THE UNFORGETTABLE BING CROSBY

THE UNFORGETTABLE BING CROSBY
By Dick Meister

Critics writing of Bing Crosby almost invariably describe him as forgotten
and deplorably underappreciated. And he probably is by most people -- but
not by me and undoubtedly not by many others of my generation.

Bing Crosby has been with me just about all my life, a calm comfort for
almost as long as I can remember, beginning with my adolescence in the last
years of the Great Depression and the World War II years that followed.

I never met Crosby, never even saw him perform in person. Yet he's been
in my head, on call, so to speak, since the first day I heard him sing.

That was over the radio in my family's modest Victorian flat in San
Francisco.

Crosby -- "Bing," as she always called him -- was a great favorite of my
grandmother, who presided over the kitchen. She was there virtually the
entire day, preparing meals, keeping the wood-burning stove going and -- above all, it
often seemed -- listening to the radio.

Almost never was the radio silent, certainly never when Crosby was to be
heard -- and that was a lot. His records were played more than those of
any other single artist by far, and several stations broadcast daily
programs devoted solely to them. On Thursday nights, we gathered in front of the tall radio in the
living room to hear Crosby live on the weekly Kraft Music Hall show on NBC,
along with 50 million others nationwide.

Despite today's general public indifference to Crosby, I don't for a minute
question the poll taken in the 1940s that found him the world's most admired
man. Nor do I doubt the genuineness of the laid-back and unassuming manner
that had much to do with his many years of high popularity.

Crosby was more than a singer, of course. His appearance in more than 80
films ranging from fluffy comedies and musicals to heavy dramas also brought
him popular acclaim.

But Bing Crosby's singing -- that's what counted above all with me, as
an eight-year-old in a cozy kitchen, as an adult, always.

Over the years, I've learned of Crosby's great contributions to music, how
he transformed pop singing through his mastery of the emerging technology of
the microphone in the late 1920s and early 30s when most singers were stiff,
loud, highly mannered tenors. His deep baritone voice, casual,
conversational style, emphasis on lyrics and the spontaneity and creative
innovations of jazz set a new, truly revolutionary standard.

I understood none of that, of course, when I first heard Crosby. I didn't
even understand the often romantic lyrics. All that mattered anyway
was the incredibly comforting way in which crooner Crosby delivered them.
Yet to this day I often recall at will many of the words -- and most of the
music. I play the recordings now, though I really don't need to.

It's difficult to single out any of the dozens of tunes I've never
forgotten. But surely few popular musical performances are more memorable,
even now, a quarter-century after Crosby's death, than his scat-singing duet
with the Mills Brothers on "My Honey's Loving Arms." Few tell an important
story better than his poignant version of the Depression anthem, "Brother,
Can you Spare a Dime?" And Crosby's rendition of "Home on the Range" is
ballad singing at its very finest.

Listen to those recordings. Listen to other Crosby performances. If enough
people did that, I'm convinced Bing Crosby would be restored to his rightful
place as one of the most influential figures in the history of American
popular culture.

Copyright © 2008 Dick Meister

Story ID:	3524
Written by:	Dick Meister (bio, link, contact, other stories)
Story type:	Musings, Essays and Such
Location:	San Francisco CA USA
Year:	1940
Person:	Bing Crosby