Maybe it's because I've heard "Night Fever" three times in the past couple of days (radio/store/Pandora), but I just read an article in Rolling Stone on Barry Gibb, the last Bee Gee brother, and it made me really sad. And angry. And happy. I'll tell you why.
It makes me sad because Barry seems quite depressed without his family. Although they didn't always get along, and he wasn't on the best terms with each of them when they died, he seems to grieve all over again when he speaks of them. The wound opens up and he has to close it.
It makes me angry because there's a moment when Barry looks back on his career with doubt, disdain even. The article says he will greet a fan at his home every once in awhile. Barry says, "It does your heart good. Makes you realize not everyone hated it." I'm not angry at him. I'm angry at people who worship the Kim Kardashians of this world, who have not contributed one lick of anything to society, yet they are put on pedestals to fawn over and we are supposed to give a damn about their every move. And here is this great, magnificent singer/songwriter who's made such beautiful music...playing the role of Eeyore: head hung low with a "thanks for noticing" kind of defeated attitude.
It makes me happy because Barry is going out on tour again. By himself, for the first time. It seems he became a bit of a hermit after Robin died and some friends/family had to snap him out of it. I understand wanting to be alone, hide from the world, not be "on" all of the time. I totally get that. But he has a gift and I'm glad he's still willing to share it, even if it's only six shows and will cost him as much as he will make. Haters be damned. You've got fans, man.
I'm also happy that I downloaded some Bee Gees songs I didn't have. And I should be dancing with night fever on the way to work later. That's what's important. Not a multi-million dollar wedding. Not a clothing line. Not a reality show. Music lives. Music lasts. Music counts. The rest is just cheap entertainment.