“Take Hold Of That Star” is early Bee Gees hope in miniature—an earnest teenage reach toward light, sung as if grabbing a distant promise could keep the night from closing in.
Before the world knew the Bee Gees as masters of harmony-drama and later dancefloor electricity, they were three brothers in Australia—young, hungry, and already writing with that unmistakable Gibb mix of innocence and intensity. “Take Hold Of That Star” first entered the world in July 1963 as the B-side to their Australian single “Timber!”, released on Leedon. It was written by Barry Gibb, recorded in June 1963 at Festival Studio, Sydney, and produced by Robert Iredale—a set of credits that reads like the earliest blueprint of what they would become: disciplined, melodic, and already emotionally ambitious for their age.
In terms of chart impact at the time of release, the “Timber!” single (with “Take Hold Of That Star” on the flip) peaked at No. 75 in Australia. It wasn’t a breakout hit—no sudden blaze, no instant mythology. But that modest chart footprint almost suits the song’s character: it feels like something made for the heart first, not the marketplace. A small lantern of a record, carried into the world with more faith than certainty.
What makes “Take Hold Of That Star” historically poignant is how quickly it became part of the Bee Gees’ earliest “identity package.” Just a couple of months later, in September 1963, it appeared on their first Australian release, The Bee Gees (EP), paired closely with “Timber!”—as if the band already understood these songs belonged together, like two sides of a single mood. Then, in November 1965, it took its place on their debut Australian album The Bee Gees Sing and Play 14 Barry Gibb Songs, where it sits like a youthful postcard—proof that their earliest years weren’t just singles and scattered experiments, but a coherent little world of Barry-written stories.
And the “story behind it,” in the emotional sense, is written right into that early context: this is a Barry Gibb song from the period when he was effectively the group’s principal writer and front voice—already practicing the craft of turning private longing into something singable. In 1963, they were still learning what it meant to be “the Bee Gees” on record—still finding the balance between pop neatness, doo-wop shadows, and the theatrical instinct that would later bloom. Yet even here, you can hear the essential Gibb signature: the way a simple phrase is delivered as if it matters tremendously, as if the singer has been thinking about it all day and finally can’t keep it inside.
The meaning of “Take Hold Of That Star” is beautifully direct: a star is hope you can see but not touch—guidance that feels real precisely because it’s far away. In the hands of teenage Bee Gees, that star becomes a kind of emotional instruction: hold on to something bright, even if you can’t explain why you need it. It’s romantic, yes—but not only romantic. It’s also the psychology of youth itself: the belief that if you just reach hard enough, the future will open. The song doesn’t come off cynical or clever. It comes off sincere—almost brave in its lack of irony.
There’s also a subtle, bittersweet tension that makes the song linger: to “take hold” of a star is, strictly speaking, impossible. That impossibility is what gives the title its quiet ache. It suggests someone trying to grip a dream before it slips away, trying to keep wonder from turning into ordinary life. And if you’ve lived long enough to know how often dreams do slip, this early Bee Gees recording can feel unexpectedly moving—like watching a younger self making vows you can still remember making.
So while “Take Hold Of That Star” didn’t arrive with a thunderclap on the charts—only that modest Australian peak alongside “Timber!”—it arrived with something rarer: the sound of a great songwriting voice still in its first chapters, already reaching upward. In the Bee Gees’ vast catalogue, it’s a small song—but it carries a big human truth: sometimes what keeps us going is not what we have in our hands, but what we can still see in the distance, shining.