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Captured on a rainy night in 1972, Bill Withers Live At Carnegie Hall is everything a tremendous live document aspires to - intimate yet bold, seductive and entertaining, a frozen piece of time that retains a part of the evening's spark. Most artists are already at a significant disadvantage going up against Bill Withers in the early '70s, where his mingling of acoustic guitar, funk flavors, tough pop instincts and populist anthems was Paul Simon lethal, as witness by the Top 10 debut of his first single, the immortal “Ain't No Sunshine" - a classic covered many times but never with the same flair or feeling of Withers' original.
Backed at Carnegie Hall by the better part of The Watts 103rd Street Rhythm Band - one of the under-sung soul heroes of that genre's golden age - who he'd snapped up after the rapid success of his first album, Just As I Am (1971), Withers is indestructible. His buzz is palpable and infectious and even after only two years it's certain his days as a blue-collar plumber were fast fading memories. Slinky as shit and beyond talented, this band moves through the tall grass with predatory perfection, laying low when it makes sense and pouncing with unerring accuracy, as in opener “Use Me," where the song comes to a complete stop but it's clear the crowd is still really feelin' it so they jump back in for another couple choruses. Again and again, they let the music breath, kicking it while Withers tells stories like some streetwise Garrison Keillor and then falling in perfectly, a breathing entity of many limbs serving some of the strongest pop music ever created.
Live At Carnegie Hall was birthed during turbulent, uncertain times, where Americans questioned the solidity of everything (jobs, marriages, the future) - a head space not dissimilar to today. Withers speaks directly to such shaky times, carving out tales from disregarded lives and lighting lamps for rocky roads. What he was able to conjure in real time on October 6, 1972 should give one hope. Sometimes the best in us does triumph, and this seemed like a fine week to remind folks of that.
We start your sampling of vintage Bill Withers and his marvelous band with “Use Me." These cats, especially the supremely chilled-out keyboardist, know how to swing on a tune.
Alright, we won't make you wait any longer for “Ain't No Sunshine." Withers' face is a road map of longing here.
Though endless plays at weddings, sporting events, etc. have taken some of the gusto out of “Lean On Me," there's still plenty of roughhewn gospel pop to this version from 1972.
Though less familiar to casual listeners, “Grandma's Hands" may be the quintessential Bill Withers cut, particularly with the open-hearted, quietly wise introduction here.
