Track #26 - “Little Drummer Boy/Peace On Earth” by Bing Crosby & David Bowie (1977)

First performed on Bing Crosby’s Merrie Olde Christmas, 1977; released as a single in 1982

Music and lyrics by Katherine Kennicott Davis, Ian Fraser, Larry Grossman, Alan Kohan, & Henry Onorati

Come they told me

Pa-rum-pum-pum-pum

A newborn king to see

Pa-rum-pum-pum

I pray my wish will come true

For my child and your child too

He’ll see the day of glory

See the day when men of good will

Live in peace, live in peace again

Peace on Earth, can it be

Can it be

Several weeks ago, my wife and I took on the annual task known as “Spring Cleaning,” or what I like to sometimes call the “Spring Purge.” Besides cleaning the house top to bottom and throwing away things that are no longer useful or being used, it also involves swapping out sweaters, fleeces, scarves and gloves for shorts, T-shirts, bathing suits and flip-flops. It’s a task my wife openly despises, at least the clothes-swapping part. She will often put it off as long as possible, but this year I was surprised when she approached me in late April and said that we just get “Spring Cleaning” over with, and get the house and garage organized. The “purge” component of this task is donating old clothes and shoes, and getting rid of anything else that might be just taking up space, by recycling it or just tossing it in the trash. I generally do not have a problem each year exchanging my sweaters for T-shirts and getting ready for summer. It’s the “purge” part I sometimes struggle with; I have a difficult time parting with old stuff that I’ve become attached to. As I’ve mentioned, I love new stuff, but when it becomes old stuff, I get attached and feel bad saying goodbye to it. As an example, I have a very hard time getting rid of books, so I have several plastic bins in our attic filled with books that there’s a good chance I will never read again. I also have boxes of birthday, Father’s Day and holiday cards, mostly from my two sons that I will probably never throw away. There are old T-shirts from vacation destinations, ticket stubs, notes and cards from my wife, and other souvenirs I know I will never get rid of. I once held onto a pair of Spongebob Squarepants pajama bottoms for almost ten years, a Christmas gift from my boys, wearing them only a few times, and then tucking them away in a clothing bin until I finally came to my senses and put them in the donation pile. It’s not that I’m a packrat or a hoarder; I just develop very sentimental attachments to things, and in the end, I just feel bad getting rid of something that someone took the time to either send me or buy for me. This year, however, I was proud of myself. I filled several bags full of clothes for donation, and even set out a couple dozen books to donate to the library. It was almost a relief to be unburdened of these things, knowing someone else could benefit and I was creating space in our house; it was a win-win. The day was a success, or so I thought, until I heard Christine behind me say, “You know, it’s about time to throw out that wreath.” Ah, the wreath. So, let’s talk about the wreath. Our wreath from the most recent Christmas was still hanging on our living room wall, between the two large windows that overlook our side yard. During the holiday season, it occupies the space where our wedding portrait usually hangs. It’s been an unspoken agreement between Christine and I to leave the wreath hanging on the wall even after we’ve taken down the rest of the holiday decorations and dragged the Christmas tree to the curb. The time limit on this remains somewhat hazy. There are years we’ve had it up until June and had visitors look at it and just assume we were “those people.” Other years, we’ve taken it down in March or April, somewhat more reasonable, but still obviously a stretch, with Christmas having been over for months. To be fair, we both feel bad about taking the tree down; dragging our tree to the curb almost feels like a crime, a mob hit of sorts, just leaving something unceremoniously out in the street that we just had in our living room. Every year, we make the two-hour drive to Battenfeld’s Farm in Rhinebeck, New York to cut down our Christmas tree. It’s our favorite day of the year. After we cut down the tree, we’ll wander around the holiday shop, looking at all the handmade decorations: hand-sewn and blown glass ornaments, vintage wooden toy cars and trucks, light displays, Santa figurines dressed in various colors in different heights and sizes, and Christmas tree accessories to help keep your tree healthy and hydrated. The local Boy Scouts usually have a table set up outside, with hot cocoa and donuts for purchase. And every year we take a photo with Santa and Mrs. Claus, tell them what we want for Christmas with a knowing wink and then walk away with a candy cane. There’s even a horse-drawn carriage ride you can take around the farm. It’s the closest you can get to an old-fashioned Christmas, and we look forward to it more than Christmas Day itself. But the culmination of that day, before we leave the farm, is the stop we make at the wreath shop near the exit. With the tree now securely tied to the top of our vehicle (the best $20 I will spend that day), we’ll park and pay for our tree, and then look at the dozens of wreaths on display. They’re all made with live greenery, and each one is decorated with ribbon, ornaments, pinecones, and other holiday charms. They’re like snowflakes; no two are alike, and we often have a very hard time choosing just one. But aside from the wreaths themselves are the people inside the shop making these treasures. After agreeing on a wreath, my wife will often want to switch out a ribbon or some other decoration, and we’ll head to the work area, where like elves in a workshop, about a dozen Battenfeld’s employees are doing nothing but making Christmas wreaths. With the holiday music playing in the background, you might even expect to see green hats and pointy ears on these wonderful people. But there they are, all smiling, all wanting to make you the most beautiful wreath possible. I usually just stare at the whole operation, taking in all that Christmas spirit, while my wife ooohs and aahhs at all the colorful options.  And when the wreath is finished and paid for, and then later hanging in our house, we know we have something unique, made by people who love what they do. So, now I stared at our wreath on Spring Cleaning day, still hanging on our living room wall, and that sentimental unwillingness to part with stuff was beginning to rear its ugly head. Of course, I knew it was time to take it down and throw it away; it was almost May after all, and that greenery, once bright and fragrant, was now dull and shedding needles all over the floor. The folks at Battenfeld’s would even agree with my wife on this one. But that wreath, more than even the tree itself, represented memories of the day at Battenfeld’s the prior December, and of the past holiday season, of family gatherings, holiday parties, Christmas movies and Christmas music. Does throwing the wreath away mean we’re also throwing away those memories? Maybe that was why I was so attached to that wreath every year. Christine hated throwing it away as much as me, but she was better at knowing when it was time to finally take it down. That day in late April, she put her hand on my shoulder and said, “John, you know we’ll get another one this Christmas.” So, I took it down and carried it to the trash, dropping needles all the way. Only seven more months till we see the wreath elves again, I thought.

