On March 20, 1999, I found myself living every teenage Bee Gees fan’s dream. At just 17 years old, dressed in my best corduroy pants and “going out shirt,” I was backstage at Western Springs Stadium in Auckland, New Zealand. Seventy thousand fans buzzed outside, but there I was, shaking hands and taking photos with Barry, Robin, and Maurice Gibb — the Bee Gees themselves — all thanks to winning a nationwide Bee Gees radio competition.
Most of that night is a blur, but two moments with Maurice are etched into my memory. I had practiced my line for him, and when the time came, it spilled out nervously but true:
Me: “I always said if I ever met you, I’d tell you that Railroad is one of my all-time favorite songs.”
Maurice: laughing “I’m glad somebody liked it!”
He chuckled because Railroad, his 1970 debut solo single, had flopped almost everywhere — except in parts of Southeast Asia, where it quietly climbed to #6 in Malaysia and #9 in Singapore. Still, the timing was messy. Its release coincided with the Bee Gees’ I.O.I.O., a single from the Barry-and-Maurice duo era while Robin was briefly out of the band. Many thought the Bee Gees were finished. But by the end of 1970, all three brothers reunited, and the rest is history: a decade of global dominance and a permanent place among the greatest pop acts of all time.
And yet… Railroad deserved more love.
I first discovered it through the Tales From The Brothers Gibb box set, which I bought in 1998 after weeks of saving from my $7.36-an-hour supermarket job. It cost me nearly $120 NZD — a fortune at the time — but worth every penny. The moment I heard the violins in the chorus, I was hooked. That six-second line between 0:59 and 1:05 still gives me chills. The buried vocals, the Americana-tinged verses, the strings building layer by layer — it was simple, heartfelt, and brilliantly put together.
The lyrics, co-written with Billy Lawrie (Lulu’s brother), tell of someone leaving a town behind to return home to family and a waiting love. But like so many Gibb songs, the emotion is what truly carries it. Lines like “There’s been lies told in my story / But I ain’t juiced none of that glory” show off Maurice’s trademark swagger — hinting at a complex mix of regret, resilience, and maybe even a roguish charm.
Over time, Railroad became one of those hidden gems for Bee Gees fans. So much so that Maurice’s daughter, Samantha Gibb, released her own reimagined version to mark the song’s 50th anniversary. In her words: “I heard that trains can be a metaphor for passing time. Hope this helps you all get through some of those quarantine hours.”
Back in 1999, as the Bee Gees were about to hit the stage, I said my goodbye to the brothers with one last hopeful comment:
Me: “I really hope to meet you all again someday.”
Maurice: “You absolutely will. I guarantee you that.”
Sadly, both Maurice and Robin passed away before that could happen. But in the years since, I’ve had the privilege of interviewing Barry Gibb multiple times — an honor that’s been one of the great joys of my career. When I shared this memory with Samantha recently, she replied: “It’s always nice hearing stories about [Dad] and when people first met him. He always made an impression.”
She’s right. Maurice had that rare gift: to make everyone feel seen, even nervous teenagers in awkward pants and oversized shirts. And through songs like Railroad — and now through Samantha — that impression lives on.
Leave a Reply