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- Still Bill (1972)
- Live at Carnegie Hall (1973)
Still Bill (1972)
9.5
Lonely Town, Lonely Street / Let Me in You Life / Who Is He (and
What Is He to You)? / Use Me / Lean On Me / Kissing My Love / I
Don’t Know / Another Day to Run / I Don’t Want You on My
Mind / Take It All In and Check It All Out
…
and there you are, one of the best soul singers of your generation (there’s
only Al Green who wins this competition hands down). Just As I Am
was unexpected success, mainly because of fabulous chart-hitters “Ain’t
No Sunshine” and “Grandma’s Hands” and now Withers
found himself with a label wanting more of the same, but no producer to help
him out (because Booker T. wasn’t available). However, determined to
live up to the expectations, Withers recruited Ray Jackson (piano), James
Gadson (drums) and Melvin Dunlop (bass) from the Watts 103rd Street Rhythm
Band and recorded a demo during a three hour-session that managed to convince
Stax’s Al Bell and Clarence Avant, president of Withers’
label, Sussex. The band further recruited Watts’ guitar player
Benorce Blackman and recorded and produced the album by themselves, to repeatedly
breathtaking results. There’s not one weak cut on the album,
Withers’ vocals alternately caress with tenderness and soar with passion,
the band simply smokes during the funk-oriented tracks and plays
with appropriate restraint during the introvert ballads, and it’s all
wrapped in an unmistakeably early ‘70’s sound, that has an organic
warmth that seems missing from today’s overproduced soul/r&b. While
the uncomfortable tale of jealousy “Who Is He (and What Is He to You)”
is still my favorite from this album (and perhaps of Withers’ entire
career), the album contains several more cuts that are deserving of classic
status, the singles not in the least: “Use Me,” dominated by Jackson’s
electric piano, gives Dr. John & The Meters a run for their money, the
gospel-styled “Lean On Me” (#1 in both the pop and r&b-charts)
is Withers’ ultimate altruist statement, featuring some mighty vocals,
while the lesser-known “Kissing My Love” is an impressive slice
of funk-soul that hovers between the more conventional soul direction of earlier
songs and the urban funk of contemporaries like Isaac Hayes and Curtis Mayfield.
The same vibe also reoccurs during several other songs: the first half of
“Another Day to Run” oozes out a feverish atmosphere before it
turns into something more lightweight (check that jazzy guitar solo out, brotha!),
and album opener “Lonely Town, Lonely Street” with its self-assured,
strutting groove is a winner as well. Like several other tunes, it features
strings, but they’re never too overwhelming, adding subtle drama instead.
As such, these songs ooze out a certain class that’s even more augmented
by Withers’ unique phrasing (“You might be a stone… stone
expert at kissin”). While his albums would become a bit less original
(read: slicker) towards the end of the decade, often settling for a cheesy
r&b-vibe instead of this exciting merger of funk, soul, pop and folk,
his early ballads were often triumphant miniatures of emotion. The pleading,
string-laden “Let Me in Your Life” is already striking, but it’s
overshadowed by the vaseline-soft “I Don’t Know,” during
which he shows off his singing skills, turning vocals into an awesome instrument.
Contrary to so many soul albums that are basically a bunch of singles surrounded
by lesser tracks that barely rise above outtake-status, Withers proves himself
to be one of the great soul authors by continuing the quality level for the
entire album. The accusatory album closer “Take It In and Check It All
Out” with the swell opening line “You could fill up a room with
idle conversation,” is a fine, trancelike ending, but the ridiculously
underrated (neglected?) “I Don’t Want You on My Mind,” with
its dark, instrumental intro and relentless tension is another highlight on
the album, a hypnotic groove laid down by an incredibly gifted band. As such,
Still Bill still stands as a classic Withers album and one of the
many soul masterpieces of the early seventies, containing first-rate songs,
inspiring musicianship, an abundance of passion and more class than one shiny
disc can restrain.
