On such days, if anyone has conceived to sing a song, taking an aromatic foamy bath, looking for a tenacious gaze (by the light of candles flowing and drinking champagne) diving and reappearing here and there, a yellow nimble duck, you can't imagine better Swinging on a Star.

Undoubtedly - in the tone of Bing Crosby - a deep baritone, as if from the depths of an ancient radio broadcast, bursting through the crackle and interference - a ball of chocolate-cream ice cream with pecans on a good piece of apple pie.

The spirit of cinnamon, cloves, vanilla.

Bitters-sour-sweet orange jam in a tiny bowl next to it.

Here is a holiday for you - the Christmas of that world.

Here is your voice: no one is ever better, if not the times of rock, if beyond that - when there was absolutely nothing.

Would you like to swing on a star

Carry moonbeams home in a jar

And be better off than you are

Or would you rather be a mule?

Which one of us wants to become a mule?

O!

On such and such days for such suspicions about people who think exclusively?

Your indignation, however, lasts no more than a moment - this is old Bing, who collected all the blessings of the earth, all the awards and circulation, all the singles and charts, leaving little trace of his time after him.

That's what Crosby is all about.

For this song and his role in the film Going My Way (1944) he received an Oscar.

And all the monkeys aren't in the zoo

Every day you meet quite a few

So you see it's all up to you

You can be better than you are

You could be swingin 'on a star.

But what does the Oscar have to do with it?

And what does a zoo with monkeys and mules have to do with it?

We all want, swinging on a star, singing funny songs, after returning home with pockets full of moonlight.

The whole house will be filled with that light, certainly in crystal banks with plump, round sides!

What happiness will reign in him, what bright dreams will come true, what unthinkable dreams! ..

Love!

We will experience an unprecedented, never before seen love!

Let's live a full life to the brim, swinging on a star, swinging on the stars, swimming and dancing in streams of sparkling moonlight! ..

How good is that.

When would each of us in our turn become Bing Crosby.

And he is alone.

And we still turn our heads up, infrequently, on rare occasions.

We are in a hurry, we are in a hurry, rushing in the bustle and emptiness towards, neglecting the strange opportunity to get off the ground, flapping our wings (each issued from birth - look, but rather, run your hands over your back), climb to the stars, choosing your own, the most welcoming, smiling and cute ...

How he sings it! .. How in general does he manage to pry us until today, not evil and not painful, but just enough to remain, stuck in the memory: “And I can!

And it is given to me! "

Yellow duck.

Vaughn emerged from the foam, looks at you with shining eyes, waits.

It was Bing who said, “Anyone can sing any song of mine.

If there is a heart in the chest. "

His youth fell on the Great Depression and the Great War.

The world with him invariably and persistently rolled into the abyss, and he sang and sang to himself.

For example, Irving Berlin's White Christmas, first performed by Crosby in 1941.

After all, now we perceive the melodies of the New Year and Christmas as something Santa brought to the whole world in a sleigh: once, somewhere, smart elves in green and red caps wrote down notes, and here you are!

And in fact...

Crosby appeared in front of American forces in Europe countless times during World War II.

At the very end of the war, the Americans, eternal fans of charts and competitions, arranged a survey among their soldiers about who most supported their morale and who helped in difficult times.

And it turned out - Bing Crosby, who topped the list, ahead of President Roosevelt, General Eisenhower and the comedian Hope.

Definitely “the song helps us to build and live”.

And to us, and to them.

We are all people.

We are all humans.

With simple and understandable desires for happiness.

White Christmas has become more than Crosby's calling card - he is completely dissolved in it.

The best-selling single in the world, only the official circulation exceeds 100 million copies, but who would believe it - what nonsense, really!

- some kind of official circulation! ..

There are 300 loyal ones, so I can tell you, understanding something in vinyl affairs - 300 million loyal ones. it is not quail.

But something else is interesting: every time it is thought that it is he, - with such manic precision and pedantry, everyone who wants to snatch at least a little bit of the glory of America's first cruner tried and is trying to re-sing it.

And he did not consider himself to be any kind of kruner.

He sculpted his style out of nothing, from the constant exploitation of the vocal cords given by nature.

Day and night.

Spit on fashion.

Friends (perhaps not without envy) argued: Crosby, and having fallen out of all the charts, and having lost all his popularity, will continue to sing on the back veranda of his country house for birds, cats and random passers-by.

And those casual passers-by are invariably you and me.

And we purr under our breath, feeling snowflakes melting on our cheeks like the hopes of youth ...

I'm dreaming of a white Christmas,

Just like the ones I used to know.

Where the treetops glisten,

And children listen

To hear sleigh bells in the snow.

I'm dreaming of a white Christmas

With every Christmas card I write,

“May your days be merry and bright,

And may all your Christmases be white! "

Some nonsense can fall out of the charts, accidentally brought there by the wind.

And the base, the slabs are unshakable - perhaps at the end of the world.

Old Bing Crosby deserves a separate and serious discussion.

After all, it was he, conducting live radio broadcasts twice a day, for the West and East coasts, completely outraged, invested money in the "magnetic tape" (and later in the video), providing himself and us, who follow him, the possibility of non-live broadcasts, gluing, editing duplicates and other familiar broadcasting "trifles".

However, this is a subject for another conversation.

And now - the holidays.

The spirit of Christmas and New Year.

A time of hopes, a time of expectations and great accomplishments.

Everything is possible in December, and there are no boundaries for him in the worlds visible and invisible to the eye.

You can easily find any of Crosby's Christmas songs in the bowels of the net.

I will recommend today one incredibly light and cheerful 1956 album of his, recorded on Verve Records - Bing Sings Whilst Bregman Swings with Buddy Bregman's fire swing orchestra.

The quintessence of joy, carelessness and love of life.

And what else does each of us need more at the very end of December?

Happy New Years!

The point of view of the author may not coincide with the position of the editorial board.