Less than two years after leaving Australia and scoring their first Anglo-American hit, "New York Mining Disaster 1941", the Bee Gees had matured to the point where they they had the confidence to write neo-classical instrumentals with titles like "Seven Seas Symphony" and "With All Nations (International Anthem)". In 1969, while others were paring back and amping up, the Gibb brothers were building a wall of sound that owed more to Edward Elgar than Phil Spector, let alone Muddy Waters.
Odessa was the sprawling result, a 2xLP in a luxuriant red velour sleeve-- there was no doubt this was an Important Statement from a group considered, up to this point, to be purveyors of sweet, harmless orch-pop. Barry Gibb was a pin-up and, as far as the serious press was concerned that slotted these guys alongside the Monkees. It meant little that "I've Gotta Get a Message to You" (a UK No.1 from the previous year) was about a convicted killer's dying request, or that their first three albums had featured thrilling psychedelic pop that trumped since-fetishized British acts like July or Blossom Toes.
The only hit single on Odessa was "First of May", a ballad that goes for world-weary significance ("Don't ask me why, but time has passed us by/ Someone else moved in from far away") without making much sense-- this is a recurring Bee Gees lyrical trait, and an endearing one. "First" also boasted a melancholy music box arrangement and one of Barry Gibb's more sonorous croons. It is extremely pretty. It also caused a rupture in the group that would lead them to split up for the better part of two years. When Barry's "First of May" consigned Robin's "Lamplight" to the B-side, the festering jealousy between the brothers was made very public. Robin quit, made one odd solo album (Robin's Reign), and an even odder unreleased one (Sing Slowly Sisters) before the three were reconciled at the end of 1970.
"Lamplight" doesn't sound like a hit, truthfully. No matter. From its heavily thrummed acoustic intro and unintelligible echo-ridden opening verse to the massed harps and a storyline that alludes to lost love and candlelit Victoriana, it seems Robin is unsure of what he wants to say, yet knows exactly how to say it: loudly and tearfully. You get the feeling he wished he'd been born 50 years earlier. Both songs are ambitious, then, but you can understand the younger brother's pique.
Rubbing salt into Robin's wounds, the title track had been given a catalogue number but was withdrawn in favor of "First of May". This would have been a brave and extraordinary single, the kind-- like "Good Vibrations" or "Left to My Own Devices"-- that can prove almost impossible to follow. "Odessa (City on the Black Sea)" is about the sinking of the (fictitious) ship Veronica on Valentines Day, 1899. Over nearly eight minutes, it takes the form of a letter written by a shipwrecked sailor to his sweetheart, and careers between surreal music-hall observations ("You love the vicar more than words can say"), Flamenco flourishes, and the most dolorous, vast chords; on the final chorus Robin Gibb is reduced to a wordless wail that sounds rather a lot like the baring of his soul.
It seems cheap to claim a single album would have doubled Odessa's strength, but nevertheless there are a clutch of weaker tracks, some of which include lyrics that sound tetchy and petulant ("You'll Never See My Face Again", the draggy "I Laugh in Your Face") when you know the familial back story. None of them is "How Do You Sleep?". Still, you'd miss Barry's straighter pop cuts (the sunny "Melody Fair", a No. 1 single in Japan, the oboe-led "Suddenly") if Robin had got everything his own way. This reissued edition expands the release even further. Both the mono and stereo mixes are included, along with a bunch of intriguing demos (a rough version of "Odessa" itself with a cod-American spoken intro, a vocal version of the comically pompous "With All Nations") and the previously unheard "Nobody's Someone", a real gem that anticipates the early-1970s country-soul direction of "How Can You Mend a Broken Heart".
It seems that the flock sleeve and the fact it's a double has-- as the group doubtless intended in 1969-- led critics to lend Odessa a status some way above the other Bee Gees albums of the period. If it kept up the level of intensity on the title track, "Lamplight", and "Black Diamond" (another high-seas adventure of a song) it would merit the legend. As it is, Odessa is a feast that's hard to fault for ambition but too rich and occasionally too stodgy to take in one sitting.
