Rings Around The Moon

Rings Around The Moon

Rings Around The Moon: Robin Gibb Funeral

quantriweb2023 April 13, 2025 No Comments

Introduction “Rings Around the Moon”: A Gentle Farewell at Robin Gibb’s Funeral In the quiet corners of grief, music often speaks what words cannot. That was certainly the case at…

A BROTHER IN SONG – JIMMY FORTUNE’S FINAL TRIBUTE TO HAROLD REID. In the quiet chapel of Staunton, Virginia, Jimmy Fortune stepped forward — not as a performer, but as a brother saying goodbye. Standing before Harold Reid’s portrait, Jimmy’s voice wavered with love and loss. “This one’s for you,” he said softly. No spotlight. No show. Just a single guitar and a song that felt like a prayer. As Jimmy sang, his voice carried years of friendship, laughter, and shared miles. When words failed him, he looked upward — letting silence say what music could not. It wasn’t a performance. It was a farewell — holy, humble, and true.

Just after midnight, George Strait got the call. Ozzy Osbourne was gone. No hesitation—just four quiet words: “Don’t worry, I’m coming.” By dawn, he stood beside Alan Jackson outside a Gothic church in Birmingham, where Ozzy’s journey once began. Alan had driven 100 miles through the night to be there. Together, in front of the crowd, the two legends sang “Changes”—the haunting ballad Ozzy once offered to his children, his ghosts, and the silence between tours. It wasn’t a performance. It was a farewell. A vow that the voice which once screamed against the dark would never be forgotten. And in that moment, two country legends sang the Prince of Darkness home.

No Spotlight. No Encore. Just Vince Gill, a Song, and a Whispered Farewell to Ozzy Osbourne…” The chapel was dim, the candles flickering low. A single photo of Ozzy Osbourne sat between black roses and worn leather—more outlaw than saint, but no less deserving of grace. Then came Vince Gill. No spotlight. No fanfare. Just a man and his guitar. “This one’s for you, brother,” he said softly, before singing “Go Rest High on That Mountain.” His voice—fragile, reverent—cut through the silence with a grief that transcended genre. Rock, country—it didn’t matter anymore. Just life. Just loss. As the last note faded, Vince placed a black guitar pick with “O.O.” etched on it beside the photo. No applause followed. Only reverence. And a mountain, somewhere, welcoming a prince home.

Don Reid stood alone under the soft chapel lights in Staunton, Virginia — not as a Statler Brother, but simply as Harold’s little brother. Before a crowd of loved ones and hometown hearts, he clutched the lyrics he’d sung a hundred times but now meant more than ever. “I’ll Go To My Grave Loving You” filled the chapel — no harmony, no band, just Don’s trembling voice and a sorrow only family knows. When his voice broke before the final line, no one moved. He didn’t need to finish. Because everyone there already knew — he would.