Live at Carnegie Hall (1973)
8.5
Use Me / Friend of Mine / Ain’t No Sunshine / Grandma’s
Hands / World Keeps Going Around / Let Me In Your Life / Better
off Dead / For My Friend / I Can’t Write Left-Handed / Lean On Me
/ Lonely Town, Lonely Street / Hope She’ll Be Happier / Let Us Love
/ Harlem/Cold Baloney
Recorded
on a rainy night in October of 1972, Live at the Carnegie Hall might
sound like the ultimate ‘70’s horror relic – a double live
album – but the rating above indicates this boy here thinks otherwise.
If anything, the concert sounds as like a career retrospective of a seasoned
artist who has been around for a few decades - that’s how good most
of these songs (all originals) are. As usual, it’s hard to pinpoint
Withers main style, most of the songs originating from a melting pot of soul,
pop, folk, gospel and New Orleans-funk, and all the while, Withers and his
backing band pull it off without being flashy. Devoid of James Brown’s
nearly inhuman trance grooves, Marvin Gaye’s overt sexuality or Curtis
Mayfield’s elaborate arrangements, this outfit finds its excellence
in modesty. These people know what they’re doing, prefer overall consistency
over individual brilliance (very few outspoken solos on this album –
yes, that was possible in the early seventies), in the process providing
a fitting accompaniment for Withers’ relaxed but impeccable delivery.
‘Relaxed’ is the key word here: just listen to “Use Me”
and witness the remarkable interaction between the artist and the audience.
Sometimes it can become nearly irritating (when are they going to stop
clapping their hands?), but most of the times it’s the clearest proof
of the chemistry that was going on during that particular performance.
Throughout the album, from the opening song “Use Me” to the closing medley that has the audience participating (i.e. singing along) for ten minutes, it’s clear that Withers is above all a storyteller. The passionately executed “Lean On Me” that sounds as if you’re experiencing a church service for instance, is preceded by a narrative about consequences of the war such as lost limbs (hence the title), while the well-known “Grandma’s Hands” is introduced by ruminations about Withers’ grandma’s church: “It wasn’t one of them sad churches where they sing them songs that make you wish you could just hurry up and die and get it over with (…) at the funeral, they used to have to tie the caskets down!” It’s all very tranquil, even when Withers – during the sweeping “Better off Dead” – narrates from the perspective of a suicidal alcoholic. Although the gig was performed by a six-piece band, some horns and strings were overdubbed later on (a practise more common than one would expect), something that’s especially noticeable during the ballads. During an otherwise marvellous rendition of the classic “Ain’t No Sunshine” the strings suddenly get a bit too overwhelming, but the remainder of the album isn’t plagued by this, since “Let Me In Your Life” and “Hope She’ll Be Happier” (one of the few songs that allows Withers to employ his amazing vocal range and technique) are simply ear candy designed to bring lovers closer together (or at least reach out for each other’s sticky hands). Don’t let me give you the impression that Withers was all about bringing people together in a schmaltzy context, because the huge advantage of his modesty and lack of extremities, was that he never descended into vulgarities and, to be fair, he obviously knew how to go into a higher gear as well. While songs like “Friend of Mine” proved he’d mastered Memphis-styled soul with funk accents, the feverish “Lonely Town, Lonely Street” (opening track of his just released Still Bill) and the swift “Let Us Love” are up-tempo tracks that pave the way for the final chapter of “Harlem/Cold Baloney,” a steadily intensifying track that betrays Withers’ gospel roots, by way of a remarkable interaction between the band and the audience, who are invited to join in and do so with conviction. I would have loved to hear a few more of my favorite tracks (“Who Is He (and What Is He to You)?” and “The Same Love That Made Me Laugh,” for instance), but the warmth and intimacy (even in the Carnegie Hall) easily make up for this. In fact, Live at Carnegie Hall’s greatest asset is that it makes you wish you were there when it all happened. I wasn’t even born at the time, but you know, it would’ve been cool all the same.