After people meet and get to know me, they will often ask me how I’m able to remember things the way I do, and the truth is that I have no idea. I’ve just assumed that most people have vivid memories of their childhoods, whether they’re good or bad, because events, places and people are imprinted on you when you’re young. But people have told me that the things I can recall are somewhat extraordinary, because of the details I can recall, right down to the color of the carpets, types of furniture, what people looked like, or even the weather on a particular day. To me this has never seemed special or extraordinary. My own mother has remarked regularly that she can’t believe that I can remember certain things about my childhood, exclaiming, “You were four years old! How do you remember your brother’s 1st birthday?!” Well Mom, I was actually almost five, and I just remember it. But it extends past childhood, into my teenage years, and adulthood when my kids were born, and into my forties. Admittedly, in the past five years or so the short-term memory has become fuzzy, and I will need my wife to remind me of dates and of places we’ve been, but the big events still stand out. Of course, I couldn’t tell you what I had for dinner last night, or even what I did yesterday, but ask me what I got for Christmas in 1979 and I could tell you. Now, speaking of Christmas and memories…it’s almost too easy to say that some of my most vivid memories are from holiday seasons past. You can probably say the same thing about your own life. Who doesn’t remember sitting on Santa’s lap at the mall, or waking up your parents at 6AM on Christmas morning? Maybe you were in school band or choir, and you have a memory of a Christmas pageant; maybe you hit every note, or maybe you forgot the words, but either way it turned out, that memory is probably more vivid than a performance you had in the spring because it was Christmastime. And perhaps some of those holiday memories are difficult to talk about; our family has certainly had a few. Christmas in 1981 when my mom was in the hospital of course comes to mind, but there were also those first holidays after losing each of my grandparents; we still celebrated and made the best of it, but not having them there is what I remember most. Fortunately, most, if not all my Christmas memories have been happy, especially the ones from my childhood in Brooklyn, my boys’ childhood Christmases, and of course, those trips to Battenfeld’s. But since this is a musical journey, and I mentioned way back at Track #9, when we discussed Billy Squier’s “Christmas Is the Time to Say I Love You”, that I used two spots on the 50 At 50 for holiday songs, it’s now time to talk about the other yuletide carol I’ve chosen. This one is a holiday standard, with a modern twist; modern for 1977, anyway. If you were watching this performance back in 1977, you got to see the future meet the past. An iconic American crooner, who came to visit your TV every year at Christmastime, and a future icon, a glam-rock singer from the UK, sang a duet on CBS that December, and it became a moment frozen in time. This song is played on the radio every year and is usually included on Spotify and Apple Music playlists each December. That Now That’s What I Call Christmas! CD I mentioned last time? This song is on it. And you may have guessed already: I was sitting cross-legged on the living room floor in 1977 watching it and I remember the whole thing.

