Bill Withers, and Songs That Feel Like Company

A Bill Withers song can feel like someone pulling up a chair beside you. His voice is warm without asking to be admired for its warmth, and his words often seem to have arrived by the shortest possible route. Listen longer and you hear how much care it takes to make that journey feel so easy.

Yes, beginning with “Just the Two of Us” is a cliché. It is also a very good song. Familiarity is no reason to skip something that can still improve the atmosphere of a room in the first few seconds.

THE LIFE BEFORE THE RECORDS

Withers was born in Slab Fork, West Virginia, and grew up in nearby Beckley. He joined the US Navy at seventeen and later moved to Los Angeles, where he worked at an aircraft company while pursuing music. His own biography describes the self-financed recordings that eventually reached producer Booker T. Jones and led to his debut, Just As I Am.

There is something appealing about the cover: Withers leaning against a wall in a T-shirt and jeans, a lunchbox in his hand. It is not a suit or a carefully assembled lesson in elegance. It is a photograph of a man who had a working life before the record business decided to pay attention. The picture should not be mistaken for the whole person, but its lack of fuss feels well suited to the songs.

As a child, Withers had a stutter. The Navy Memorial describes his service and the work he did to overcome it. It would be too neat to claim that this explains his singing. Still, knowing that speaking had not always been easy gives another dimension to the directness with which he later reached an audience.

LISTEN TO THE SPACE

“Ain't No Sunshine” leaves absence hanging in the air. “Grandma's Hands” finds tenderness in a small, particular image. On Still Bill, “Lean on Me” offers a hand without making companionship sound like a grand performance, while “Use Me” has a darker, more complicated pull. These are not all versions of the same comforting song.

Withers had musicians and collaborators around him, and their contributions matter. Jones produced the debut; the players give its spare arrangements shape. A voice that sounds intimate on record is also part of a shared piece of work. The simplicity is an achievement, not evidence that there was little to make.

Then there is “Just the Two of Us”. It is a recording with saxophonist Grover Washington Jr., written by Withers, Ralph MacDonald and William Salter. Washington's saxophone and Withers's vocal give the familiar song two distinct kinds of warmth. Play the long album version when there is time; let the radio edit rescue an ordinary afternoon when there is not.

AN ARTIST, NOT A SYMBOL

Withers is sometimes presented as the reassuring voice of uncomplicated goodness. That is rather a small room in which to leave an artist. His work could be tender or uneasy, and his relationship with the music business was not always comfortable. His own account describes problems with Columbia and difficulties getting material approved. His final Columbia album, Watching You, Watching Me, appeared in 1985.

There is a temptation to turn his retreat from the recording business into a perfect moral tale: the honest artist walks away and finds the answer to life. It is a story with more edges than that. People make choices for many reasons, and frustration does not disappear simply because a song sounds effortless.

The restraint in his style is interesting in the same way. In photographs, a relaxed shirt, denim or an easy jacket can seem entirely at home on him. There is confidence in not appearing to ask the clothes to do all the talking. It is a useful reminder that presence has little to do with how complicated an outfit is.

GOOD COMPANY

Put on the famous songs, certainly. Then try something less familiar and hear whether it speaks to a different part of the day. A record can be enjoyed in the kitchen, on a long drive or at a table where the conversation has wandered away from whatever brought everyone together.

Withers understood that ordinary feelings are not small feelings. Missing someone, needing a friend or finding a little hope in the morning can be difficult to say well. His songs make room for those things without insisting that we make a speech about them. Sometimes good company is exactly enough.