"Jim Morrison's very good looking, but I don't like this version of the song. The Feliciano version is better"
About this Quote
It lands like a perfectly tossed dart: praise the face, reject the work. Maurice Gibb’s line is a compact lesson in how pop culture seduces audiences into confusing charisma for craft, and how musicians quietly resent that sleight of hand when it starts rewriting the score.
The opening clause flatters Jim Morrison in the most visible, least musical way possible. “Very good looking” isn’t incidental; it’s the point. Morrison, as a symbol of late-60s rock mystique, could get credit before a note was judged. Gibb’s pivot - “but I don’t like this version” - snaps the listener back to the audio, a reminder that songs aren’t posters. The subtext is a mild swat at celebrity gravity: stop letting the frontman’s myth do the heavy lifting.
Then comes the real tell: “The Feliciano version is better.” Jose Feliciano represents something almost opposite to Morrison’s aura - musician-first credibility, interpretive nuance, the player who earns attention through touch and phrasing rather than glare. By naming Feliciano, Gibb isn’t just stating a preference; he’s signaling allegiance to arrangement, feel, and execution over cool.
Contextually, it reads like an insider’s corrective from someone who lived through an era when “authenticity” became branding. Coming from a Bee Gee - a band that spent years being underestimated, then denounced, then rediscovered - it’s also personal. Gibb knows how quickly taste becomes tribe, and how quickly tribes confuse the icon for the song.
The opening clause flatters Jim Morrison in the most visible, least musical way possible. “Very good looking” isn’t incidental; it’s the point. Morrison, as a symbol of late-60s rock mystique, could get credit before a note was judged. Gibb’s pivot - “but I don’t like this version” - snaps the listener back to the audio, a reminder that songs aren’t posters. The subtext is a mild swat at celebrity gravity: stop letting the frontman’s myth do the heavy lifting.
Then comes the real tell: “The Feliciano version is better.” Jose Feliciano represents something almost opposite to Morrison’s aura - musician-first credibility, interpretive nuance, the player who earns attention through touch and phrasing rather than glare. By naming Feliciano, Gibb isn’t just stating a preference; he’s signaling allegiance to arrangement, feel, and execution over cool.
Contextually, it reads like an insider’s corrective from someone who lived through an era when “authenticity” became branding. Coming from a Bee Gee - a band that spent years being underestimated, then denounced, then rediscovered - it’s also personal. Gibb knows how quickly taste becomes tribe, and how quickly tribes confuse the icon for the song.
Quote Details
| Topic | Music |
|---|---|
| Source | Help us find the source |
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