RECORDS THAT WERE MADE TO BE BROKEN

It was 1923, the zenith of the silent-film era. Rudolph Valentino stood before a microphone and valiantly tried to croon a little Arabian ballad called “The Kashmira Song.” Wearing dinner clothes, the better to evoke a romantic mood, the Latin lover lowered his eyelids to half-staff.

But the sounds that emerged from the glass booth rambled between a macho bass and the upside of tenor.

“The Sheik” now had a voice. Women across the country could crank up their Victrolas and drift into an Arabian fantasy. Or so Valentino and his producers hoped.

History records that the disc didn’t set hearts afire. But it did not dissuade other stars from the recording booths of history.

Gloria Swanson approached her mike wearing all mauve--the better to sing about “Orchids and Moonlight”; Mexican actress Dolores Del Rio sang “Ramona” with such accentuated tones that radio audiences laughed outrageously. Joan Crawford breezed into a recording studio in full flapper finery, immortalized her baby-vamp voice with a mournful love song, “How Long Will It Last”--and managed to be back at MGM film studios a scant hour later.

At least foghorn-voiced Tallulah Bankhead had the decency to properly alert her public. She began her first recording attempt with the disclaimer, “This is Tallulah, darlings, and I give you fair warning, I’m about to sing.”

For six decades superstar sounds have flooded the record stores.

To the buyer flipping through the celebrity/novelty (or bargain) bins, or mine-sweeping thrift shops and garage sales, it sometimes seems as if everyone with half a name or microscopic grain of fame has made a record, even if they just talked their way through one.

From soap opera stalwarts to flying nuns to platinum blondes and TV cops and cowboys, the list of unlikely recording artists goes on and on. Sometimes to the considerable embarrassment of the artist involved.

Of the performers who would talk with us about their recording careers for this piece, only comedian Phyllis Diller was able to laugh about it.

Many were unusually humble, if not exactly embarrassed; most adamantly refused to talk for the record. One of the larger PR agencies in town, PMK, said it wouldn’t even dare ask clients Sally Field and Goldie Hawn if they would talk with us!

After all, while artifacts unearthed by archeologists provide answers to the hows and whys of human culture, the unearthed celebrity record sometimes raises more questions than answers.

Consider:

“The Flying Nun Sings,” in which a pre-Oscar winning Sally Field / Sister Bertrille (as she was known on her series) strains mightily against an up-tempo combo to render such titles as “Who Needs Wings to Fly” (the official theme of “Flying Nun”), “I’m So Glad I Can Fly” and “Follow the Star.”

Goldie Hawn’s “Goldie,” which might have been more aptly titled “Betty Boop Does Nashville,” as Hawn’s baby-girl voice roamed through such country songs as “Wynken, Blynken and Nod” and “I Wanna Woo You” (for which she was coached by Dolly Parton), plus tunes by Porter Waggoner.

Rock Hudson doing Rod McKuen in “Rock, Gently.”

Richard Chamberlain flattening Cole Porter’s “True Love” with his foggy baritone. This after his auspicious chart-topper, “Theme to Dr. Kildare.”

George Maharis attempting songs ranging from the Everly Brothers to George Gershwin.

And more:

A lot of glamour girls have tried singing. With few exceptions, most stuck to the classics. Among those deemed most listenable (by purveyors of such records): Marilyn Monroe’s “My Heart Belongs to Daddy,” Diana Dors’ “Let There Be Love” and Rhonda Fleming’s “When I Fall in Love.”

As Fleming recalled in a recent interview, Columbia Records’ insistence that she sing in the “breathy tradition of sex symbols” flawed her 1958 album, “Rhonda.”

“I didn’t know then that I could have fought back,” she said, explaining that the label was more interested in her position as a movie queen than as a singer. Years later, in the late ‘60s through the mid-’70s, Fleming would prove her musical abilities in a series of Broadway revival shows.

