Barry Gibb and Andy Gibb sing rare duet of ‘To Love Somebody’ in candid video from 1987

Introduction

Barry and Andy Gibb’s Last Duet: A Bittersweet Memory of Brotherly Love

In 1987, just one year before Andy Gibb’s untimely death, he shared a deeply moving moment on stage with his older brother Barry. Together, the two performed a powerful duet of the Bee Gees’ 1967 hit To Love Somebody at the annual Love and Hope Ball in Miami.

This rare footage captures one of the few known times the brothers performed together publicly, making it an especially treasured memory for fans. The event, held to raise funds for the Diabetes Research Institute, was a cause close to the Gibb family’s heart. Barry and his wife Linda had become deeply involved with the charity after moving to Miami in the 1970s, and in 1985, they were named International Chairmen of Love and Hope.

The Bee Gees and their children have continued to support the event for nearly four decades, but that evening in 1987 remains one of its most iconic moments. Andy’s voice, full of emotion, harmonized beautifully with Barry’s — a poignant display of their bond both as artists and as brothers.

Tragically, just one year later, Andy would be gone. He died of heart failure on March 10, 1988, at just 30 years old — a result of complications from years of substance abuse. Though he had entered rehab twice and was planning a comeback with a record deal through Island Records, the deal was never finalized. The Bee Gees had also announced their intention to officially welcome Andy as the fourth member of the group, something he had always dreamed of. But his health was failing, and time ran out.

In a 2009 interview with The Mirror, Barry and Robin Gibb reflected on Andy’s final days. “We’ve had as much tragedy as we’ve had success,” Barry said. “But of course, we’d give up all that success to have Andy and Maurice back.”

Robin recalled a haunting conversation he had with Andy just three days before his death. “I said, ‘Andy, if you keep up what you’re doing, you will not see 47.’” It was a chilling moment that stayed with Robin for years.

Barry added that while they knew Andy was struggling, they never imagined losing him so young. He remembered Andy’s face turning red and his energy fading during their tennis matches — early signs of a heart condition they didn’t fully understand at the time.

“Andy had a zest for life,” Barry said. “He was a boy. We were very much alike. If Andy wanted to learn something, he would just do it. He even learned how to fly a plane and could water-ski barefoot. He had this fearless spirit.”

Just two days after celebrating his 30th birthday in London and working on new music, Andy was admitted to a hospital in Oxford with chest pains. He died shortly after.

Today, Andy Gibb rests at Forest Lawn Memorial Park in Hollywood Hills, Los Angeles. His headstone reads:
Andy Gibb / March 5, 1958 – March 10, 1988 / An Everlasting Love.

His duet with Barry remains not only a beautiful tribute to his talent, but also a lasting reminder of the love and dreams shared between brothers.

Video

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.