September 2025

In the quiet of a hospital room in 2012, Robin Gibb, the voice behind timeless Bee Gees classics, took his final breath. But long before that, his heart had always beaten for more than just music. After the death of his twin brother Maurice, Robin was never the same. He often spoke of hearing his brother’s voice, feeling his presence in the studio — as if the music kept Maurice alive. Even as cancer consumed his body, Robin kept writing, kept singing, often from his bed, whispering melodies into a recorder. One of his final projects was a classical piece honoring World War I soldiers — a tribute to unsung heroes, much like himself. “A Star In Heaven” isn’t just a title. It’s who Robin became — a soul that burned bright, faded too soon, but never truly disappeared. His voice may have gone silent on earth, but it echoes on… reminding us that even in the deepest pain, love, music, and memory never die.

Introduction For those of us who have followed the ebb and flow of popular music...

You Missed

THE NIGHT COUNTRY MUSIC HELD ITS BREATH: Alan Jackson Walked Onstage… and Time Seemed to Stop. There were no blazing pyrotechnics, no theatrical farewell designed to soften the truth everyone in the room could feel. When Alan Jackson stepped into the light, it wasn’t the entrance of a star ending a tour—it felt like a man carrying decades of stories onto one last stretch of stage. The crowd roared, but beneath the cheers there was a fragile silence, the kind that comes when people realize a moment will never come again. Each song landed heavier than the last. The melodies were the same ones fans had carried through weddings, funerals, long drives, and quiet nights—but now every note felt like it was slipping through their fingers. You could see it in the faces in the audience: some smiling, some wiping tears, many simply standing still, as if afraid to blink and miss something sacred. What made the night unforgettable wasn’t the setlist or the performance—it was the unspoken understanding. This wasn’t a farewell tour in the usual sense. It felt more like standing at the edge of a long, winding road, watching the sun set behind it, knowing the journey mattered more than the ending. And when the lights dimmed, there was no grand goodbye. Just the echo of a voice that had carried generations, fading gently into the dark—leaving behind the haunting realization that some endings don’t announce themselves… they simply arrive, and leave your heart quieter than before.