Authors: Gary Giddins
The inchoate script required retouching by several hands, leaching whatever strength it might have had as a satire of the
New York stage. The songs were weak, though Bing mined three hits for Decca. He fared less well with his character, a cipher
surrounded by lunatics. Once again he is insensible to the good girl’s true love, preferring bad girl Thelma Todd. His singing,
however, is electric, despite self-deprecating crooning jokes, whether swinging “From the Top of Your Head to the Tip of Your
Toes” or emoting “Without a Word of Warning.”
During post-production, the film was sheared to barely an hour’s running time. If they had cut another forty minutes, they
might have had a very good two-reeler. There was talk of shelving it entirely
rather than dilute Bing’s box-office clout. Instead, it was slated for late-summer release as a test. Bing was already known
to be critic-proof; if audiences would pay to see him in this, a picture guaranteed to elicit bad reviews and negative word
of mouth, Bing’s box-office power would be affirmed rather spectacularly. As it happened,
Two for Tonight
turned a handsome profit and was held over at several theaters. Nor were reviewers uniformly censorious. Graham Greene, writing
in the London
Spectator,
considered it “very amusing and well written entertainment” and described Bing as “attractively commonplace.”
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On the other hand, Greene disdained the Irving Berlin songs in RKO’s
Top Hat,
the year’s one indisputably great hit musical, which deservedly trounced
Two for Tonight
when they played rival theaters in New York.
The year was turning out to be a personal triumph for Bing financially; between records, radio, and movies, he grossed more
than $500,000. In other respects, he was treading water. His pictures made money but did little to enhance his stature. Mae
West, enjoying her last year as a box-office queen, was Paramount’s top draw, followed by Claudette Colbert, Gary Cooper,
and Bing. Other studios, however, were dominated by their musical stars — Astaire and Rogers at RKO, Shirley Temple at Fox,
Eddie Cantor at Goldwyn, Jeannette MacDonald and Nelson Eddy at MGM. Weeks before
Two for Tonight
opened, Paramount sought to make amends by announcing what it considered a classy project. Bing’s next film would be
Tony’s High Hat,
costarring Metropolitan Opera contralto Gladys Swarthout. Apparently, the studio neglected to consult Bing, who publicly
declined. The plot, counterposing jazz and the classics, was a familiar gambit in the 1930s. Bing did not like the story idea
and contended that he could not hold his own with an opera star. But Paramount, intent on finding a more credible answer than
Kitty Carlisle to MGM’s MacDonald or Columbia’s Met star Grace Moore, convinced Bing to make a test with Swarthout and reannounced
the project with a more didactic title,
Opera Versus Jazz.
After Bing and Gladys sang “Home on the Range” and “Thunder Over Paradise” for the ears of the bosses, the project was nixed.
Swarthout was teamed, instead, with John Boles in
Rose of the Rancho.
Two years later she left Hollywood for good.
The Swarthout episode may have indirectly stung Jack Kapp, ironically enough, considering how closely Paramount’s misguided
ambition jibed with his own desire to establish Bing as a singer of light classics. The day
Variety
printed Paramount’s announcement of
Tony’s High Hat,
August 14, Bing took out his frustration on Jack in an argument that was recorded and covertly circulated.
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It was Bing’s first time in the studio since “Silent Night,” six months earlier, and his first session with the Dorsey Brothers
in more than two years. The session was brought about by Rockwell-O’Keefe, the agency that had arranged for Bing to take over
the
Kraft Music Hall.
Cork O’Keefe hoped to find a berth on the show for the Dorseys, too. Their band was an obvious candidate, its very sound
a reflection of Bing’s musical influence; as drummer Ray McKinley once explained, “The emphasis on the trombones was to give
the band a Bing Crosby quality.”
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Bing had not heard the new Dorsey band, which was playing the Glen Island Casino in New Rochelle, and as he and Dixie planned
to spend much of August at the Saratoga races, Cork hoped to lure him out to listen. When Bing complained that he did not
want to brave the crowds or don the hairpiece, Cork suggested a record date.
Tommy and Jimmy Dorsey were two of the most temperamental men in the music business. Known as the battling Dorseys, they battled
chiefly each other and were not exactly enjoying their much touted, celebrity-studded engagement at Glen Island — not with
Tommy, the mandarin loner, taking all the bows as conductor and Jimmy, the acerbic tippler, giving him the fish eye from the
reed section. One evening, weeks before Bing traveled to New York, Jimmy griped about a tempo and Tommy tromped off the stage,
never to return. Thus ended the Dorsey Brothers and commenced two of the most successful bands of the Swing Era. For the immediate
future, however, O’Keefe wanted them both on
Kraft.