Not every glamour-girl singer proved so lucky. Examples? Jayne Mansfield’s “Little Things Mean a Lot” (during which she squeaks like a titmouse), Elke Sommer’s “You Don’t Know You Want Me” and Brigitte Bardot’s “Embraceable You.”

As for the not-so-glamorous:

Walter Brennan’s gravel voice can be heard on seven albums. He more or less recites countryish tales--to the swelling background of strings and choir.

Some stars had tunes written to fit their TV personalities--like Hugh O’Brian’s “Wyatt Earp Sings,” for which Ken Darby penned tunes including “The Bushwhacker Country,” “The Buntline Special” and “On Boot Hill,” which also happened to fit O’Brian’s 1 1/2-octave range.

“Love Songs From a Cop” found “Car 54” star Joe E. Ross embellishing standards (like “Are You Lonesome Tonight?”) with his trademark “ooh, ooh’s.”

For the truly mind-boggling, it would seem hard to top “Christmas at the Ponderosa,” featuring Yule tunes by all the Cartwright clan, including Chinese cook Hop-Sing (Victor Sen Yung). “Bonanza” stars Lorne Greene, Pernell Roberts, Dan Blocker and Michael Landon also all put out their own albums. Greene scored with the biggest hit, “Ringo.”

Then consider Marlene Dietrich doing rock ‘n’ roll and Phyllis Diller singing “Satisfaction” a la Mick Jagger.

Then there are what are known by collectors as “ego discs”--albums that rely on songs written by the stars for themselves. Like Sissy Spacek’s album, “Hangin’ Up My Heart.” David Soul put his thoughts to song on four albums.

“It would be far easier to name the stars who haven’t made a record of some sort,” said celebrity record archivist Alan Eichler, whose list of the worst and the best is on Page 5 and 6. He need only point to his collection of more than 10,000 discs. Himself a longtime producer--including celeb records for Susan Hayward and Martha Raye--Eichler spoke from his record-filled (floor to ceiling) Victorian house in Hollywood.

Among the oddities in his collection: a Christmas song by Cary Grant (written by Peggy Lee), ballads by Tina Louise, love songs by Jeff Chandler and a single titled “The Oola Moola” by TV series stalwart (and tough guy) Robert Conrad. (Recorded during Conrad’s stint with the TV series “Hawaiian Eye,” “Oola Moola” did not become a hit.)

But Eichler’s shelves attest to historical fact: The celebrity record can generate potent sales.

Paramount Pictures arranged for Valentino to record (for Biograph Records) because, like his well-tanned chest and his ability to tango, his voice suggested one more possible profit center for the studio.

It’s a trend that continues today. Witness the recording careers of “Moonlighting’s” Bruce Willis and “Miami Vice’s” Don Johnson. Both had debut albums that hit Billboard’s Top 40 list. (Willis’ “The Return of Bruno” was the bigger hit, lasting 29 weeks on the charts and going to No. 14.) And Eddie Murphy’s superstar stature translated into 26 weeks on the charts with his 1985 album, “How Could It Be?”

Not that stardom always leads to an instant hit. Despite a costly promotional campaign, Philip Michael Thomas’ album, “The Secret of My Success,” failed to even make Billboard’s Top 200 chart.

But if success isn’t guaranteed, it’s at least a probability.

As Don Brown, vice president of Rhino Records (which specializes in reissues and novelty albums) put it: “Bruce Willis sings like he sings in the shower. But a lot of labels went after him because it’s a marketable concept.”

If celeb albums are an established genre, they have also achieved monumental failures. Case in point: MGM tried to turn actor George Hamilton into a musical heartthrob in the early ‘60s with three album attempts. Even an extensive media blitz, appearances at 100 sock-hops (for which Hamilton lip-synced) and the participation of Burt Bacharach didn’t help. (The composer flew in from New York with a packet of new songs and arrangements tailored for the teen-age marketplace.)

Hamilton recalled, “I particularly liked two songs--’A Message to Martha’ and ‘Close to You.’ But Burt told me they weren’t ready yet. Of course, both songs became big hits a year or so later.” (The former was changed to “Message to Michael” and recorded by Dionne Warwick.)

