Chicapah The early 70s were great horizon-expanding years for all kinds of music and R&B was no exception. As the 60s progressed, artists like Stevie Wonder and Marvin Gaye had rebelliously broken out of the prescribed, constricting cages that black musicians and writers had been quarantined inside for too long, making it possible for all kinds of new ideas, sounds and voices to be heard. Yet the fun phenomenon known as funk was still in its toddling infancy as far as being a significant force in the culture at large. That was the situation as the decade came to a close despite acts like Sly & the Family Stone surreptitiously injecting it into the mainstream via their hit singles that crossed over into Top 40 radio, causing we of the Caucasian persuasion to wonder “what is that secret ingredient, exactly?” But by 1972 a growing throng of artists were working more and more funk into their craft and using it like a gourmet chef uses a delicious seasoning. Of those Bill Withers was one of the most successful.

Bill’s story was of the rags to riches variety. Born in West Virginia, he served in the Navy for a long stint before settling in L.A. and taking a job in the aerospace industry. He was nearly 30 (a relatively old age to begin a career in the “biz”) when he started shopping his demos around to the various labels and had almost given up when he ran into Booker T. Jones who produced his debut LP, “Just As I Am.” Buoyed by the disc’s surprise #3 smash, “Ain’t No Sunshine,” Bill suddenly went from being a nobody to a Grammy award winner overnight and Sussex Records wasted nary a moment in getting him into the studio for his sophomore effort. This time around Withers surrounded himself with members of the notorious Watts 103rd Street Rhythm Band and made a record even better than the first one. On “Still Bill” Withers continued to blend smooth jazz notions with a sprightly, light funk mindset and mature urban lyrics. The result was some of the finest, most engaging R&B to be found circa 1972. It’s consistently tight without sacrificing its unpretentious, soulful essence and I’ve enjoyed it on hundreds of occasions over the last forty years or so.

“Lonely Town, Lonely Street” makes for a great introductory tune for the jazzer who may not be familiar with Bill’s style in that it displays his unique approach thoroughly. Understated is a perfect adjective to apply to his overall sound and it certainly fits the mood here as drummer James Gadson and bassist Melvin Dunlap supply exactly what the track needs and nothing more. “The city really ain’t no bigger than the friendly people that you meet,” Withers sings. A love song follows, “Let Me in Your Life,” and what makes it special is that black artists in that day were rarely this openly honest and real. Bill’s softly-strummed acoustic guitar provides a calm foundation for Ray Jackson’s Rhodes to add a delicate touch of class and the unobtrusive string arrangement allows Wither’s inimitable voice to ring through. “Who is He (And What is He to You)?” is next and it possesses another of his cleverly simple, slightly funky riffs that drives the tune down the highway without it ever turning into an obnoxious road hog. Jackson’s string score gives this sneaky little cut a tasteful Marvin Gaye flavor as Bill sternly warns his flirtatious, untrustworthy lady, “…before you wreck your old home/be certain of the new.”

“Use Me” became a #2 hit with good reason. The song’s instantly-addicting gritty clavinet riff and Gadson’s punchy drum pattern never grow tiresome no matter how many times I hear it. It’s that cool. Withers’ witty words regarding his judgmental friends and family members not understanding his relationship with a rude, “uppity” female because they don’t realize how utterly fantastic their sex life is are wonderfully wicked. I also love how he sparingly employs strategically-placed handclaps for dynamic emphasis and effect. But, as popular as it was, “Lean On Me” upstaged it by reaching the #1 spot on the charts. This tune stood out because it was so unlike anything else currently happening in music. The lyrics about the need for mutual reliance to be fostered between all people are timelessly poignant and meaningful. And even though its tone is that of a spiritual ballad the invigorating bridge is brilliantly executed. It is unquestionably a classic of the first order. The lesser-known “Kissing My Love” is unusual in that very few tracks started with the kind of stark naked, funkified drums that James supplies on this killer cut but he succeeds in immediately grabbing your undivided attention. Bill’s emotional vocal delivery efficiently sells his infatuation-laden lines of “she’s such a tender sender/with a sweet young frame” as well as the repeated “put your foot on the rock and tap your foot don’t stop” phrase in the middle section that’ll charm the pants off any woman in the vicinity of your speakers. Mainly its sexy humor showed that Withers was a free spirit unconcerned with convention.

“I Don’t Know” is a slower, jazzy composition with an infectious air surrounding it that keeps it from being a sleep-inducer. Of note is Benorce Blackman’s guitar solo that is remarkably tasteful. “Another Day to Run” has a Curtis Mayfield meets Sylvester Stone vibe that’s appealing and the tune’s ongoing buildup in momentum gives Bill a chance to stretch his vocal chords beyond their norm as he angrily denounces the scourge of drugs. “Tony, tell me why do you want to get high enough to die?” he cries. “I Don’t Want You On My Mind” may be the only known outbreak of grunge R&B in history but that’s what the intro sounds like to me. His crackerjack band certainly knew what rule numero uno was (it’s in the groove or it’s in the trash) and I admire how Withers lets them ride on it as long as it has a pulse. The album’s finale is “Take It All In and Check It All Out,” a number that sounds suspiciously like a “the man says we need one more” in-studio creation that fails to move from the tonic but it’s short enough for Withers to be politely excused for this indiscretion. Better to direct your focus point to its think-before-you-open-your-yapper message rather than the music.

With two of the record’s songs becoming enormous, monster hits it comes as no shock that “Still Bill” climbed to #4 on the album charts and made him a household name. He’s never been what I would refer to as a giant of the industry but he should be honorably acknowledged for never losing his integrity, choosing to stay loyal to his jazzy nature and inclination throughout his respectable career. What I really enjoy about this record is found in its no-frills, unadorned production along with Withers’ unwavering commitment to authenticity in the music he’s presenting. He earnestly calls ‘em as he sees ‘em and, for that alone, he’s my kind of guy.