Introduction:
To mark the sad passing of Robin Gibb, we return to the archives of Rock’s Backpages—the world’s leading collection of vintage music journalism—for a candid and revealing interview first published in Top Pops in August 1969. The interview, conducted by Keith Altham, followed the Bee Gees’ temporary split and coincided with Robin’s solo rise, marked by his chart-climbing debut single “Saved By the Bell.”
At the time, Robin’s solo success sparked debate about who was truly the creative force behind the Bee Gees. But for those who had long admired his distinct, emotive voice, the answer seemed obvious. If Robin had a motto, it might well have been borrowed from an old Max Bygraves tune: “You’ve Gotta Have Heart.”
“I sing how I feel,” Robin told Altham. “I know I haven’t got a great voice, but I manage to touch something inside other people that they understand. It’s an accident—but the best kind of accident—one with no blood involved.”
Robin viewed his unconventional vocal style as central to his appeal. Deliberately retaining its broken, imperfect tone, he brushed aside the idea of taking singing lessons. “If I did that, it wouldn’t be me, would it?” he said firmly. “Dylan sings in the same way as me. He uses his heart as an instrument. Even I don’t completely understand why it works—but it does.”
His deep sensitivity was well known and shaped both his music and his worldview. He reacted to life’s intensity with a kind of emotional honesty that few artists dare to share. While he welcomed thoughtful critique, he was often wounded by gossip and media intrusion—especially when it involved those closest to him.
“The thing that really hurt me—and what ultimately made me leave the Bee Gees—was an article involving my wife,” he explained. “It twisted her words, slandered both of us, and made it look like Molly was a bad influence on me instead of the inspiration she is.”
Robin’s inspirations were personal and deeply felt. Among them was the traumatic Hither Green rail crash, which he survived. “It had a lasting effect on me,” he recalled. “I saw bodies and people receiving the last rites. I’m frightened stiff of death. But it also showed me who my real friends were—the ones who asked how I felt, not just what I saw.”
He found similar depth in literature. “Writers like Lewis Carroll and Charles Dickens affect me,” he said, referencing a passage in Dickens’ work where a call to end public hangings was legally suppressed. “That moved me deeply.”
Robin was also unabashedly sentimental. He admitted to watching Mary Poppins five times and dreamed of writing a song for Julie Andrews. “I love the music they write for Julie,” he said. “The Sherman brothers write beautiful songs. Rodgers and Hammerstein, too—I like all that kind of music.”
Despite his fragile temperament, going solo didn’t scare him. In fact, it was liberating. “I was getting too hurt where I was,” he confessed. “Music is an adventure to me, and I can do far more on my own. Writing within the Bee Gees became limiting when they started judging my work. I’m not going to be judged. Okay—so I killed a man—but I’m not going to be judged!”
Robin also looked beyond the earth for meaning, believing in the influence of stars and celestial forces. “If the moon affects the tides, why shouldn’t stars affect us too?” he reasoned.
His passion for history was equally strong. “I’m a British history fanatic,” he said. “Sir Winston Churchill is my hero—I doubt there will ever be a greater man.” At the time of the interview, Robin was working on musicals inspired by Dickens’ Scrooge and the life of Henry VIII. “The songs for Henry VIII are already written,” he shared. “It’s a happy-sad story—like most of my work. Full of pathos.”
As for “Saved By the Bell,” his debut solo single, Robin insisted it wasn’t chosen as a hit but written with the same care as all his songs. “Everything I write is to the best of my ability. Any track could be a single. Mother and Jack, the B-side, could have been an A-side. So could every song on my first LP.”
This intimate portrait of Robin Gibb captures not only the artist but the man—sensitive, visionary, and determined to stay true to himself. His passing may mark the end of an era, but his heart remains in every note he left behind.
