NEW CD: BING CROSBY - KRAFT MUSIC HALL TIME volume 3

This 2 CD set is a time capsule of Bing's halcyon radio days, drawing together a selection of songs from 1937-1946 that have never appeared on CD. Kraft Music Hall Time Volume 3 is a remarkable 2-CD collection preserving Bing Crosby's celebrated radio broadcasts from Kraft Music Hall between 1937 and 1946. Drawing together performances, introductions, and lighthearted banter that have largely never before appeared on CD, this set offers an authentic snapshot of Crosby at the height of his popularity during the golden age of American radio. Presented in digitally remastered sound, these recordings capture both his effortless vocal style and the relaxed charm that made him one of entertainment's most beloved personalities.

Spanning nearly a decade of broadcasts, the collection features an outstanding selection of standards, popular songs, Hawaiian melodies, patriotic favorites, and romantic ballads, reflecting the extraordinary versatility that defined Crosby's career. Alongside timeless performances of songs including 'Where the Blue of the Night,' 'Sleepy Lagoon,' 'It Might as Well Be Spring,' and 'I Can't Begin to Tell You,' listeners also experience the warmth and spontaneity of the original radio programs through preserved studio exchanges and commentary.

Released by Sepia Records, Kraft Music Hall Time Volume 3 serves as both an invaluable historical archive and an entertaining listening experience, making it an essential addition for Bing Crosby enthusiasts, collectors of vintage radio, and admirers of classic American popular music.

Track Listing

Disc 1:

Hail KMH
Smile, Darn Ya, Smile; Daddy, Dear Old Daddy
Delightful Delirium
To You Sweetheart Aloha
The Trail of the Lonesome Pine
Rendezvous with a Dream
Down Where the Trade Winds Blow
Let's Waltz for Old Time's Sake
Whistle While You Work
I'd Love to Live in Loveland
You're the Only Star in My Blue Heaven
Blow the Smoke Away (Then Your Pipe Goes Out)
The Flat Foot Floogie
Blue Orchids
Naturally
Small Fry
The Moon of Manakoora
Blues My Naughty Sweetie Gives to Me
Little Sir Echo
Where Are You?
Ti Pi Tin
Oh! You Crazy Moon
Thanks for Everything
You’re Here You’re There You’re Everywhere
My Little Buckaroo
That Old Feeling
I Simply Adore You
Summer Souvenirs
Two Bouquets
Where the Blue of the Night

Disc 2:
It's Love, Love, Love
When the Swallows Come Back to Capistrano
The Woodpecker Song
Sleepy Lagoon
Dream Valley
Saturday Night (Is the Loneliest Night of the Week)
Kentucky Babe
Yours
Careless
The Blues
Last Night's Gardenias
Together
Anchors Aweigh/The Marines' Hymn
You Are Too Beautiful
Wait and See
This Heart of Mine
Ridin’ Herd on a Cloud
It Might as Well be Spring
I Used to Love You (But It's all Over Now)
These Things You Left Me
My Heart Tells Me
Two Sleepy People
Dance with a Dolly
Shoo-Fly Pie and Apple Pan Dowdy
I Can't Begin to Tell You
Down By the Ohio
I Know That You Know
We Mustn't Say ‘Goodbye’
Additional Details

A SEASON TO HIS VOICE: BING'S SUMMER SONGS

There’s a certain kind of summer that doesn’t come from a thermometer or a calendar—it arrives on a breeze carrying music. And if you happen to wander into that golden, memory-lit season, chances are you’ll hear Bing Crosby somewhere in the distance, his voice drifting like warm air through an open window.

Bing Crosby wasn’t known as “the voice of summer” the way he was for Christmas, but listen a little closer and you’ll discover that he recorded songs that hold summer just as beautifully—songs that feel like lazy afternoons, porch swings, and the hum of cicadas at dusk.

One of Crosby’s most charming summer recordings is “In the Cool, Cool, Cool of the Evening” (1951), a duet with Jane Wyman that earned an Academy Award for Best Original Song. It’s not about blazing sunshine—it’s about what comes after. The song lives in that perfect twilight moment when the heat finally breaks. Crosby’s voice softens as if it, too, has been waiting all day for relief. He sings of plans made when the air turns gentle again—dancing, dreaming, and lingering outside just a little longer than you should. It captures the kind of summer evening where time stretches, where conversations drift, and where even silence feels companionable.

Though its title sounds contradictory, “June in January” plays like a love letter to summer itself—or rather, to the feeling of it. Crosby recorded the song in the mid-1930s, and it quickly became tied to his relaxed, romantic style. The idea is simple: true warmth doesn’t depend on the season. With the right person—or the right memory—it can feel like June even in the dead of winter. In Crosby’s hands, though, the imagery leans unmistakably summery. You can almost see it: soft light, open skies, and a world that feels easy and full of promise.

Crosby also recorded “Summertime,” the haunting lullaby from George Gershwin’s Porgy and Bess. His interpretation is gentler than some, less rooted in blues and more in a dreamy stillness. This version of summer isn’t playful—it’s languid. It’s the kind of day when the air is thick, when movement slows, and when everything feels suspended between sleep and waking. Crosby doesn’t push the song; he lets it float, revealing another face of summer—the quiet, heavy kind that wraps around you like a blanket you didn’t realize you needed.

Even when Crosby wasn’t singing explicitly about the season, his recordings often carried a summer sensibility. His phrasing was unhurried, his tone conversational, as if he were leaning back in a wicker chair rather than performing under hot stage lights. Songs like “Moonlight Becomes You” or “I’ll Be Seeing You” might not mention summer at all, but they feel like it—like evenings spent outdoors, watching the sky change colors while a radio hums softly in the background.

That was Crosby’s gift: he didn’t just interpret songs; he created space inside them—space for memory, for weather, for the listener’s own season to settle in.

Listening to Bing Crosby’s summer songs today feels less like revisiting a time period and more like stepping into a mood—one that hasn’t aged so much as mellowed. His summer isn’t loud or frenetic. There are no crashing waves or blaring horns. Instead, it’s made of small, enduring moments: the first cool breeze after sunset, laughter carried across a yard, and the quiet satisfaction of not needing to be anywhere else.

In a world that often rushes from one season to the next, Crosby’s recordings invite you to linger, to let summer unfold at its own pace, and to remember that sometimes the most meaningful warmth isn’t the one that burns the brightest, but the one that stays with you long after the sun has gone down. And if you listen carefully, you might find that summer—his summer—is still playing...