New York Mining Disaster is very folk-like, and I’d never know it was by the BeeGees if I wasn’t told. So, it passes muster. However, most of the BeeGees repertoire, while popular in its time, just leaves me feeling very pussified. Falsetto voices all the time make my nuggets shrivel.

I can’t put the BeeGees into the “Guilty Pleasure” column of music, because while I may listen to it, tap my feet, even remember bits and pieces of the popular songs at random, I honestly don’t feel good about it. I don’t seek out the music (contrary to the slag wench’s words above), I was just being kind. Let’s see if she ever gets a present again, eh?

So the BeeGees haunt my brain, like the bogeyman haunts a child. Except the BeeGees are/were real, they hide in record collections across the world, and are now jumping out from behind cranial cobwebs onto unsuspecting adults who were exposed to this toxic aural brew as children. It’s like “A Nightmare On Elm Street” meets Union Carbide… the mind recoils.

I guess you’re just a walking mutant if you survived the 70s.

Brainsssssss….