Bing Crosby was born Harry Lillis Crosby in 1903, in Tacoma, Washington. Over the course of a 50-year entertainment career, Crosby would become a global icon, and could be considered the first American multi-media star. He could easily be compared to artists like Lady Gaga, Jay-Z or Justin Timberlake today; successful and critically acclaimed in music, film, television and even business. Crosby would record over 1,000 songs in his career, and appear in over 50 films, winning an Academy Award for Best Actor in 1945, for his role in Going My Way. He was also nominated the following year for playing the same character in the sequel, The Bells of St. Mary’s, the first actor to ever achieve that feat. According to Billboard Magazine, Crosby had 396 singles hit the charts in the 20th century, and they credit him with 41 #1 hits, more than the Beatles and Elvis Presley. Granted, most of these achievements are before the creation of The Billboard Hot 100, and sales were accounted for much differently back then, but Crosby’s numbers remain staggering to consider. In all, depending on the source, Crosby has sold over 500 million albums worldwide. He also had a hand in the development of videotape, and the first videotape recorder, enabling television programs to be shown on tape delay, and he owned 25% of Major League Baseball’s Pittsburgh Pirates. And somewhere in between all that, he found the time to get married twice, and have seven children. So, yes, Bing Crosby was a busy guy, and it would seem he had his hands in everything entertainment related in the 20th century, and everything he touched turned to gold. However, despite all this tremendous success across music, film, television and business ventures, most people will associate Bing Crosby with just one singular pop-culture moment, and that’s the holiday standard, “White Christmas”. Written by legendary American composer Irving Berlin for the 1942 film Holiday Inn, Crosby performed and recorded the song on his radio show in December 1941, just a few weeks after the Japanese bombing of Pearl Harbor. Crosby also performed the song in Holiday Inn, and again in the musical film, White Christmas, in 1954. While sales of the single were slow at first, eventually “White Christmas” would go on to sell over 50 million copies worldwide, and some Billboard estimates put it at 100 million, easily making it the bestselling single of all time. The song has become more than just a standard; it has come to symbolize Christmas from a simpler time and evokes memories of families gathered around the tree and hoping they will wake up to a mantle of snow on the ground Christmas morning. It is the bar that all holiday songs are measured against, and it changed the way we listen and consume holiday music forever. I have heard the song hundreds of times in my life, and on each occasion, I can almost feel everything around me slow down. The rush of the holiday season disappears, and all that remains is Crosby’s crooning voice, “dreaming of a White Christmas”, and later, wishing us, “…may your days be merry and bright.” As a result of the popularity of “White Christmas”, Crosby became synonymous with the holiday season, performing the song dozens of times on TV and the radio. In 1957, he would appear on a holiday TV special with fellow crooner Frank Sinatra, and then in 1961, he began an annual tradition of airing holiday specials every year, right up until his death in 1977. Besides his family making appearances each year, some of the most recognizable names of the era joined him as guests, including Bob Newhart, Carol Burnett, Fred Astaire and Jackie Gleason. But arguably, his greatest guest and the most iconic performance ever on a Bing Crosby holiday special occurred on the very last one, in 1977, when he was joined by a young UK singer named David Bowie. When David Bowie arrived onto the set of Bing Crosby’s Merrie Olde Christmas in September of 1977, he was already a well-established musical artist, having released eleven studio albums dating back to 1967. Bowie was responsible for songs that are now considered rock classics, including “Starman”, “Fame”, “Young Americans”, and the song he is probably most associated with, “Space Oddity”, released in 1969. Throughout a career that spanned over four decades, Bowie dabbled in rock, glam, pop, soul and R&B sounds, and became known for his live performances, transforming himself onstage into various personas through costumes, wigs and makeup. When he was asked to appear on Crosby’s Christmas special in 1977, Bowie initially hesitated. However, having done little to promote an earlier 1977 release, Bowie realized he could use this as an opportunity to promote his latest album, “Heroes”, which would be released in October. Plus, as the story goes, Bowie’s mother was a huge fan of Crosby’s, and who would want to disappoint their mom? Still, when Bowie arrived onto the set the collaboration almost didn’t happen, according to accounts given by Crosby’s daughter, Mary. Bowie walked in with his wife, and “they were both wearing full-length mink coats, and they had matching full makeup, and their hair was bright red”, Mary recalls. The producers were taken back by his appearance and knew they would need to present Bowie in a more traditional manner for the show. But Bowie agreed to remove his lipstick and earring, and they began to get to work on the song he would perform with Crosby. When Bowie saw that the song was “Little Drummer Boy”, he let producers know he hated the song, and asked, “Is there something else we could sing?" Bowie felt the song didn’t highlight his voice properly. The producers scrambled. The song was a key to the movement of the show, which was somewhat of a scripted story, with songs in between. The premise of that year’s show is Crosby, playing himself, is visiting a rich relative in the UK, who happens to own a very large, old house. Various neighbors and acquaintances stop by, and after some banter with Crosby, they perform Christmas songs. Bowie, also playing himself, is one of those neighbors, and according to the script, often stops by to play the piano. He and Crosby chat, alluding to their age difference and discussing musical preferences, and then sidle up to the piano, where Bowie picks up the sheet music to “Little Drummer Boy”, and the song begins. To find a completely new song might throw off the timing of the show, plus the producers wanted to include “Little Drummer Boy” on the broadcast. With little time to consider other options, show writers Buz Kohan, Larry Grossman and Ian Fraser developed a counterpoint song called “Peace on Earth” with a new melody, lyrics, and arrangement for Bowie to sing, while Crosby sang “Little Drummer Boy”. They brought the song to Bowie and Crosby, who sat at the piano, and perfected the song after about an hour of rehearsal. Once they had the song nailed down, they taped their vocal performance to a musical track, and holiday magic and history was made. A few days after the taping, Crosby would famously remark of Bowie, “He sings well, has a great voice, and reads lines well.” However, in a sad twist of fate, the special would be Crosby’s last, and one of his final recorded performances. Crosby would die of a massive heart attack on October 14, 1977, after completing a round of golf in Spain. On November 30, 1977, his widow Kathryn would introduce the show, while the country mourned the passing of a true American icon and holiday fixture. And in Brooklyn, a seven-year-old boy sat in front of the TV, counting the days till Christmas.