Instead, Bacharach insisted that Hamilton try another song, “Little Betty, Falling Star.” It failed to reach even the top 200.

Remembered Hamilton, “They made me sing in the high-voiced tradition, popular back then, rather than in my mid-baritone range.” As it turned out, the singing experience paid off three years later when Ed Sullivan paid Hamilton $20,000 for a series of singing appearances on his Sunday night variety show.

Of course, there were the zillion-dollar careers launched by what began as celebrity records. Ricky Nelson, after all, got his start by cutting “I’m Walkin’ in 1957; it became a national hit.

Then there were those singers whose stardom actually created recording labels. Like Mouseketeer Annette Funicello, whose warbling of “How Will I Know My Love” on “The Mickey Mouse Club” generated so much fan mail that Walt Disney created the Buena Vista label just to handle the orders.

Despite the legacy from the Hollywood of the Silent Era, it was during the ‘40s when celeb album packages, as they exist today, got their start.

It happened on the MGM lot when czar Louis B. Mayer decided to sell the voices of the studios’ stable--more than 100 of the great and near great. Jesse Kaye, a talent booker, was summoned from New York to serve as executive producer.

Kaye recalled in recent interviews, “I realized that MGM stars--regardless of their (singing) ability--could make hit records because the public identified with them.”

Kaye’s first major success, Van Johnson, had to be coaxed onto the sound stage. Kaye recalls soothing him with the words, “People will buy your records because of who you are.”

The Van Johnson series of singles, standards including “Good Night, Sweetheart” and “Easy to Love,” which cost MGM about $3,000, netted profits in the five figures.

The single “I Wonder, I Wonder, I Wonder,” from his first album, went to No. 4 on the charts.

The MGM program was so successful that Kaye was given carte blanche to raid the entire MGM roster. In the end, he recorded almost everyone but Lassie. The roll call includes Esther Williams and Ricardo Montalban, who teamed for the million-seller hit “Baby It’s Cold Outside,” and Debbie Reynolds and Carleton Carpenter, who warbled MGM Records’ all-time best-selling cutesy tune, “Abba Dabba Honeymoon.” (It’s from the Reynolds-Carpenter movie “Two Weeks With Love.”)

In the early ‘60s, Kaye scored a coup when he coerced Richard Chamberlain into singing.

Said Kaye, “He would come into my office and chat, watching how the record department worked.” Then came the afternoon that Kaye told Chamberlain: “You should record for us. I think you can be a hit--a big hit.”

Kaye handed Chamberlain five of the best records that MGM artists had produced (Mel Torme and Billy Eckstine included), and asked him to study the techniques.

Within a month, Chamberlain began recording while wearing his “Dr. Kildare” whites. The first album, which cost under $20,000, rose to No. 1, produced the million-selling single “The Theme From Dr. Kildare” as well as the hit “True Love,” and launched two more Chamberlain albums.

(A sign of inflationary times: According to a Motown spokesman, production costs of Bruce Willis’ album, “The Return of Bruno,” were in excess of $175,000.)

Not all of the Jesse Kaye-produced recordings were released.

Case in point: The Marilyn Monroe tapes of 1953.

Monroe pleaded with Fox for several years to be allowed to sing. Finally, she was allowed to sing two “test songs” at MGM under the guidance of Kaye.

It was to be a most bizarre experience. Monroe--with entourage--arrived late for the session. She then insisted that a wall of cloth be fashioned between her and the orchestra. “Nobody must see me when I sing,” Kaye recalled her saying.

The barrier was erected. Kaye, though, was able to get up on the catwalk above--from where he could view Monroe and her acting coach, Natasha Lytess, facing each other--as Lytess went through physical motions that Monroe emulated while singing “Kiss “ and “Do It Again.”

Recalled Kaye: “It was an incredibly fascinating scene, with Marilyn emoting sexually and using her body as she sang. Never saw anything like it before or since.”

