I was pleased — and mildly surprised — at the warmth of the tributes this week to Robin Gibb, who died on Sunday after a brave battle against cancer. The Times was especially generous in its coverage, giving the Bee Gees singer and songwriter not only a long obituary stretching over more than a page, but also a double-spread feature and a leader in which it praised him for helping to supply “the soundtrack to modern life”.

A fan of the Bee Gees, and especially of Robin’s voice, since first hearing New York Mining Disaster in 1967, I value particularly their early work. This tends to be overlooked by people — younger people, I suppose — who know only their immensely catchy disco tunes of the late seventies.

Among the most prized items in my collection of CDs is the boxed set whose cover is seen above. A gift from a dear friend who had a family link to Robin, it contains the band’s first three albums — Bee Gee’s 1st, Horizontal and Idea — along with copious pictures and fascinating sleeve notes.

Robin’s amazing voice is heard at its blissful best on such tracks as Massachusetts, I’ve Gotta Get a Message to You and, especially, the spine-tingling And the Sun Will Shine. Its delicacy contrasts noticeably with the harsher tones of his elder brother Barry whose vocals — after some acrimony — came to dominate the group’s output.

I have, incidentally, taken a lot of gyp over the years for what has been judged an ‘uncool’ admiration for the toothy, perma-tanned trio of musicians. So I have for my early championing of — among others — artists as varied as Abba, The Troggs and Leonard Cohen. Yet all these are now regarded warmly by the cognoscenti.

Common to the self-penned work of the four acts is a gift for melody, their writers all being famous men such as — in that beautiful phrase from Ecclesiasticus — “found out musical tunes”. The assumption in this, of course, is that the tunes were always there, thanks to the Almighty, for the finding.

Robin, I think, probably recognised that.