Time Square, New York, in 1978 on the day it was announced the Bee Gees had the top four records in the singles chart.
He turned to me and said “Dave, we cracked it.”
The thing that I remember most about my happy years with the Bee Gees is the laughter.
I’ve never met three other people who could make me laugh as much.
They were hysterical – and Robin was the ringleader with his surreal, Pythonesque sense of humour.
He would have Maurice and Barry crying with laughter with his off-the-wall jokes and naughty gags.
I remember being with them in Paris in the 70s.
After a long day of media interviews we all went out on to our hotel balcony for some air and saw there was a ledge that went right around the building.
We decided to explore. I went first, followed by Robin, Maurice and Barry, and as we passed one window we glanced in – and saw a young lady in the throes of passion beneath her lover.
She saw us too... and the look of shock on her face when she spotted the Bee Gees grinning at her was priceless.
By sheer coincidence, she was on the same plane as us on the way home. Robin couldn’t resist going up to her and saying “Hello, love, I almost didn’t recognise you with your clothes on!”
I was privileged to watch the way they worked together.
In 1975 they were looking for inspiration for new songs and, at Eric Clapton’s suggestion, they moved out to Miami Beach to stay at 461 Ocean Boulevard, which had inspired his album of that name.
I remember watching them in the studio and realising just how close they were.
They would come in one by one to start work each day but would all have the same melody in their heads… it was very spooky.
One day we were heading back from the studio to the house when we drove over Sunny Isles Bridge.
As the station wagon wheels rattled over the bridge they made this very particular “ch-ch-ch-ch-ch” sound.
Robin suddenly said “Turn back to the studio”. … and they all got it in an instant.
<:figure class="inline-image clearfix "> <:figcaption>Maurice Gibb & Robin Gibb

Daily Mirror

 

Based on the rhythm those wheels had made they sat straight down and wrote Jive Talkin’, which became their second US number one and the start of the next stage of their career.
Later that year we went to a studio in France and in just 36 hours they wrote Stayin’ Alive, Night Fever, How Deep Is Your Love and More Than a Woman - which helped Saturday Night Fever become the biggest soundtrack album of all time.
But that telepathic bond was particularly strong between Robin and Maurice, because they were twins.
When they were kids Maurice fell off their bicycle and even though Robin was 30 miles away, he actually felt the pain.
So when Maurice died so suddenly in 2003 Robin never got over it.
He’d already had to cope with Andy dying at the age of 30 - he was staying in Robin’s house at the time too.
That was the first arrow to his heart. But when Mo went, I don’t think he ever accepted it.
We were devastated when we found out Robin had cancer and that it was very advanced.
Part of me has always wondered if he had been ill for much longer but never said anything, because he didn’t want to worry and inconvenience people. He was that kind of guy.
I last saw Rob about seven weeks ago. Barry and I went to his home and he was so frail and emaciated.
I gave him a big hug and said: “Blimey, Robbo, you’re a bag of bones. We need to get you on the pies and Guinness and build you up so we can go on tour.”
His eyes lit up and he said “When?”
It was the best tonic we could have given him – even though Barry and I knew that it wasn’t going to happen.
Baz knew his brother was going, that it was a terminal illness.
But we just went along with it, saying “We’ve got to get you better and do some gigs in America.”
We had a laugh and a joke. He took the mickey out of me like he always did and his mind stayed as sharp as ever, right to the end.
We never talked about Rob’s condition or that he was dying – and I don’t know if he ever talked directly about it to Barry either.
But he did talk about Maurice all the time, about how he had died and how he had never got over it.
My heart goes out to Dwina and the kids, and to Barry and his mum Barbara who is 92 and has lost her husband and three of her boys.
Baz is a strong guy, he was always the leader, and I know he will want to celebrate the life of his brother and his incredible talent.
Perhaps there will be a tribute concert at some point.
Over the last few months I have felt as if we have been living under a big black cloud, knowing that the rain was coming but not when.
Today it is raining, and we are all mourning dear, dear Rob.
Robin Gibb’s memory will shine on through his music.