Bee Gees, "You'll Never See My Face Again"

I am in a funk. I am enjoying my students, but I am teaching three preps right and along with some added responsibilities and it is getting near the end of the term and I can feel my wick burning down to the nub. The state of the world hasn't helped all that much, either. Each day brings a new horror and I feel like I am living in some kind of insane funhouse. Last Friday night I sat in front of my computer late at night, the rest of my family asleep as I read about the CIA's knowledge that Russia had intentionally tried to swing the election to Trump. This of course came after Trump had made it known that he wanted to put generals in positions normally held by civilians. I am beginning to seriously think that our country as we know it is about to come to an end.

Well, I am not going to regale you with my theories on that count. No, I am going to talk about some comfort music, since we all need to be taking care of ourselves. I've let it be known that I love the Bee Gees' baroque pop of the 1960s, and I don't care who knows. I know it's about the least hip music around, but the melodies are beautiful and the themes melancholy, allowing me to wallow in my funk in a way that feels cozy rather than frightening. I often turn to this music in winter, when my seasonally-related drops in serotonin lead me to cling to musical comfort food for survival.

Odessa was the last of the Bee Gees' baroque pop albums of the 60s, one that almost broke up the band. (Robin actually left for a little bit after.) The orchestrations on it are much bigger and more lush than the preceding albums, and there is little rock and roll here. Amidst the bittersweet love songs on the album comes "You'll Never See My Face Again," a jaded kiss off with more than a hint of just straight out bitterness, no sweetness included. It has a great sound, an insistent, almost gritty acoustic guitar meshing with the atmospheric strings. I've heard this song is about Robin's intention of leaving the band, but I listen to it when I am so world-weary that I just want the world to piss off and leave me alone.

That's how I feel this week, at least. Maybe next week I can get back to fighting again.

Track of the Week: Bee Gees "And the Sun Will Shine"

Growing up I always thought of the Bee Gees as the lycra-clad blow-dried hairy-chested flared-trousered avatars of everything that was silly about the 1970s.  When I first really got aware music (around 1983), there was nothing less cool than disco and the Bee Gees.  Some time in college I realized that disco is a lot of fun, but did not have any idea about what the Brothers Gibb had been up to beforehand until a friend made me a mix CD of their baroque 1960s pop music when I was in grad school.  I immediately fell in love, no matter how sentimental and silly their string-drenched, daftly lyricized songs of that era may be.

That music took on special resonance when I moved from grad school to my first academic job in western Michigan.  As much as I love Michigan, its winters are a true trial of the spirit.  I found the drippy melancholy of the Bee Gees' first three records to be the perfect accompaniment the endless string of cloudy days.  Humans are like plants, we need sunshine or we will wilt and die.  The lack of sunshine wore me down much more than the cold winds and constant snow, the Bee Gees helped me wallow in it.

No song spoke to my longing for a sunny day than "And the Sun Will Shine," a lovely ballad featuring some of Robin Gibb's most emotional singing.  His cracking, high voice is easy to parody, but its vulnerability makes you believe what he's saying, despite the obscurity of the lyrics.  The beginning cuts through me, the strings bitingly ominous, Robin's voice sounding like a man about to lose the will to live.  Then the song shifts gears with the words "And the sun will shine/ if just for you" offering the prospect of hope in the rising notes, before descending again into dirge territory lamenting loneliness, then shifting once again on the note of quiet hope.  The alternating poles of despair and optimism in the song mirror the experience of anyone who's ever been at the end of their emotional rope.  It's amazing to think that an 18 year old could channel such feelings.