They were singers who starred on network radio in the 1940s—Bing Crosby, Frank Sinatra, Al Jolson, Hoagy Carmichael.
Hoagy Carmichael?!?
I’m not old enough to have been around in the ‘40s, so my first exposure to Hoagy was on an episode of The Flintstones. Much later in life, I discovered he actually wrote “Stardust,” and had his name butchered at the Oscars in 1948 by Sam Goldwyn.
Just now, I’ve learned that Carmichael had his own radio show the same year. And much like Sammy Cahn did on Merv Griffin’s TV show years later, the composer sang. And not necessarily his own compositions, as we learn from music lover John Crosby in his syndicated radio column of Feb. 28. Crosby looks at a couple of other things, including more ridiculous radio censorship.
RADIO IN REVIEW
By JOHN CROSBY
A Composer Sings
About twice in the Hoagy Carmichael show (CBS 5:30 p. m. EST Sundays), an announcer intervenes to urge listeners to get rid of that "stuffy, congested feeling" and "that scratchy throat” by using Luden's Cough Drops. Then Hoagy, who has a voice like a tired rasp, will sing another song in those scratchy, congested tones which sound as if he hadn't paid attention to the commercial.
Whether or not the Carmichael voice succeeds in selling any cough drops, it provides a pleasant and relaxing fifteen minutes. In his singing, Hoagy sums up the Carmichael philosophy. He doesn't like any one to be in a hurry; in his one book, his many songs, and his few screen appearances, he celebrates the sheer bliss of taking it easy, though how he manages to take it easy with so many activities is his own secret.
Two of his own songs—"Two Sleepy People" and "Lazybones"—sum up fairly well how he sounds on the air. He sings as if he were lying on a hammock, dressed in a worn sweater, scuffed shoes, and his oldest flannels, just on the verge of falling asleep.
* * *
Some songs shouldn't be sung by any one else. "Limehouse Blues" sung in that hoarse, haunting voice, puts the smell of fog in your nostrils. "Among My Souvenirs," the corniest tear-jerker since "Only a Bird in a Gilded Cage," almost sounds like genuine sentiment after he finishes it. Most of the songs on the program are blues numbers or just plain low-down numbers like "Baltimore Oriole" ("Send her back home. Home ain't home without her warbling.") While his voice resembles the croaking of a frog more closely than it does a singing voice, Hoagy's phrasing is meticulous. He is one of the few singers who sing lyrics as if they know what the words mean.
The song writer also composes what little dialogue there is on the show. Most of it is simply amiable chatter with his secretary, Shirley, or his accompanist. Buddy Cole, about his book "On the Stardust Road" or about his old, beloved car. It's as unpretentious and slow-moving as his screen acting. In fact, the Carmichael program comes pretty close to pure radio; that is, it's intimate entertainment designed not to get a studio audience into hysterics, but to entertain a few people in their own parlors.
Incidentally, Carmichael isn't the only song writer who can sing. Harold Arlen, composer of "Stormy Weather," "Blues in the Night" and "Old Black Magic," has been entertaining his friends for years with his throaty singing. Many women claim he possesses the sexiest male voice they ever heard, and he is due to charm a wider feminine audience over CBS in the near future.
• • •
Integrated commercials, according to most radio polls, are the most popular type with listeners. An integrated commercial, in case you didn't know, is one in which the advertising is brought right into the script such as the Johnson's Wax commercials on the Fibber McGee and Molly show. Integrated commercials reached a new high in the recent Jack Benny parodies on operatic themes, which were as funny as anything else in the show and maybe even a little funnier.
However, the millennium did not occur until recently when Jack Carson imitated Al Jolson In a commercial for Campbell Soup. Hordes of letters poured in from listeners requesting a repeat performance. The repetition
of a commercial by popular demand is, of course, unheard of. As far as commercial radio goes it is probably the end of the line. We can all turn our attention to space ships now; there is nothing further to achieve in radio. And while on the subject of ultimates, the final extremity in censorship was attained on a script of "Murder and Mr. Malone." A pause was deleted by an ABC censor. Too suggestive, he said.
As for Crosby’s other columns for the week, he completed his series from Hollywood:
Monday, February 24: Network headquarters in Hollywood.
Tuesday, February 25: Bing and Bob.
Wednesday, February 26: Cars and other freebies.
Thursday, February 27: Abe Burrows and Vine Street.
You can click on them to read them.
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