Record buyers never heard the Monroe songs, because Fox executives ordered the tapes destroyed for being “too suggestive.” Kaye signed the appropriate order, thinking that was the end of that.

Then, several months ago, DRG Records of New York released a Marilyn Monroe compact disc with both songs on them. It seems that an engineer at that recording session, who was also a Monroe fan, had hidden the tapes inside a Billy Eckstine crate. And that’s where they were found.

Some stars have been voracious in their efforts to get on vinyl. (And in certain instances, more voracious than musically talented.)

Joan Crawford had a love affair with the microphone from the first time she stepped in front of one for a number in “The Hollywood Revue of 1929.”

When Eichler produced his “Joan Crawford” volume for the “Silver Screen Record Series,” he easily filled both sides with Crawford songs, including three records for RCA. None of the Crawford songs were money makers. (Titles included “How Long Will It Last?” and “I’m in Love With the Honorable Mr. So-n-So.”)

“Joan was very serious about her singing,” Eichler said. He proved this when he came up with scraps of an old sound-session tape from the attic of a Crawford devotee. Patched together, they reveal the movie queen singing and studying with opera star Madame Rosa Ponselle in 1938.

In many ways, Cybill Shepherd has searched relentlessly for a hit record.

It all started when her former lover, director Peter Bogdanovich, put together a lavish, five-figure album, “Cybill Does It to Cole Porter.”

Next came “Vanilla,” which Shepherd financed for herself at a cost, according to sources, of $20,000. The jazz album was circulated primarily in Shepherd’s Memphis hometown--where she retreated when her Hollywood career hit the skids (and she found herself in that no-person’s land known as “between pictures”). It was during this period that she attempted to be a chanteuse, performing in clubs like Reno Sweeney’s in New York.

Then came 1978’s “Mad About the Boy,” which included the talents of Stan Getz. Still available in stores, it includes Shepherd ripping apart jazz standards including the Bunny Berrigan classic, “I Can’t Get Started” (which Shepherd performs with a thin, screechy voice).

Today, thanks to her “Moonlighting” success, Shepherd is going to sing again. She currently has a contract with MCA Records. Spokesmen for both Shepherd and MCA Records declined to discuss her future warblings.

When recording contracts are held as bait, the biggest of stars will often say yes to merely an offer by phone. It has to do, it seems, with the desire for vocal immortality.

New York producer Ben Bagley found this out two years ago when he hestitatingly asked Katharine Hepburn to sing in his “Revisited” album series. (The series, on the Painted Smiles label, is composed of new recordings of vintage tunes.) Speaking by phone from New York, Bagley said he sent Hepburn a copy of his latest with a note, asking the actress if she “would even consider appearing in the series.”

Soon after, Bagley’s phone rang. “Mr. Ben Bagley,” said the familiar voice, “for what it’s worth--I’m yours. But you must know that I can’t read a note of music.”

As it turned out, the three-time Best Actress Oscar winner, who had “talked” her way through the Broadway musical, “Coco,” felt intimidated by the Cole Porter songs so she hired a vocal coach.

Enthused Bagley, “The result was divine.”

Hepburn must have thought so as well. She signed on for a second volume. Later, one afternoon over tea, related Bagley, she reached out and took his hand, saying, “Mr. Ben Bagley, you always know the right songs to give me because you think of me as a mean bitch.”

“I tried to protest,” said Bagley. “But she tossed her head back in laughter.”

“I wouldn’t do another album if God asked me,” said Phyllis Diller referring to “Phyllis Diller--Born to Sing.”

It was the creation of noted book publisher Jeremy Tarcher. Recalled the comedian, “I don’t know what they wanted out of this. They had me singing like all sorts of people--from Mick Jagger to Mary Martin.”

In the end, Diller slayed a bouquet of standards, with “Bei Mir Bist Du Schoen” being her best, or worst, depending on viewpoint. For the cut, she depicts all three Andrews Sisters who made the song a major ‘40s hit.

