Retirement is not without Hassles: Ain’t No Sunshine #1276

One of my favorite musicians was recently eloquently eulogized by Rolling Stone Magazine writer Andy Greene:

Bill Withers, the soul legend who penned timeless songs like “Lean on Me,” “Lovely Day,” and “Ain’t No Sunshine,” died Monday from heart complications in Los Angeles. He was 81.

“We are devastated by the loss of our beloved, devoted husband and father,” his family said in a statement. “A solitary man with a heart driven to connect to the world at large, with his poetry and music, he spoke honestly to people and connected them to each other. As private a life as he lived close to intimate family and friends, his music forever belongs to the world. In this difficult time, we pray his music offers comfort and entertainment as fans hold tight to loved ones.”

The three-time Grammy winner released just eight albums before walking away from the spotlight in 1985, but he left an incredible mark on the music community and the world at large. Songs like “Lean On Me,” “Grandma’s Hands,” “Use Me,” “Ain’t No Sunshine,” and “Lovely Day” are embedded in the culture and have been covered countless times. While many of Withers’ biggest songs were recorded in the Seventies, they have proven to be timeless hits. “Lean on Me” emerged once again in recent weeks as an anthem of hope and solidarity in the time of COVID-19.

I regret that I never saw him in concert, but I get the impression that it didn’t happen very often. Perhaps it was the stutter that he struggled with as a child? He did a live performance and album at Carnegie Hall in 1972. His last five tour stops were 1982 and 2011 in L.A., Paris in 2018, and two shows in the U.K. in 1988. He apparently lost his passion for the music industry back in 1985 and never signed another recording contract, but was finally inducted into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame by Stevie Wonder in  2015. Here were his humble words of acceptance: “What few songs I wrote during my brief career, there ain’t a genre that somebody didn’t record them in. I’m not a virtuoso, but I was able to write songs that people could identify with. I don’t think I’ve done bad for a guy from Slab Fork, West Virginia.” Thanks, Bill!

I can’t tell you the number of times I walked down the streets of New Orleans and heard a Withers’ hit covered by bar performers, particularly Ain’t No Sunshine. It became a personal anthem for me, but I honestly knew little about him until his recent death. Sunshine is a rare commodity here in Portland at this time of year, and self-quarantine only adds to my lack of it. If Bill had performed anywhere near me, I would have made a point to go. I’ll try to find a copy of the 2009 documentary, Still Bill, a reference to his 1972 album by the same name. It was produced by Damani Baker and Alex Vlack, covering his service in the Navy, work as a toilet assemblyman for Douglas Aircraft, father of two, singer, and song writer. There certainly ain’t no sunshine since he’s now gone! Rest in Peace, Bill!