Pronounced
“MORRIS,” by the way
Let’s see… John Entwistle. George Harrison. So how come it’s
the utterly coolest-by-far members of some of our all-time favorite bands who
seem to depart far, far too soon?
Maurice Gibb of the Bee Gees truly went horizontal on us as
well, almost twenty years ago already. And, like Messrs. Entwistle and
Harrison, Maurice in many ways did
appear to be “the quiet one” amongst his musical company. But really only to
those who weren’t listening closely enough.
On the surface certainly overshadowed by twin brother
Robin’s other-worldly vibrato (not to mention Barry Gibb’s wholly Kennedy-esque
jumbo pin-up persona), Maurice was in
truth the literally unsung hero behind the Bee Gees’ multitude of stage,
studio, and especially compositional achievements. For example, à la the
so-called Quiet Beatle, his voice was always the key, if seemingly “ghost”
harmony in the Gibbs’ intricate three-tiered vocal blend. Plus Maurice’s sense of humor (off- and most pointedly back-stage as well) was every single inch the absurdly dark equal
to that of The Who’s wickedly bass-bottomed Ox-man, as even surface exposure to the Bee
Gees’ vast library of unreleased, um, “party tapes” will certainly reveal.
On a less tragicomic tack, it is interesting to consider
that sly-fox Maurice remained the only Gibb to never offer a full solo album up
for public consumption. Though certainly not for lack of trying: When the trio
first split beneath a hail of chart-topping rancor in the late Sixties, Maurice
launched sessions in earnest alongside then brother-in-law Billy Lawrie and
even Ringo Starr (!) for a long-player to be prophetically titled The Loner. Check with your preferred
file sharer to sample for yourself all the wily wonders well underway …before
Barry and Robin came calling with what was to become that first of several Bee
Gee comebacks, “Lonely Days.”
And on the subject of classy career revivals, when 2001’s splendid “This Is Where I Came In” unexpectedly put those Gibbs right back upon a plateau
every note the equal of their mid-Seventies and even mid-Sixties glory, near
complete credit for this sobering turn of fortunes was duly awarded to
Maurice’s greatly increased role in what, alas, turned out to be the Bee Gees’
swansongs.
Now, on the heels of that latest rebirth Barry and Robin
were reportedly dedicating every waking hour to keeping their physical and
vocal chops at tip-top, road-ready level. But Maurice? Why, he was, so characteristically, consumed instead
by a newfound passion for the utterly unmusical pursuit of Paintball combat…
and his Royal Rat Rangers (I kid you not) team had just made the semi-finals at
London’s Crystal Palace World Campaign Cup competitions!
So it only remains to suggest at this juncture that perhaps
the entire world could benefit greatly if we all just took some time out as
soon as possible for one great big round of global Paintball in Maurice’s
matronly, peace-loving honor. Because you just know he would be the first to
gamely join in, with a spit and a grin, to fill as only he could that
irreplaceable hole in our intricate harmonic fabric.
Godspeed, Maurice. Born on the 22nd of this month, 1949.
You were far from a Loner in this
world.
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