It would be an understatement to call Bill Withers a soul legend after viewing the documentary Still Bill, which is playing at the IFC Film Center in New York City until Feb. 4th and is slated to be released on DVD in the spring. The film, which has been on the 2009 festival circuit, showcases a creator of iconic hits who is highly humanistic and spouts personal philosophies that remind us of who we are.
After serving in the Navy as a mechanic and building toilets as a civilian for 747s, Withers came to music stardom in his 30s with his debut album Just As I Am, which featured “Ain’t No Sunshine,” a single that made it to the top 10 of both the pop and r&b charts in 1971 and earned a Grammy. Many more hits followed over the years, including the perennial “Lean On Me,” “Grandma’s Hands,” “Use Me,” “Lovely Day,” and “Just the Two of Us.” Not one to chase down fame, Withers last album recording was in 1985, and since then he’s focused on his family and, seemingly, life reflection.
His legacy is put into stark relief when one considers how many musical acts have covered his work: Blackstreet sampling “Grandma’s Hands” for “No Diggity,” The Bodyguard soundtrack’s hip-hop/dance re-handling of “Lovely Day,” Club Noveau’s bouncy synth remake of “Lean On Me” in the ‘80s, and its recent performance by Sheryl Crow, Keith Urban and Kid Rock on the Hope for Haiti Now telecast. The list goes on and on…
Yet the documentary is less concerned with Withers’ enormous sonic arch and more about the man behind the music. A-ha moments abound as we hear him speak about everything from his hometown of Slab Fork, West Virginia, to the songwriting spark. An asthmatic stutterer who was called “handicapped” by a teacher during his youth, Withers struggled to find a sense of self-worth, and, once getting there, relished his right to be himself.
Even as he faced record executives who tried to shut him down, Withers’ ability to be emotionally authentic is apparent in his songs. They’re remarkable not only for their rich, varied grooves and intricate melodies but for their lyrical vulnerability—he sings with open expression about the tenderness we need to give and receive during rough times, his deep love for his grandmother, his giddiness from a lover’s kiss, his desire to be taken advantage of by a heartless woman, and the sing-it-to-the-sky ecstasies found by letting someone else take control. The template for Black male crooners has often omitted material that puts them at someone else’s mercy, but Withers did it emphatically.
And he appears all the better for it. We follow him as he joyously writes a Spanish-language song with Latin guitarist and recording artist Raul Midón. Withers also helps his daughter Kori, a skilled singer/songwriter, get her songs out into the universe. He still wants to push himself as a creator, yet it’s tempered by an urge to lay low and enjoy life as he imparts lessons to others. At one point, Withers speaks to a room full of children who are members of an organization for stutterers. He talks of utilizing “prepared forgiveness” for those who are insensitive to their plight, and how it makes one a bigger person.
Still Bill presents a man who personifies the traditions that inspired the name of the website you’re currently visiting. His stories, both spoken and in song, are here for us to continually cherish.