By today’s standards, November 30th is actually not early at all for Christmas decorations or holiday TV specials, but in 1977, the Serino house was not yet decorated. Why CBS and the Crosby family decided to air his final holiday special on the final day in November, a Wednesday, is something I can’t figure out. We had yet to put up our tree, and I still had not yet delivered my list to Santa, but here we were, about to watch Bing Crosby’s holiday special. You might ask why a seven-year-old would be watching an old man sing holiday standards, and not just wait for the Christmas cartoons that would undoubtedly be airing in the subsequent weeks, and I would have to attribute that to my mother. I heard her talking that day about “a last Christmas special”, and a guy named Bing Crosby, so I knew it would be on that evening in our house no matter what, and seriously, what else would I be doing? “Bing Crosby” also sounded similar to another TV personality I was very familiar with, the voice of one my favorite cartoons, Fat Albert, a guy by the name of Bill Cosby. I even asked my mom, “Bill Cosby is doing a Christmas special?”, thinking maybe Fat Albert and his playground pals might be singing Christmas carols that evening. “No,” my mom answered, "this is Bing Crosby. He's an old singer, you wouldn't know who he is.” I shrugged, probably disappointed but figuring that any Christmas show is a good show, so I settled in to watch it with my parents. (The irony and dichotomy of confusing Bing Crosby and Bill Cosby back in 1977 is not lost on me, here in 2023. I shudder as I write this.) So, I sat cross-legged on our orange and brown shag carpet, staring up at our first color television, an RCA, and watched with my mom and dad. My dad even commented, pointing to me, “He wants to watch Bing Crosby?” I watched the show, not knowing who anyone was, but it was easy to figure out who Bing Crosby was; my mom was right, he was an old guy. He reminded me a lot of my grandfather, who was 65 at the time. The whole show had a warmth to it; everyone smiled and shared stories, and sang Christmas songs, and it felt extremely old-fashioned, even for that time. Then that feeling changed somewhat, when David Bowie appeared onscreen. Now, I had no idea who David Bowie was. I was still enamored with Elton John, and this was 1977, the year of Saturday Night Fever, and its monster soundtrack. Everywhere you looked, there was disco. But I heard my mom remark behind me, “Wow is that David Bowie??” She pronounced it “booey”; she still says his name that way, and it’s hilarious. I watched this much younger man, dressed in a modern-looking suit and scarf, talk with this older man who looked like my grandfather, and I didn’t know what to make of it at first. Very similar to when I first saw pictures of Elton John, this singer looked nothing like my dad or the other guys in my neighborhood. He could easily have been the older man’s son, and he moved and spoke with a quiet confidence about him. The scene resembled the other vignettes in the show, where Crosby interacted and sang with other artists, but there was certain intimacy with this one. And they were doing a song I knew every word of. We sang “Little Drummer Boy” in school; I went to a Catholic school after all, and this was a story of a poor boy visiting baby Jesus on Christmas Eve. With its simple lyrics and “pa-rum-pum-pum-pum” refrain, it was a no-brainer for Catholic school kids to sing at Christmastime. Crosby begins singing the standard, but about a verse in, Bowie begins to sing over him; what song is this? I couldn’t even hear the old guy singing! The other guy is ruining my song! But as I listened, I could hear that the younger guy had a very good voice, an amazing voice. And it sounded like Christmas, the way he sang about “peace on earth”, and his voice sounded very good when paired with the old guy’s voice. It was over too soon. Granted, it was not “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” or “Santa Claus is Coming to Town”, but I liked it, this Christmas carol by these two singers who were clearly different from each other but who sang so well together. Eventually the show ended, but before I went to bed, I remember remarking to my mom that I liked the “Little Drummer Boy”, and that I hoped to hear it again. But it would be a very long time, probably five years, until I heard that collaboration again. It wouldn’t be until MTV began to air the video in 1981, basically forcing Bowie’s record label to release it as a single in 1982, that I would begin to hear this amazing song again and hear it every year. In 2001, I would finally own it, when it was released on Now That’s What I Call Christmas!, a compilation that also included Bing Crosby’s “White Christmas”. I still have that CD somewhere. I can promise you, I will never part with it, no matter how many Spring Purges I go through.

