Crosby on Crosby

The year was 1946. It was the year Bing Crosby changed network radio for good.

The Old Groaner had been hosting a show on the air for Kraft for 11 years, all of which ended with three chimes courtesy of the National Broadcasting Company. And because NBC and CBS mandated live broadcasts, der Bingle did one show for the East Coast at 6 p.m. Thursdays then the same show three hours later for the West Coast. The networks were antsy about transcriptions, claiming they didn’t have the quality of live shows, the discs could skip, and audiences didn’t want recorded programmes.

Bing was not a stupid man. He knew transcribed shows, like Amos ‘n’ Andy, had been on the air since the late ‘20s. He didn’t see the point of doing an identical broadcast twice. And he knew during the war, the Germans had invented a high-quality reel-to-reel tape machine that was now being manufactured in the U.S. by Ampex. Bing liked the idea of editing out mistakes and having a better show. He also liked the idea of recording broadcasts in advance, leaving him stretches of time for golfing and fishing.

Another network, ABC, didn’t care about live or tape. It cared about getting stars to make any kind of ratings gains to jump out of third place. Sure, Bing, come to ABC and record your shows, he was told. Farewell, bong-bong-bong! Farewell, Velveeta! Crosby debuted his taped show (transcribed onto disc for airing) for Philco on Wednesday, October 16, 1946. (ABC followed Crosby with another heavy-hitter, satirist Henry Morgan, who went from ad-lib commentaries to his own variety show).

If you read the trade papers and/or radio pages in the public press at the time, there was huge fascination with Bing’s experiment. It turned out to be a success. The dam burst. Other live shows followed. NBC and CBS gave in.

Herald Tribune syndicate columnist John Crosby seemed quite pleased with both Bing and the broadcast, which he reviewed on Tuesday, October 22.

RADIO IN REVIEW
By John CROSBY
Bing Crosby
The hullabaloo started last spring when Bing Crosby's contract with Kraft Music Hall, his sponsor for ten years, expired. Throughout the summer, rumors flew around like magpies. Crosby was tired and was through with radio for good. Or, Crosby would like to do a transcription series but no network would take a chance. Then in August the news was flashed around the nation—the world's favorite barytone would do a series of transcribed broadcasts for Philco over the American Broadcasting Co. The pay would be the highest in radio ($24,000 a week) with a percentage on additional stations which might bring it as high as $30,000). The network would be the largest ever strung together for a commercial show (208 A. B. C. stations, possibly 400 independents).
As the great day approached, the publicity mounted. The network renamed Wednesday Bingsday. Magazine ads blossomed like magnolias, recounting the story of the voice on which the sun never acts. The Crosby face, as symbolic of America as Churchill’s cigar of the British Empire, peered forth from hundreds of newspaper ads to remind us Wednesday was the day. It was the greatest build-up since Bikini.
By the time the first strains of "When the Blue of the Night" crept through our loudspeakers in the serene, relaxed unmistakable tones of the world’s most nonchalant singer, it was a bit of an anticlimax. What were we all expecting—the Apocalypse? It was just Crosby—the same effortless voice you hear night and day from ten thousand juke boxes, the same velvet tones and perfect phrasing that emanate hour after hour via recordings from hundreds of independent radio stations.
Discounting the publicity, it was a darn good show. Bing warmed up with "I Got the Sun in the Morning," a song whose lyrics are peculiarly fitted to his own insouciance, and then, for a change of pace, offered "Moonlight Bay,” which gave him a chance to throw out his chest and give for a note or two.
There isn’t much left to be said about the Crosby voice. Its great charm, I think (and it’s hardly an original thought) is that Crosby keeps it at half throttle most of the time. Behind that easy going warbling are immense reserves of depth and volume, and when, about two notes to every song, he calls them into place, the rest of the popular singers are left far in the rear.
About the only thing you get on the Crosby show that you can’t get on a juke box is the Crosby badinage. The singer hates pretension of any sort and works tirelessly on his scripts to avoid straining at gags. The dialogue is as informal and as easygoing as the Crosby voice—and as difficult to express in print. Engaging is the word I’m looking for, I guess.
The program doesn't rest entirely on the 18-karat voice. Besides Bing, you get Lina Romay, a pleasant singer though overpowered next to the Great Name, and the Charioteers, who provided an excellent contrast to Crosby in “Moonlight Bay.” Skitch Henderson, a piano stylist, broke up the vocalising with a skittish arrangement of "Turkey in the Straw" and John Scott Trotter's orchestra helped out where necessary.
The cherry on this sundae was Bob Hope, another entertainer who has reached such a peak of adulation that he can afford to relax. The two old friends, who go together like scotch and soda, insulted each other’s waistline, hairline and baseball teams and wound up doing a duet called "Put Her There, Pal.” It was just like old times on the road to Singapore.
There were two great innovations in the Crosby show. First and most startling, Bing tore up the commercial because it interfered with the entertainment. The second and most important was the fact that a transcription show got on a national network at all. The success of the Crosby show may lead to lots more of the same.
The first show was a whopping success, but much of it was probably the result of the publicity. It’s too early to tell whether transcription will hold the same appeal as live shows. The first show was carried by the full A. B. C. network (208 stations) and “several hundred” independents. Just how many hundred remains the closely guarded secret of Philco, which is having a little union trouble and won’t give out exact figures. Bing got a Hooper rating of 25, which is excellent but not sensational (Fred Allen got 25.6 on Oct. 6).
But to the millions of Crosby fans the most important news of all is that the Groaner is back on the air.

Incidentally, Bing was bigger than ABC. He recorded a series of 15-minute transcriptions that were syndicated across North America.

The same week, Crosby wrote two columns on an audience survey (Oct. 21, 23) as well as one about returning giveaway show “Pot o’ Gold” on ABC (Oct. 23) and another on honesty in advertising (Oct. 25) which also contained routines from the Fred Allen and Henry Morgan shows. You can click on them below.