by Sasha Frere-Jones

The New Yorker | March 8, 2010

Photograph by Fin Costello

In 1972, a year after the release of his first album, “Just As I Am,” Bill Withers performed a song on British television. “Harlem,” the record’s first single, had done little on the charts, but radio d.j.s had picked up on its B-side. Wearing a ribbed orange turtleneck and sweating visibly, the thirty-three-year-old rookie introduced the first song he had ever written:

“Men have problems admitting to losing things,” he said. “I think women are much better at that. . . . So, once in my life, I wanted to forgo my own male ego and admit to losing something, so I came up with—” Withers began to play his acoustic guitar and sing. “Ain’t no sunshine when she’s gone / It’s not warm when she’s away / Ain’t no sunshine when she’s gone / And she’s always gone too long, any time she goes away.”

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By J. Hayes

New American Music Examiner | October 16, 2009 9:54 PM

photo courtesy of Late Night & Weekends

“The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation,” muses music legend Bill Withers in the new documentary Still Bill. “I would like to know how it feels for my desperation to get louder.”

The 70 year old master songwriter can casually quote Thoreau and sound like a complete rock star in the same breath. The documentary, whose name is taken from the title of the subject’s classic 1972 sophmore album, chronicles an amazing artist at a turning point in his life and creativity. Filmmakers Damani Baker and Alex Vlack gained access to the life of the unlikely superstar who turned his back on the music industry in 1985. Together, they have created a touching and empowering portrait of a man most know little about, but whose music has been a part of all our lives.

Withers’ honest lyrics and hummable melodies are easily as fundamental to American music (and by extension popular music of the world) as that of The Beatles or Bob Dylan, with a deep soulfulness that reaches the listeners heart in a way unmatched by either. In Still Bill, the filmmakers have captured the feel of many Bill Withers’ songs; heart-warming and down to earth with just a touch of sadness. Classic performance footage from the 1970s and 80s is interspersed with brand new interviews, current footage of Withers with his family and performances from a 2008 tribute show featuring Cornell Dupree and Corey Glover, among others.

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By Ann Hornaday

Los Angeles Times | June 15, 2009

But despite his best efforts to leave fame behind, suddenly he’s everywhere, with his sultry ballad “Use Me” promoting the HBO series “Hung” and two films coming out: “Still Bill,” a documentary on Withers’ life and career, and “Soul Power,” about the concert that preceded the Muhammad Ali-George Foreman boxing match in Zaire in 1974. (The latter film will be shown at the Los Angeles Film Festival on Sunday.)

Bill Withers, you’re having a moment. It seems like wherever you go, one of your songs is playing.

I don’t know. Marcia deals with all that stuff in the office, so she’s probably more aware of that than I am. So I’ll take your word for it.

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Bill Withers, Mark Ronson, The Police

by Austin Skaggs

Rolling Stone | 8/21/08, 12:05 pm EST

Photo: Buckner/Getty

We saw some killer shows in the last couple of weeks: The Radiohead and Kings of Leon sets at All Points West were brilliant; Wilco debuted a ridiculous new song at Lollapalooza while wearing rad Nudie suits; and Bob Dylan dazzled in Brooklyn. But sometimes we miss one. In this case it was the Bill Withers Tribute, part of the Celebrate Brooklyn series, which drew folks like Jim James (”Ain’t No Sunshine”), Nona Hendryx (”Lovely Day”) and others to pay tribute to the reclusive soul genius. And for the first time in decades, Withers himself stepped onstage, to sing “Grandma’s Hands.” When we reached Withers, he said he was drawn to the stage by legendary R&B guitarist Cornell Dupree. “I probably wouldn’t have bothered,” says the 70-year-old, the subject of an upcoming documentary. “I thought, ‘Let me go up there and hang out with Cornell for a minute.’” Ear-witness reports say Withers’ voice was glorious, but don’t expect to see him again. “This is not the age for showing off,” he says. “I’m just some old guy in the checkout line at the Home Depot. Which is fine with me.”

An Interview with Bill Withers

by Dan Nishimoto

PopMatters | January 31, 2006

From a statistical standpoint, no one is supposed to make it in the music industry. Like hoop dreams, the chances of having “that” talent, meeting a sympathetic label with both an open heart and an open wallet, negotiating an equitable contract and, finally, attaining creative and/or financial success are slim. So, when someone actually hits the jackpot, the listener understandably expects a fantastic story, like: a nasally sliver of a boy kneels at his hero’s deathbed before shaking the world with his message; or, a girl with concert pianist dreams responds to academic racism by raising her booming voice; or, a child beaten under a strict religious upbringing finds release in rhythm and blues with a most merciful cry. Even without hearing their music, these tales carry an air of mythology that feeds right back into the exclusive prestige of Hollywood (and Vine).

So, why isn’t Bill Withers’s name on more people’s lips?

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Featured Article: Bill Withers – From the Soul

Issue 16, Apr/May 2006

Purchase at: Wax Poetics Storefront

“I don’t know if I have touched a guitar in the last year. I’m more likely to pick up a hammer or some power tool than I would a music instrument. About five or six years ago, I built a studio in my house, but I haven’t gotten around to just being in there.”

by Carl Weiser

January 2, 2004

Carl Wiser (SF): Your songs have endured, and we’re hoping you can tell us about some of them. “Ain’t No Sunshine,” can you tell us what inspired you to write that?

Bill Withers: It’s pretty obvious what it’s about, I was watching a movie called Days Of Wine And Roses (1962) with Lee Remick and Jack Lemmon. They were both alcoholics who were alternately weak and strong. It’s like going back for seconds on rat poison. Sometimes you miss things that weren’t particularly good for you. It’s just something that crossed my mind from watching that movie, and probably something else that happened in my life that I’m not aware of.

To me, songwriting is you sitting around scratching yourself and something crosses your mind. There are probably more great stories made up about the writing of songs after they’ve been written and received, because you’ve got to say something. I love listening when there’s some song like “Eat My Funky Sweat,” and then somebody makes up this profound story about what inspired him to do it. Sometimes the stories are much more profound than the songs. Being at the age now where I’m a certified curmudgeon, you get a little grouchy when you pass 65, I used to do it when I was younger sometimes, I’ve learned to try to probe a little deeper. Somebody would ask, “What were you thinking when you wrote so and so,” and the obvious answer was, “I was thinking what I wrote.” So I won’t do that to you, Carl.

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