Singers: Song-&-Glance Man

It was during the vo-dee-o-do era of rumble seats and rolled-down hose that Rudy Vallee first took megaphone in hand, intoned "I'm just a vagabond lover," and invented the crooner. In the 35 years since, the crooner has endured through a succession of other musical crazes to become an American institution—if one that almost went under in the first great waves of rock 'n' roll. In the last few years the crooner has come back stronger—and sleeker—than ever.

Compared with the heigh-ho, collegiate approach of Vallee, today's crooner is a suave, smoky-eyed predator. His natural habitat is the supper club, his prey the middle-aged female. Cologned, imperially trim, hair sculptured and pomaded, he moves in the spotlight's golden glow like a young god, a smiling vision in pancake makeup, velvet-trimmed dinner jacket, and patent-leather shoes.

The routine scarcely varies from crooner to crooner. After the bouncy, wake-up opening number and the tender love ballad, he takes his portable microphone on a teaser tour of the stageside tables, establishing the all-important "eye contact" with the ladies. Highlight of the mingle-with-the-matrons sequence is when he takes the hand of a giggling patron, drops to one knee and breathes Come to Me, Bend to Me, always climaxed by a buss on the cheek. This gives way to cozy time, in which the crooner mounts a stool to sing a round of songs categorized either as upbeat (My Kind of Girl—sung with eyes open), underdog (Here's That Rainy Day—eyes downcast), inspirational (You'll Never Walk Alone—eyes upcast), parody or romantic (I Wish You Love—eyes closed).

Though the intent is to convey an air of casual spontaneity, a crooner's performance is as painstakingly choreographed, mood-lighted and rehearsed as a full-length production of Swan Lake. Crooners pay up to $10,000 to have an "act" written and directed for them, spend months perfecting their arrangements and delivery. Most conspicuous of the new crop:

> Robert Goulet, 31, is the biggest heartthrob since Perry Como (who has now slowed down to seven TV specials a year). Toothy and darkly handsome, Goulet arrived at full gallop as Sir Lancelot in the 1960 musical Camelot. His rich, he-man baritone and baby-blue, bedroom gaze have since made him one of the nation's most pawed-after TV and nightclub performers. Son of a Lawrence, Mass., bartender, he moved to his grandparents' farm in Edmonton, Canada, when he was 14, later won a scholarship in Toronto's Royal Conservatory of Music. Forsaking a career in opera, he gained fame and $30,000 a year as the Pat Boone of Canadian TV. He now makes that much in a week on the cabaret circuit.