Album Review: Bill Withers, 'The Complete Sussex and Columbia Albums'

Album Review: Bill Withers, 'The Complete Sussex and Columbia Albums'

• Title: Bill Withers, 'The Complete Sussex and Columbia Albums'
• Venue: Legacy

Bill Withers’ “The Complete Sussex and Columbia Albums”

Everyone knows something about Bill Withers but they don’t know nearly enough. Quiz most people about the man and they'll name, and probably sing, two songs: “Ain’t No Sunshine,” his desolate blues reverie, and “Lean On Me,” his pop-gospel hymn. They’re ideal counterparts â€" the first one moody and needy, the second, confident and warm.

Yet, even taken together, they don’t break the surface of Withers’ talent. A new box set proves it. “The Complete” collection marries the first four albums the artist cut for the indie label Sussex, between 1971-’74, to the five he did for Columbia from ’75 until he walked away from it all, a decade later.

Withers’ full story can be found in a reverent documentary (“Still Bill”), which can be downloaded from Netflix. But before you do, dive into the full catalogue. There’s a clear division between the Sussex and Columbia Recordings, reflecting their era, esthetic, and budget. In terms of purity, funk and innovation, the early albums clearly trump the later.

When Withers recorded his debut, “Just as I Am,” he cut an odd figure for a pop star. He was already “old” (31), unglamorous and hardened by years of factory work. But the sound he, and his band, came up with combined genres in a wholly new way. While he’s known for birthing “acoustic-soul,” in the process fathering artists from India.Arie to Ben Harper, his early songs actually found a broader nexus â€" of folk and funk, blues and soul.

Consider “Harlem,” the first track on his debut album. The scratch of Withers’ acoustic guitar pushes against the elasticity of the bass. The strings add a lilt that’s anything but sweet. They even seem sinewy. But the killer is Withers’ mature and knowing voice. It comes in far behind the beat, putting a pause in the rhythm that makes it overpowering. There’s a great sense of space in these recordings, a patience that pays off. It toughens things even more that Withers had the lean and mean Booker T. band backing him.

Withers’ second work, “Still Bill,” greatly benefited from Ray Jackson’s flinty guitar and his clattering clavinet. The riff on “Who Is He and What Is He to You?” hits as hard as heavy metal. The whole Withers band perfected its grinding dynamics on ’72’s “Live at Carnegie Hall.”

For his Columbia recordings, pricier musicians came into play, and more of them, creating a plush sound that wasn’t as immediate. A disco beat always threatens to make an appearance, and the melodies soften. Even so, there’s plenty of good stuff here, if less of it on each album. Regardless, Withers’ voice never loses its wise purity. Listening it to on these songs, and their unique arrangements, makes the case for Withers as a soul avatar as important as Stevie Wonder or Curtis Mayfield.

At 72, he’s unlikely to tour or record again. But what we’ve got backlogged here deserves to raise Withers’ reputation and profile far higher than it currently sits.