The Greatest Oldies Music

Oldies Musics

Bill Withers – Just the Two of Us (Grammy 1982)

Introduction

“Just the Two of Us” by Bill Withers is a soulful masterpiece that has captivated audiences since its release. Recorded live at the Grammy Awards in 1982, this rendition showcases Withers’ impeccable vocal delivery and the intimate atmosphere of a live performance. Join us as we immerse ourselves in the timeless magic of “Just the Two of Us” and celebrate the enduring talent of Bill Withers.

Did You Know?

  • “Just the Two of Us” was originally released in 1981 as a duet between Bill Withers and Grover Washington Jr., becoming a chart-topping hit and earning critical acclaim.
  • Withers’ live performance of the song at the Grammy Awards in 1982 further solidified its status as a classic, showcasing his raw talent and emotive delivery.
  • The song’s heartfelt lyrics and smooth melody resonate with listeners, making it a favorite for romantic occasions and intimate moments.
  • Bill Withers’ legacy extends far beyond “Just the Two of Us,” with his soulful voice and timeless songs leaving an indelible mark on the world of music.

Video

Lyrics: Just the Two of Us

I see the crystal raindrops fall
And the beauty of it all
Is when the sun comes shining through
To make those rainbows in my mind
When I think of you sometime
And I want to spend some time with youJust the two of us
We can make it if we try
Just the two of us
(Just the two of us)
Just the two of us
Building castles in the sky
Just the two of us
You and I

We look for love, no time for tears
Wasted water’s all that is
And it don’t make no flowers grow
Good things might come to those who wait
Not for those who wait too late
We gotta go for all we know

Just the two of us
We can make it if we try
Just the two of us
(Just the two of us)
Just the two of us
Building them castles in the sky
Just the two of us
You and I

Just the two of us
We can make it just the two of us
Just the two of us
We can make it just the two of us
Just the two of us
We can make it just the two of us
Just the two of us
We can make it just the two of us
Just the two of us
We can make it just the two of us
Just the two of us
We can make it just the two of us
Just the two of us
We can make it just the two of us
Just the two of us
We can make it just the two of us
Just the two of us
We can make it just the two of us

I hear the crystal raindrops fall
On the window down the hall
And it becomes the morning dew
And, darling, when the morning comes
And I see the morning sun
I want to be the one with you

Just the two of us
We can make it if we try
Just the two of us
(Just the two of us)
Just the two of us
Building big castles way on high
Just the two of us
You and I

(Just the two of us)
Yes, the two of us
(We can make it just the two of us)
Let’s get it together, babe
(Just the two of us)
Yes, the two of us
(We can make it just the two of us
Just the two of us
We can make it just the two of us
Just the two of us
We can make it just the two of us
Just the two of us
We can make it just the two of us
Just the two of us
We can make it just the two of us
Just the two of us
We can make it just the two of us
Just the two of us
We can make it just the two of us
Just the two of us)

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Tucked away in a private drawer, far from the polished sets of her television show, lay a bundle of 341 letters. These were not press clippings or scripts; they were brittle, handwritten testimonies from servicemen stationed in remote barracks, deep in war-torn tunnels, and across desolate battlefields. During the long years of the Second World War, as Hollywood presented a glossy, curated image of American life, Donna Reed spent her nights reading these letters and, more remarkably, personally answering them. This was the quiet, invisible work that defined her, long before the public labeled her the quintessential television mother. Behind the camera during her production years, Reed was a different person entirely. She was rarely seen holding a script for a scene; she was more likely to be found hunched over lighting diagrams or studying the intricacies of cinematography. She possessed an uncredited producer’s mind, constantly analyzing how the frame could better reflect the reality of the family she was trying to depict. The studio environment was frequently cold and high-pressured, but she moved through it with a meticulous attention to detail that frustrated those who wanted to treat her as merely another pretty face in the cast. These tactile remnants—the stacks of ink-stained paper and the forgotten notes on camera angles—tell the story of a woman who never truly fit the box Hollywood built for her. While the world remembers the steady, comforting image of a television home, she lived a life carved out of hard labor and deep empathy. She carried the weight of those soldiers’ stories and the technical burdens of the studio floor until her final days, forever balancing the fragility of her public image against the demanding, gritty reality of her actual life.