The Bill Withers Social Club is an all-star homage to the legend as part of the Auckland Arts Festival 2023 - Te Ahurei Toi o Tāmaki. Aotearoa artists performing in the show tell Canvas how he’s inspired and informed their own mahi.
Troy Kingi
I was listening to Bill Withers songs for years before I realised who he was. It wasn’t until I became a songwriter myself that I figured out all these beautifully crafted songs were written by the same guy.
One of the biggest things I got from Bill Withers was that he didn’t start his career till late in life. I was always of the impression that if you hadn’t cracked it by your late teens/early 20s, then it was too late for you, so to have someone like Bill Withers do it in his 30s served as a massive inspiration to this late bloomer.
Grandma’s Hands and Use Me are two of my favourites - it’s just the vibes. Actually, Use Me is in my top 10 songs of all time by any artist. Still Bill would probably be a top 10 album as well.
I love how he has his pocket and does it well – he doesn’t have to stray and be flashy, he sits in his realm and owns it. He’s like a cool uncle who seems to have all the time in the world for you even when he doesn’t.
His band was something to behold - a sound I’ve been trying to replicate for the better part of a decade. The BBC Live performances of the early 70s, with the band all sitting down – that’s the kind of vibe and energy that sends you on a warm nostalgic trip, a sound I’ll be chasing for the rest of my life.
Rio Hemopo
Groove has always been a magnet to me and especially those thick, funky feels that were so prominent in 60/70s funk, blues, rock and reggae. Add vivid storytelling and profound lyrics into the mix and you have some pretty powerful art.
The groove was what drew me in, and Bill’s artistry in lyric and song is what keeps me coming back. I love how articulate and sophisticated he could be with his stories, but in a very common sense, unconvoluted way. His perspectives on love and life were meaningful because they were human experiences, told by someone who really felt and reflected on them as a human being. You can hear it in his live recordings when he’s talking to the audience about what/who made that specific song meaningful for him.
I love that he grew up in a small southern town, raised by his grandmother and wider whānau. That he stuttered as a young child but went on to be a natural and comfortable performer. That he served in the navy before he took a real interest and shot at music and that he made such an impact in the relatively short time that he was touring and recording.
And I especially love that he left when the industry wasn’t for him. I think that’s courage and insight - and living like an artist should.
Iraia Whakamoe
I didn’t grow up listening to Bill Withers, and to me, that seems crazy. My father’s music collection was broad and musically rich and a huge part of my childhood but it wasn’t until I was in my early 20s and had moved abroad that I found Sam Cooke and Otis Redding. How were these amazing artists missing and who else had I missed? It was that path that led me to finding Bill. While we had no LPs of direct Bill Withers music, I had heard his unique and brilliant voice over the years, with songs like Lean On Me, Ain’t No Sunshine and Lovely Day but, as I ventured deeper into his catalogue, I was hooked, mesmerised by not only that voice we all love but by the grooves and feels he and his band managed to create. As a drummer, I couldn’t get over the feels of [drummer] James Gadson, the feels that make these songs fly in what seemed such a simple manner but his “pocket” was simply undeniable. As Questlove puts it, “James Gadson is my hero” and I feel the same. There’s always a whakapapa to music and for me, I see a huge impact on my playing from listening to Bill Withers and, in particular, those magnificent feels of James Gadson.
Ryan Prebble
I got turned on to Bill Withers reasonably late in my 20s and, when I first heard the album Still Bill, I thought, “How have I never heard this before?” I was instantly hooked, like most people are when they hear his music. I was drawn to the way he was able to craft heavy ideas, using simple sentences. His clarity in describing everyday situations in a poetic way. I have never been able to get close to writing that way. His biggest influence on me, funnily enough, is his guitar playing. The way he strums the guitar on the likes of Use Me and Kissing My Love really gets me going. Of course the hi-hat grooves of James Gadson are the funkiest around too.
Lauren Barus
When I was growing up, all the singing in my family - in the church, in school - it was all classical. Long round vowels, elongated faces, resonant and hollow. In the summer, working in the packhouse of our family cherry orchard we would be listening to Solid Gold FM, and these soul songs would come on. Ain’t No Sunshine, among songs by many African American artists, intrigued me because the voice quality is not elongated; it’s not hollow, it has this other more belly kind of resonance. It feels spoken, not sung, like a friend yarning in your ear. We would sing this song a lot at jazz school later in my life. But it lead me to see this art from African American artists drew me later into Erykah Badu and Jill Scott and then to reach into their lives and repertoire and learn from them. Even now this hasn’t stopped reading African American authors and poets seeing this world, seeing their stories, being curious about their experience of life through their art. What a gift they have given. It impacted my work as an artist by knowing if you breathe out, fully, from your gut, the sound you make is yours, and if you tell your stories like a friend yarning in your ear, like a confidant, that is your story, it is your truth, it is life and art all wrapped up together. Regardless of whether or not other people see the value of it, it is a gift.
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