He pleaded with Tommy to do the record date, and Tommy relented. He would do it for Cork and Bing, he said, but would not
speak to his brother. August 14 was a sizzler, but tempers were cool when Bing arrived. The brothers were happy to be reunited
with him, if not with each other, and were primed — both were perfectionists — with solid arrangements (probably by the band’s
pianist, Bobby Van Eps) of the five songs from
Two for Tonight.
The first few hours were highly productive. Though slightly hoarse, Bing completed the five tunes without incident. Much joy
is evident
in “From the Top of Your Head to the Tip of Your Toes,” which glistens with Bing’s jauntiness. “Takes Two to Make a Bargain”
is a thin number, but Bing and the musicians (Jimmy takes a clarinet solo) are off and running, with Bing rhythmically interpolating
the phrase “I’d like to know” and upping the ante in an embellished second chorus. By “Two for Tonight” Bing sounds a bit
worn and raspy, but notwithstanding a couple of spent high notes, he phrases with pleasing élan. Then they took a break.
In addition to the
Two for Tonight
score, he was scheduled to record his number from
The Big Broadcast of 1936,
Ralph Rainger and Dorothy Parker’s “I Wished on the Moon.” It was his sole contribution to a picture carried by Jack Oakie,
Lyda Roberti, and the wonderful Nicholas Brothers. Bing sang two choruses under a full moon in a rustic setting and received
top billing. Kapp knew the appealing song could be a hit.
Precisely what ensued in the studio is unclear, though alcohol was evidently poured on fresh wounds. Jimmy was a serious drinker
and easier to get along with than Tommy, so it is not unlikely that he and Bing took the break together, consoling each other
with their beefs. Bing had two gripes: the Swarthout story, announced that morning, and a fight he was waging at Paramount
in an attempt to share in royalties on songs written for his movies. In fact, he was scheduled to meet with Manny Cohen in
Saratoga to discuss their imminent production, for which all the songs would be written by independent songwriters and published
by Rockwell-O’Keefe’s music wing, Select, guaranteeing Bing’s participation. At Paramount Bing’s demand was blocked by Lou
Diamond, the hard-working, generally well liked supervisor of Paramount film shorts and the head of Famous Music, one of the
studio’s two music-publishing subsidiaries. Though owned by Paramount, Famous operated independently; Diamond, unmoved by
Bing’s pull, refused to cut him in on songs — a perquisite that later became standard in Hollywood contracts, including Bing’s.
It didn’t help that Bing and Diamond could not stand each other. According to Sid Herman, Diamond’s successor at the firm,
they were incapable of discussing the matter. Famous Music controlled publishing rights for “I Wished on the Moon.”
After the break, while Kapp was absent, Bing informed the band that he would sing only a single chorus, like in the old days
when he was the male vocalist who appeared in the middle of an instrumental
performance with a vocal refrain. During the rehearsal Kapp walked into the control booth and couldn’t believe what he was
hearing. Bing groused that he was unable to sing more than a chorus because he was hoarse, a fact amply demonstrated by his
work that day. Jack tried to convince him that he could no longer get away with a solo refrain, but Bing, who never raised
his voice in an argument, remained childishly rigid as the band sat around, waiting for the final decision. The altercation
was recorded — at Kapp’s instigation, perhaps with the intention of later showing Bing how badly he had behaved. But it also
shows how funny Bing could be even when sloshed and threatening.
Jack: Come on will ya, Bing? Sing.
Bing: You wanna make this thing…
Jack: I want you to sing.
Bing:… the way we rehearsed it or not?
Jack: Sing the first chorus. I don’t care what you do after that, but sing the first chorus.
Bing: No.
Jack: Well now, you’re a little bit arbitrary….
Bing: No, I don’t think so. I think you’re being arbitrary.
Jack: I leave it to the jury.
Bing: Man gets a record free [crowd laughter] with a beautiful arrangement, he don’t want, you don’t want my vocal chorus.
Jack: [shouts over him] Hey, Rockwell-O’Keefe, come on out of there, let’s get with the game. Come on.
Bing: [shouts back] Let’s go over to Victor! Let’s go to Victor! They’ll take it! Come on.
Jimmy Dorsey: Brunswick will take it, grab it up in a minute.
Jack: Yeah, Brunswick
will,
too.
Bing: You want it that way?
Jack: For Christ’s sake, come on.
Bing: Jack, you’ve got fifteen minutes.
