Bee Gees - I Started A Joke

(RSO, 1974)

Well, I get around with a cane now. I have sustained some mysterious injury to my left foot that has made walking almost impossible, necessitating the purchase of a handsome aluminum cane that helps me hobble here and there about the town. But despite the prestige and air of distinction the walking stick gives me, this is an annoying – not to mention painful – state of affairs. And to make matters worse, here’s another one of these damned Mexican EPs. As usual, it’s a seemingly random grab-bag of tracks, this time drawing from 1968 (two songs), 1970, and 1972. Old faves “Words” and “I Started a Joke” get trotted out for the zillionth go-round, though it’s always nice to hear Robin’s ultra-dramatic and lyrically bizarre “…Joke” again and again. “Run to Me” and “Don’t Forget to Remember” are, for good reason, lesser-known hits. The former sees the Bee Gees in their early-’70s rut, churning out overwrought melancholia that crawls by at a snail’s pace with little of the charm or interesting arrangements heard on past material. “Don’t Forget to Remember” is an awkward attempt at a country-flavored heartbreak ballad, further hobbled by its gooey strings. All of these songs are easily found elsewhere, and the sleeve isn’t even interesting; why own this? Good question! OK, now here’s one for all of the podiatrists in the crowd: What does it mean when there is an excruciating, stabbing pain in the arch of your foot every time you put any weight on it?

Bee Gees - Lamplight

(Polydor, 1973)

Ready for a dull review? Released in Mexico while the band’s snooze-inducing Life in a Tin Can was busy tanking, this is an odds-and-ends EP that plucks love songs from 1967 (“To Love Somebody”), 1969 (“Lamplight”), and 1971 (“How Can You Mend a Broken Heart”). The grandiose “Lamplight” is dominated by Robin’s high-pitched warble, with bright-sounding acoustic guitars and syrupy strings underneath. The payoff when the beautiful chorus hits makes it worth a listen, but the song just isn’t that memorable or well-constructed; here, orchestral ambition has made the fellas forget that you need to keep things tight and coherent (a problem on much of the Odessa album from which this is taken). Adult soft-pop is the name of the game on “How Can You Mend a Broken Heart,” a delicate little wimpfest that might have one of the group’s best melodies ever. Deservedly a big smash, so why not weep to it tonight when you’re all alone? The stylistic hodge-podge continues with a shockingly mature track from the band’s first album, the white-as-fuck soul of “To Love Somebody.” Gold star for Barry, who gives a sassy performance that has more than a whiff of the distinctive vocal style he’d develop in the mid-’70s. Ought to mention as well that Eric Burdon and the Animals recorded a histrionic, seven-minute cover of this one in the late ’60s for their Love Is album. Find it and soak your ears in self-indulgence!

Bee Gees - Words EP

(Polydor, 1968)

Ah, the early Bee Gees. Look no further if you seek the “at” at which it’s at! This stuff is consistently outstanding, and it should blow away whatever early-80s popular-culture disco-backlash hangover might still be foolishly coloring your preconceptions of the group. The Bee Gees were a fairly democratic five-piece in their early days – the Gibbs plus Vince Melouney and Colin Petersen – and while they very much wrote for the pop market/charts, they typically brought an intense sense of drama and seriousness to their weird little tunes, most of which were heavily orchestrated with an odd chamber-psych sound. Love songs about death row? “I’ve Gotta Get a Message to You.” Upbeat songs about alcoholism? “Indian Gin and Whisky Dry.” Songs about being buried alive? “New York Mining Disaster 1941.” AND SO FORTH! They mighta dressed every track to the nines (TENS?!?) in strings, horns, and xylophones, but the melodies and harmonies were ALWAYS beautifruggingtardedly memorable. Always!

And sure nuff, this Portugese EP sees the kiddies hitting their stride with four lush, ambitious, feelings-drenched mini-soaps, two of which are from the Horizontal LP, two of which are non-album. “Words” is just piano and a pleading Barry vocal before, at the second verse, swelling into a tasteful full-orchestra arrangement that is pretty enough and sweet enough to tamp down what would otherwise be quite reasonable accusations of appalling sappiness. In a similarly maudlin vein, droning organ and strings underpin a more mournful Barry on “With the Sun in My Eyes,” which is perhaps as psychedelic a lovelorn croonfest as ever you’ll hear. Then it’s time for more emotional sun-fun with “And the Sun Will Shine,” a slightly rockier ballad – in the drums, primarily – this time featuring Robin’s quivering lead. But! BUT! The TOTAL EARTH-SHATTERING MASTERPIECE on here is the rousing “Sinking Ships,” which has a beefy pre-Fridmann – dig them bells – arrangement, cryptic yet moving lyrics, and soaring vocals (when they up the volume and break into that “Take a look inside myself…” bit: YOW!). This was a B-side?! Generosity, thy name is Gibb!! Which is precisely why you oughta right now be buying Rhino’s reissues of the first three Bee Gee albums, each of which includes a full disc of outtakes and non-LP rarities. Rethink everything you ever pre-thunk once you spin these thingies! Solid gold. Bee Gees? More like BEE’S KNEES!!!!

Look, I tried. It’s late.