The Best of Bill Withers – Lean on Me (2000)
6.5
Lovely Day / I Want to Spend the Night / Let Me Be the One you Need /
Hello Like Before / Tender Things / I Wish You Well / Ain’t No Sunshine
/ Grandma’s House / The Same Love That Made Me Laugh / Lean
on Me / Harlem / Use Me / Who Is He (and What Is He to
You?) / You Just Can’t Smile It Away / Just the Two of Us / Steppin’
Right Along / You Try to Find a Love / My Imagination
The
living proof that a toilet seat maker at the Boeing factory can pursue a successful
music career, Bill Withers’ life story is rather unlikely. Coming from
a poor background, a nine-year stint in the army, and a job at the airplane
factory, Withers was ‘discovered’ by Booker T. Jones at the dawn
of the seventies (he was already 32 by then). Hardened by experienced and
much more mature then most of his fellow debutants, Withers immediately proved
he had a style entirely his own, one that borrowed equally from (soft) soul,
gritty Southern swamp sounds (think of a lighter version of Tony Joe White)
and – sometimes – folk. His first few albums dabbled in that earthy
sound of his, while Withers came up with some top-notch songs that became
hits and even classics of ‘70’s soul. The winning quality of albums
such as Just as I Am (1971), which featured contributions from Booker
T. & The Mg’s (Steve Cropper being replaced by Stephen Stills),
and the excellent Still Bill (1972), probably the most successful
of his early albums, were followed up by less remarkable efforts. Towards
the mid-‘70’s, Withers moved further and further away from his
original sound, gradually moving more and more towards the soft soul terrain
that would make acts such as Luther Vandross and Lou Rawls such heroes of
sugary couch pap.
Lean on Me does a pretty good job of selecting songs from Withers’ most successful albums, but unfortunately that doesn’t imply it’s the compilation I would have liked to hear: there are only seven tracks (7-13) from his early period during which he released one remarkable single after the other. The album starts off with a bunch of songs from his mid-‘70’s albums, and while the huge hit “Lovely Day” is pleasant soul-pop that’s a nice example of the more disco-oriented direction soul/R&B had moved into, most of the other songs sound professional and slick but also unremarkable (“Let Me Be the One You Need,” “Tender Things”). It’s not that Withers’ voice became less impressive – it would remain a constant factor in his music, but this stuff simply couldn’t match the next run of songs. “Ain’t No Sunshine” (a.k.a. the song that introduced me to Withers) has a great sound (Booker T. produced the album) and enough memorable moments (the repeated “I know, I know, I know” is immediately recognizable) to turn it into an all-time classic. The same goes for the autobiographical “Grandma’s Hands,” a touching snapshot of his childhood, and a song that was recycled by Dr. Dre (and turned into a huge hit by Blackstreet as “No Diggity”). But there’s more: the sympathetic “Lean on Me’ stresses the artist’s altruist philosophy (a reason why he stubbornly refused to compose blaxploitation scores), while the hard-hitting “Harlem” is his take on near-incendiary soul. Two more classics come in the way of “Use Me” that because of Ray Jackson electric piano sounds eerily close to Dr. John’s sound with The Meters, and “Who Is He (and What Is He to You)?”, one of the best songs about suspicion and jealousy that I ever heard. But, but! If the album had ended there, it would’ve been a combination of excellent and mediocre stuff, because around ’77, Withers hadn’t really succumbed to faceless soft soul yet. The songs that are taken from his 1985 comeback album Watching You, Watching Me are a frustrating listen. Not only are the songs really sub-par, wallowing in the same old corny Valentine’s day schmalz, but the album also shows how horrible the sound of many soul albums had become in the’80’s. Quite ironically, the one thing (besides good songs) that album must lack, is soul. Oh yeah, there’s still the hit “Just the Two of Us,” a duet with Grover Washington Jr. that was covered by Will Smith, but I never liked it, even though Dr. Evil did some nice things with it during Austin Powers – The Spy Who Shagged Me. I guess it’s clear by now: Lean on Me is wildly inconsistent, an album that may be representative, but includes way too many slight songs, and the best argument that this artists needs an compilation that focuses only on his first few albums to do him justice.