Jack: All right, you can make it in six.
Bing: You want it that way?
Jack: Come on, sing the first chorus.
Bing: The boys don’t want to sit around here…
Kapp: They do.
Bing:… and listen to this endless bickering. They want to either get it made or go home.
Jack: I know! They want to go home!
Bing: And I’m sure I’m similarly minded. And I won’t even make any excuses.
Jimmy: Let’s make “Dippermouth.”
Bing: All right. [crowd laughter]
Jack: Come on, Bing. Sing the first chorus.
Bing: No.
Jack: You might as well do it right.
Bing: Let’s not do it at all.
Jack: But why do that? Seems like it’ll be a terrific hit.
Jimmy: Who is this guy anyway, what happened?
Bing: Who?
Jimmy: That guy.
Bing: You know the son of a bitch.
Jack: Oh, what’s the difference? You’re in the picture, aren’t you? Son of a bitch or no son of a bitch, you’re still in
The Big Broadcast.
Bing: I might get myself taken out. What do you think of that?
Jack: Yeah, well, I’ll tell you what you do. If you get yourself taken out, we’ll make it two ways. One my way and one your
way. If you get yourself taken out, I’ll release your way. If it stays, you gotta make it my way. Bing: Is that a bargain
for you? [crowd laughter] How do you like that? Would you like a dance record of “Wished on the Moon” with a vocal chorus,
me singing it, or not? No? G’bye.
Jack: If you turn back the clock four years, it’d be entirely different. We can’t do it now. I’m telling you we can’t do it.
C’mon, c’mon.
Bing: I’m on my way, Jack.
Jack: C’mon, c’mon, Bing.
Bing: Nooo, what have I got to do? Swear out an affidavit? You want that, Jack?
Jack: Listen, do whatever you want, Bing. I’m not going to argue with you. This means more to you than it does to me.
Bing: Jack, it don’t mean a fuck to me.”
Jack: Well, you sing it in
The Big Broadcast.
The picture
will
…
Bing: I think it would be a nice record with just a swell arrangement and a vocal chorus.
Jack: In all my experience, I’ve never seen you in such an arbitrary mood. Bing: Well…
Jack: And I want to tell you, you just —just because you happen to have it in for a fellow by the name of Diamond.
Bing: No, that’s not it — that’s partly it, yes.
Jack: I say this, though, it has nothing to do with the song. He can be a son of a bitch, but if the tune is great, you should
do it right.
Bing: It’s got nothing to do with it.
Jack: Yes, it has.
Bing: My reasons for doing it this way are threefold.
Jack: All right, give me the first one.
Bing: First I’m very hoarse…
Jack: [shouts to control booth] Are we getting this down?
Bing:… this afternoon and I don’t think I can sing any more than one chorus and do it well. Secondly, the guy who controls
the tune is a pirate.
Jack: Well, supposing he is?
Bing: Thirdly, I think the record as discussed and arranged would be an interesting salable piece of property which you can
well afford to have on your shelves, [crowd laughter]
Jack: That’s where it would probably stay!
Bing: Now, if you want it that way, say yes and if you don’t, say no and let’s stop fucking around.
Jack: Up to you, Bing.
Bing: I’m telling you what I want to do.
Jack: I can’t argue with you if your mind is made up.
Bing: Been made up for days.
Jack: It has?
Bing:… talked it over the phone, we discussed this at great length.
Jack: Who did you discuss it with?
Bing: Uhhh, T. J. Rockwell. Might as well put him in the middle.[much crowd laughter]
Jack: Do it any way you want. I don’t care. What can I do?
Bing: Maybe I can’t even do it, Jack. I don’t know.
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He did it, barely, his tones taut and breaking. Years later Kapp, who preserved the recorded contretemps in Decca’s archives,
liked to complain that Bing won the argument but that the record did not sell. In fact, “I Wished on the Moon” was a substantial
hit, outselling the
Two for Tonight
songs and crowning Decca’s sales list before the movie was released — a telling example of a song’s appeal overriding a singer’s
failings and possibly gaining a touch of mystique from the surprising brevity of the vocal. Subsequent disputes between Bing
and Jack are neither documented nor rumored. Perhaps Bing was genuinely chagrined by the episode. In any case, he doubled
his recording agenda for the next year, resuming Kapp’s program in November with two long, back-to-back sessions, scoring
a number one hit with “Red Sails in the Sunset” and doing nearly as well with “On Treasure Island” (a bewitching performance
marred by an uncharacteristically corny Victor Young arrangement) and the songs from the movie on which Bing was currently
working.