Where bought? Not sure. I owned it in Worcester, but quite late in my stay there (2015-2020). That means I couldn't have got it from Rise as it closed, and I never bothered much with the overpriced guy upstairs in the market. Doesn't feel like I got it from the outdoor market guy either. This narrows things down to Sound in Stroud, Mod Lang in Ludlow, or Carnival in Great Malvern. But it doesn't ring any bells with visits there either. Hmmmmmmmm.
In later years I've definitely latched onto the Bee Gees. They defy theorisation and are so much more than their disco years and the major hits. In the early days they were a proper band and not just the 'Brothers Gibb' - the Aussies Colin and Vince are definitely a part of their sound, and I feel losing them was quite a blow.
What attracted me to the group after 25 years or more with them in my periphery as a slightly mockable group of curmudgeonly siblings was quite a simple thing: I really love Robin Gibb's voice. Sometimes I call him my favourite male pop singer. His voice is vibrant, reedy, and melodramatic, his vibrato quivering into a Leslie cabinet in his throat, turning simple and earnest statements such as those in 'I Started A Joke' into strange and dark realities that are either deadly serious or completely mockable.
Barry sings most of the solo cuts here (5 to Robin's 2) with a number of co-lead vocals. Barry hasn't quite found his high range here and sings in a sort of Transatlantic blend of all of the Beatles ('In My Own Time' sounds like a milder 'Taxman'), which is semi-appropriate because the group are clearly being positioned in the market similarly. The below picture is odd to me because Barry (left) is clearly the hottie of the group:
It's not just the Beatles that the Bee Gees are lightly cribbing: there are pulls from the Moody Blues, Procul Harum, and Anthony Newley - oscillating between a light whimsy, pop nous, and autumnal psychedelia. There are indications of what they might sound like when they come into their own on 'New York Mining Disaster 1941'; strongly melody-first, oddly melancholic and harmonious with no small amount of dynamic uplift. Even when they're bumming you out, they're giving you a toe-tapping rhythm.
There are orchestral flourishes that really kick the group into overdrive: 'To Love Somebody' ravishes while 'I Can't See Nobody' has a wonderfully disquieting feel as strings duel with Robin's overwrought voice. Side B is generally just that bit better - a band that sound more comfortable with being themselves than other bands they're being pitched as being similar to. I get it, by the way - the 60s were so weird and cut-throat. Most bands had one song to make an impression.
This is a really good record, actually. If I could bring myself to ignore some of the borrowings I'd call it one of the best 60s pop albums: there are no clunkers on it, and the best ones are products of fine imagination performed immaculately.
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