Re: BILL WITHERS INTERVIEW: WHY HE STOPPED RECORDING
*It was 1971 when Bill Withers blessed the world with “Ain’t No Sunshine,” a song about the profound emptiness surrounding the absence of a loved one.
The then 33-year-old singer was working during the days at a Ford assembly plant in Los Angeles and made the decision to stay on the 9-5 job, even as the single became a hit on the charts. Withers believed the music industry was too unstable to turn his back on a steady paycheck.
Thirty-five years and an armful of hit records later – including “Lean On Me,” “Lovely Day,” “Use Me” and “Just the Two of Us” – Withers says he’s living proof that the music industry is not only rickety but down right shady. As he prepares to accept a special Rhythm & Soul Heritage Award tonight - Monday, June 26 - from the American Society of Composers, Authors and Publishers (ASCAP), the Slab Fork, West Virginia native, who turns 68 on July 4th, says his sudden departure from the music business was the result of record company politics and a concerted effort by his label CBS Records to throw him under the bus.
All the dirt that had been pent up for nearly 20 years came spilling out of the music legend during an interview last week with EUR’s Lee Bailey, who traveled to Withers’ office in Beverly Hills to talk about his impact on the industry, and the honor of his ASCAP award, given to members who have had a major impact on the legacy of soul music.
Bill Withers
HOW ARE YOU FEELING ABOUT THIS HERITAGE AWARD?
Awards belong to the giver. I stole that from a guy that played basketball at UCLA very well, Gail Goodrich, and played for the Lakers. So if somebody picks you for an award, you should be gracious and accept the damn thing.
YOU DON’T FEEL LIKE YOU DESERVE IT?
I don’t know. Who decides what you deserve or not. Like I say, it’s the giver. It’s nice to be remembered. I run into young people like Will Smith and Martin Lawrence and people like that, and they talk about growing up with what I did. So I guess I’ve been in people’s houses for a long time; more in a family context because of the kind of songs – you know, “Grandma’s Hands,” “Lean On Me” – which are not really about boy/girl stuff, but just about living. Through osmosis, word of mouth or whatever, you become aware of that and you become comfortable with it..
ARE YOU AT LEAST COGNIZANT OF YOUR IMPORTANCE TO THE INDUSTRY?
I wouldn’t call it importance. I would say there’s a certain impact that I’m aware of that I’ve had and that’s because people tell you. That’s something you get by bits and pieces from guys like you, other artists, they’ll let you know where you stand. I’m not out and about and into things all the time. I hardly ever come up here. My wife and my kids, they come up here and run this place. And I’m mostly just off in my little corner of the world.
DOING WHAT, IF I MAY ASK?
Right now, whatever crosses my mind, if that’s going to Home Depot, or watching “Judge Judy” or whatever. At this point, I don’t really have a structured plan. But yeah, you become aware of some of your effect. I get letters from people occasionally; people talk about “Lean On Me.” I got a lot about that over the years.
ARE YOU COMFORTABLE WITH THE ADORATION? THE FAME?
I’m not really famous. I can go out right now and you and me could walk around all over town and probably more people will know who you are than me. I get a lot of calls to find out if I died or not. I got a call earlier this month from Jesse Jackson, he wanted to know whether I died or not.
WHAT WAS THAT ALL ABOUT?
He said his wife was walking around the house upset because she heard that I had died. We get a lot of those [calls], from foreign countries and everything. I’m used to it by now. I was at Roscoe’s Chicken and Waffles, this is a true story, this was maybe within two years ago. There were some sisters sitting at the next table and they were talking about some “Bill Withers song,” you know. So I thought I’d have some fun, I leaned over and said, “You won’t believe this but I’m Bill Withers.” And this lady said, “No you’re not. Bill Withers is dark-skinned, darker than I am.” And she was a dark-skinned sister. So even if I’m standing there, people argue. So I just let it go.
WELL MAYBE WHAT LEADS TO THAT IS THE FACT THAT YOU LEFT THE BUSINESS ALL OF A SUDDEN AND WASN’T HEARD FROM AGAIN. FROM AN AUDIENCE POINT OF VIEW, YOU JUST STOPPED. WHY?
I guess I said what I had to say for the time, and then life goes on. I wasn’t socialized as a music person. I was in my 30s when I started doing this. So I really learned how to live as an adult doing something else. So when I got a family and things, there’s plenty to do there.
I really stopped recording because I couldn’t get in the studio. For seven years, I was at CBS records and I couldn’t get a purchase order to go in the studio. There was a guy over there in A&R, Mickey Eichner, and he wouldn’t take my phone calls for three years. [A&R rep] George Butler, that used to work there, he told me when Eichner was in the building he would hide from me. Eichner came up with such brilliant suggestions like I should cover Elvis Presley’s “In the Ghetto.” I don’t cover Elvis Presley. For what? I got my own things. The songs that I’ve written did well for themselves, and brothers don’t cover Elvis, Elvis covers us. So that kinda turned me off to the whole process.
That’s why I did “Just the Two of Us” with Grover [Washington Jr.], because I couldn’t get into the studio [by myself]. Then, they said the only way I could get back in the studio is to work with this producer that they picked – and this is a true story. I can prove this if everybody [involved] ain’t dead. The studio was in this guy’s house. There was this little girl about 4-years-old, stark ravin’ naked, not a stitch of clothes on, running around in the studio. So she would go over to the board where I was, and I’d say, “We’re busy.” They’d say, “Go over there and talk to Bill.” Now here’s this little blonde-haired naked girl, and I’m black, from the South. And she’s coming over to me saying, “I’m ticklish, would you tickle me?” I’m thinking I gotta get the hell outta here, they can kiss my you know what. I could see myself standing up in front of some judge – you know, who was born in Oklahoma like half of California was – trying to explain myself. So I said man, this stuff is crazy. And it just soured me on the whole experience, so I left it alone. And I will never, ever again put myself in the position to where anybody has that kind of power over me.
At CBS Records, in 1981, Grover and I did “Just the Two of Us” which was a No. 1 record. It took me until 1985 to get into the studio, and I had been trying since 1977. Nobody will ever own that much of me again.
how would i know who
