Look: Everybody, and I’m including Inuits, that deaf dumb and blind kid who plays pinball, and people who live in yurts, should own 1967’s Bee Gees 1st. Its psychedelic pop will blow your mind and that’s an unreconstituted fact.
And if you’ve got the scratch you should probably own its follow-ups Horizontal, Idea, and Odessa too. But if you’re a cheap bastard like me or just not a huge fan you can’t go wrong with 1969’s Best of Bee Gees, a crackerjack compilation of their singles from 1966-1969.
Best of Bee Gees hardly does full justice to their early days, mind you–singles are just singles and you’ll look for such great deep cuts from Bee Gees 1st as “Turn of the Century” and “Red Chair, Fade Away” in vain–but if you’re looking for a succinct comp that doesn’t include their disco era work, this 12-cut distillation is essential.
But this is dry, pedantic stuff, so let’s get down to the real point I want to make: The Early Brother Gibbs were God. They wrote gorgeous songs, sang like blissful castrati, and got that groovy psychedelic vibe down just right, and they did it all despite the fact that they were raised by dingos in the remote vastness of the Australian outback.
It’s true. In 1960 a roving group of ethnomusicologists/camel rustlers discovered the three brothers living in naked, fece-stained squalor inside a meteor impact crater, singing Gregorian chants in perfect harmony. Within the year they’d learned human speech and formed their first group and the rest, as they say, was history.
Of course nothing says Bee Gees like gonad-free male vocals, and here’s the thing–they learned ‘em by imitating their keening dingo parents. But the incredible three-part harmonies were their own invention, and scientists are still working around the clock in such countries as Liechtenstein (where they’re confident the Gibbs’ vocals will provide a cure for testicular cancer) and Moldavia to figure out how they did it. Telepathy is one theory. Bat communication research is also providing valuable insights.
That said, those vocals would be nothing without the great songs. The Brothers Gibb had a knack for the truly weird; they were a pop group, for sure, but as such titles as “New York Mining Disaster 1941” and “Every Christian Lion Hearted Man Will Show You” prove, they weren’t exactly singing I wanna hold your hand.
The Beatles influence is obvious–”In My Own Time” is the best Beatles song I’ve ever heard–but they were anything but slavish imitators, and they added a bracing touch of blue-eyed soul (see “To Love Somebody” and “I Can’t See Nobody”) that you’ll seek in vain from Lennon/McCartney.
The boys’ vocals border on the precious, but they know how to make precious work; the lush backing vocals and nonsense syllables of “Holiday” make it a baroque delight. And the positively gorgeous vocals on “World” make one very, very great slice of psychedelia–love the stately piano and that far-out guitar–even greater. I know why it took the Brothers so long to figure out the world is round–their dingo parents raised them to believe it was as flat as the Outback–and they pack all of their joy at this wonderful discovery into three minutes and 13 seconds of pure bliss.
They’re a bit more down to earth on the “could be a Glen Campbell tune” “Massachusetts,” but their three-part harmonies are still lovely beyond words; no, they don’t have Kennedy accents, but if they want to call the Codfish State home that’s fine by me. As for “I Can’t See Nobody,” brother Robin positively warbles on lead vocals, while Barry and Maurice pitch in to produce a killer slice of kangaroo soul. And they go R&B with a vengeance on the very anthemic “To Love Somebody” as well–Isley Brothers look out!
“I’ve Got to Get a Message to You” is a plaintive cry from the seat of the electric chair, and it generates real volts; Robin and Barry go method actor on dueling lead vocals, while the backing vocals scorch. And oh how it builds! I’ll bet you the lights blinked on and off for miles around while they cut this one. “Tomorrow Tomorrow” is pure pop with a Boxtops edge and cool soul horns and I love the contrast between the spritely verses and the positively epic choruses. Love that resigned group sigh too.
My favorite, of course, is “Every Christian Lion Hearted Man Will Show You,” one of the best songs to come out of the great year of 1967 and best songs ever recorded period. The Bee Gees nail psychedelia to the wall on this fabulous slice of Magical Mystery Theater; it’s got a little Moody Blues in it, a little Beatles too, but it’s better than both–better than Procol Harum’s “A Whiter Shade of Pale” almost.
What a fantastical concatenation of elements! You get a little Gregorian chanting, one very heavy melody that suddenly breaks open like the sun through a thick veil of clouds, and the loveliest tripartite harmonies this side of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. And the drums positively reek LSD.
As for “New York Mining Disaster 1941,” well, it’s just strange, but in a wonderful way; hard to know if poor confused Robin is trapped underground or just in his head, and Mr. Jones won’t tell him if he seen Robin’s wife or not. Not since the Beatles announced they knew how many holes it takes to fill the Albert Hall has anyone come up with anything as baroque or off-kilter.
The Bee Gees would go on to reinvent themselves as disco saviors in the mid-seventies, and an amazing development it was–who would have guessed their voices could go even higher? Me, I adore their later bared chest pelt work, and would sooner give up my commemorative Studio 54 cocaine-spoon necklace than part with the likes of “Staying Alive” and “Jive Talkin’.”
But their earlier stuff, ah. The plain fact is they still had some dingo in them then, and like all noble savages were in closer harmony with the cosmos. You can literally hear the sun and moon revolving in “Every Christian Lion Hearted Man Will Show You,” and the effect is glorious. I like to dance around to it in slow motion like I’m dancing in something thicker than air, and I invite you to try it too–it’s utterly divine.
GRADED ON A CURVE:
A
