Founding brother of the Bee Gees crew, Robin Gibb, disco champs for a good four decades, lost a battle to cancer over the weekend (May 20). He was 62-years-young. The cool vibrato of the bunch, opposite older brother Barry’s iconic falsetto, Robin actually left the group for a spell to pursue a solo career prior to the album that ruined their cred forever – Saturday Night Fever. Returning in the early 70s, the reunited trio warily cut the soundtrack to further their career, John Travolta co-opting the band’s genius English takes on transcendental R&B, reducing their sound to a wavy-hair, gold-chained strut. So went the times, though. Before disco became the scapegoat of the collective music industry’s frustrations with rock. The genre, and all that came with it, would die. Or else (shaking a punk rock fist). But before all of this, there was Gibb, writing songs about a place in America he’d never even been to. Simple because he loved the sound of the word. And thus is a metaphor of his and the Bee Gee’s contribution to music. RIP Robin Gibb:

Feel I’m comin’ back to Massachusetts
Something’s tellin’ me I must go home