Andy Gibb: The Bee Gee's Smarter Brother?
Toby Goldstein, Creem, February 1978
NINETEEN-YEAR-old Andy Gibb has the sort of complexion that would make the Breck girl feel ravaged sitting in the same room with him. Contrasted with the rest of us suffering a typical New York day, buried under a clever blend of 1000% humidity and petrified funk which dares to call itself air, the youngest Gibblet is long-blond-haired, pink-skinned and insisted, as I envied his healthy exuberance: "You're kidding! I'm shattered. You should have seen me before the tour. Three months of two shows a night." He prat-fell off the fake-antique hotel chair.
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