And here is the video for “Little Drummer Boy/Peace on Earth”, the version from Bing Crosby’s final holiday special in 1977. As I write this, it is July and 88 degrees outside, but watching this and hearing these two legends perform this song still fills me with holiday spirit. Hope it does the same for you. 😊

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Next time…a guilty pleasure of a song, as a goth rocker writes an ode to his longtime partner and wife, and I rescue his band’s album from the trash.

P.S.

I would not become a true fan of David Bowie’s music until 1983’s Let’s Dance, easily his most popular and commercially successful release. After hearing the title track and “China Girl” on the radio all that summer, I finally bought the cassette, and I became hooked. I went back in his catalog, discovering many of his other albums, including The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust, Young Americans, the aforementioned “Heroes”, and Scary Monsters. I recommend all those albums, but I’m afraid I can’t speak much about his releases following Let’s Dance. I am much more of a fan of his older music than anything he did in the 1990s and 2000s. Bowie also had success as an actor, appearing in several notable 1980s films, including Jim Henson’s Labyrinth, Tony Scott’s The Hunger, and portraying Pontius Pilate in Martin Scorsese’s The Last Temptation of Christ. Bowie also earned acclaim for his role as John Merrick in the Broadway production of The Elephant Man, in 1981. He continued to act and record albums well into the 2000s. His final album, Blackstar, was released just days before his death in January of 2016. Bowie is regarded as a tremendous influence on rock and popular music and is considered a pioneer of glam rock. There are no two Bowie albums or even songs that sound alike. He reinvented his sound and image on virtually every recording. When I was researching his music, I either forgot or did not realize his signature song, “Space Oddity”, was released in 1969. Because I had heard it so much in the 1980s and 1990s on alternative and classic rock radio, I began to associate it with those eras, or the 1970s at the earliest. This is probably the best compliment I can give to Bowie’s music, that I misplaced “Space Oddity”, and that it could be released as a brand-new song now and sell a million copies: it’s just timeless and beautiful as a piece of popular music.

As of 2023, “White Christmas” remains the most successful single of all-time. Granted, it’s not in the most streamed holiday songs according to Spotify, but it remains a timeless classic and it’s still beloved in our house, as is “Little Drummer Boy/Peace on Earth”. As much as our family enjoys the non-traditional holiday songs like “Step into Christmas” and “Christmas in Hollis”, we still love the standards. They just remind us of simpler times. Here’s a Spotify playlist of my favorite holiday standards, featuring Bing Crosby, Nat King Cole, Johnny Mathis, and others. And the rules have not changed: no holiday music until Battenfeld’s Day. In fact, speaking of Battenfeld’s, it’s only about four months or so as I write this that we’ll be making our way to the Christmas tree farm and then to visit the workshop to get this year’s wreath. Maybe next year I’ll take it down before the needles start to drop, but I can’t promise it won’t still be on the wall when the trees outside start to bloom again.

See you next time…

JS

7/25/2023