In August, broken hearts, future colds, universal catastrophes and petty insults are impossible - summer reigns everywhere and bends branches with heavenly fruits to the ground, and the juice of wine berries replaces our blood.

August - to realize the frailty and infinity of being.

To hold our breath and jump into the river of life, already indistinguishable in the fogs of distant autumn, inseparable, one single component with the air in our lungs, with wings behind us.

Even if everything disappears one day, turns into a shaky, unfaithful dream lost in the morning, know that August is eternal.

From the abyss of oblivion, from the abyss of non-existence, he stretches out his hand over and over again - grab on with all your strength.

August...

He is preferred, well-disposed towards him, most pleasant and suitable for his deeds - stories with a blissful ending, albeit invented, albeit invented by us ourselves ...

During the day, the sun furiously pierces with its rays everything that exists on the earth's firmament - raise your hand, shield it from the ancient flaming disk, sparkling, as if from a forge, the coin of the Universe - the palm will become scarlet, hot and burning, as if a liquid and living flame is poured and enclosed in it.

At night, with an inaudible and unhurried tread, peace and tranquility come.

Blue-black shadows cover anyone who ran away from the sun into a dream - from the future - languidly unknown, unfaithful, lost in imaginary essences and conjectures... Chimeras of existence wander with it.

What do we care about that future?

Until sleep overcame.

While glasses are full and candles dispel the darkness...

Turn to music - there is no better way to accept the greatness and inevitability of August.

Pick up a vinyl disc - everything will turn to dust, but not today and not now.

Let it be Lonely Girl - Julie London 1956;

Western Recorders, Hollywood — nothing but Julie London's smoky voice vocals and Al Viola's peacefully contemplative guitar (a great guitarist, no doubt about it).

Nothing except...

13 standards - do everything possible, everything in your power, so that under no circumstances do you have to get up from the couch, get out of the chair during their sounding - How Deep Is the Ocean?, Remember and What'll I Do by Irving Berlin (yes -yes - he wrote Cheek to cheek and White Christmas).

Never heard by anyone, impossible and penetrating to the invisible, in the corners of the eyes hidden tears reading Fools Rush In (Where Angels Fear to Tread) by Johnny Mercer (yes, he is the author of Moon River and Days of Wine and Roses).

Fools rush in

Where angels fear to read

And so I come to you my love

my heart above my head

Thought I see the danger there

If there's a chance for me

Then I don't care...

Once upon a time there was a little girl Julie London (born in 1926), but in fact, although it does not matter, her name was Gail Peck.

Originally from California, from the town of Santa Rosa.

Mom and dad had their own little theater, and - how could it be otherwise - Julie spent the day and spent the night in it, sang and danced: the music lived in her, she built it in herself, like a ladder to the sky and the sun. 

Then, in 1945, there was a move to Los Angeles, the Hollywood Professional School, the first sudden love and first marriage, the first roles in the first three films.

And then Julie met Bobby - a jazz pianist, singer and composer (he wrote the absolutely legendary piece Route 66), and later quite an intelligent producer Bobby Traup - they lived together in a happy marriage, having made three children, as much as 45 years.

Quite an August story - don't you think?

The love of music and continuous singing day and night, dissolved in Julie's blood, mixed with the love of jazz and keyboards, dissolved in Bobby's blood, the effect exceeded all expectations.

Since December 1955, Julie London's albums have consistently become a revelation to the listening public of all classes and colors - because no boundaries or limits are set for the real.

The case when the sung Julie gets, and quite often, into your mood, you seem to be in the same room with her, as if you have known a damn abyss of years and finally met again, and you can’t talk enough, and when you’ve talked enough, Julie starts to sing .. .

Regalia, yes.

In show business, this is a must for him to fail.

The best female vocals of 1955, 1956, 1957 according to polls of the most authoritative (and who would argue - in those days) Billboard.

For me, one of the best so far.

Whether she sang practically solo, only accompanied by a guitar or a jazz trio, whether it was a session with a full-fledged symphony orchestra, a jazz big band, she always succeeded equally well. 

Let the second record of your evening be Your Number Please - Julie London 1959;

Liberty studio - saturated to the limit with the meanings and semitones of jazz standards of the era of energy and excess - Makin' Whoopee, Love Is Here to Stay, It's a Blue World, When I Fall in Love.

Lots more...

The album was recorded with the orchestra of Andre Previn, an American conductor, pianist and composer.

He also worked in the classical genre, in particular, he wrote and staged the opera A Streetcar Named Desire based on a play by Tennessee Williams. 

As a conductor, Previn recorded three ballets by Tchaikovsky, almost all the symphonies and piano concertos by Sergei Rachmaninoff, however, these are all regalia - you can appreciate the maestro's class without them.

What's on your table?

What's in the glasses?

In any case, Julie London and her two albums (two of 32) will perfectly complement both your nightly dinner and your August resignation to the inevitability and transience of Happiness - so let it into your Life...

Fools rush in

Where wise men never go

But wise men never fall in love

So how are they to know

When we met

I felt my life begin

So open up your heart and let

This fool rush in…

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