“Can you believe that!” said Diller. “I had trouble singing even one of them.”

At the time of its release, publicity materials for the album touted the “loving care Mr. Tarcher lavished on the project.”

That loving care seems to have dissipated with the record sales that never happened.

When first asked to comment on the album, a representative for Tarcher said that he had never produced an album. Another phone call, reminding Tarcher’s office of the “loving care” he had bestowed on the project, resulted in Tarcher issuing the statement: “If that’s what it says on the album, then I must have done it.”

Told of his response, Diller declared: “Did he say that? That rat. Besides, I never saw a red cent from that album.”

Diller went on to team with Cab Calloway for duets for Bagley’s “Revisited” series.

The reason: “I figured, how could I go wrong in singing with Cab Calloway?”

Many agents have fought to keep their non-singing clients out of the recording studios. The current example, Ray Manzella, manager of Vanna White.

According to Manzella, a major record label called with “an incredibly generous offer” for the letter-perfect White to sing. Explained Manzella, “I told them, ‘Vanna can’t sing,’ and they answered, ‘Mr. Manzella, that makes no difference. We can still make a hit album.’ ”

During his field day as a certifiable teen heartthrob, Matt Dillon resisted at least a score of record deals.

According to Dillon’s manager, Vic Ramos, several of those offers were in the high six figures. They were turned down, anyway. Explained Ramos: “I’m not trying to say that Matt is too good for it, or that he’s better than those who do cash in. It’s just not right for him.”

The credo of the celebrity-record biz may well be: “Let the seller beware.” Like ribald Polaroid pictures that somehow find their way to the notorious tabloids, the embarrassment of a really bad record can be acute.

Example: Farrah Fawcett’s lone recording effort.

When first asked for a comment about that recording, Fawcett’s publicist said she was surprised to hear of its existence. She got in touch with Fawcett, who told her she’d never made a record. A reporter countered by describing the record’s jacket and naming the distributor (a mail order company out of Hialeah, Fla.). So the publicist got back in touch with Fawcett, who reportedly explained that because she had whispered the American translation (titled, “You”) of a French song (“Je t’aime”) she didn’t actually consider it to be a record.

Said Fawcett’s spokeswoman: “It’s too trivial to be considered a record.”

Fawcett’s trivial pursuit was recorded with French singer Jean-Paul Vignon before her “Charlie’s Angels” notoriety.

Rona Barrett--then reporting on “Good Morning, America”-- got hold of the record during Fawcett’s fame on “Charlie’s Angels” and gleefully played it as a backdrop to an item about Fawcett.

This tale includes some delicious poetic justice titled “Miss Rona Sings Hollywood.”

The first and only release on the so-called Miss Rona Label, it featured a profile of her that spun dizzily as it was played. (The record hole was located in Miss Rona’s ear!) To boot, Barrett dared to “cover,” that is, do her version of, “Over the Rainbow”!

Not all celebrity songs wind up waiting to be rediscovered. Some are, to the horror of their artists, reissued.

“Dallas” superstar Larry Hagman found out the hard way about the indestructible nature of vinyl when a CBS disc, “TV Stars on Record,” dredged up several joke songs that he had made in London. The Hagman cuts included “Ballad of the Good Luck Charm” and “My Favorite Sin.”

Hagman’s feeling about his singing career can be summed up this way: When first contacted, the Hagman camp, including Hagman’s wife, denied that the record had ever been made. A copy of the album was sent to Hagman’s reps. This brought a response from Hagman publicist Richard Grant: “Larry made that as a joke in Britain in 1980. Period. End of conversation.”

Later, Grant called back: “Attorneys are looking into this right now, as we speak.”

In turn, a rep for the nonplussed CBS Records quipped: “I wouldn’t want this atrocity out either. But tough luck, Lar. We own those tapes. You’re ours!”

Actually, Hagman’s very first recording foray was in 1952 when he did a two-sided single with his mother for Columbia, which today is known as CBS. The singers are billed as, “Mary Martin and Her Son Larry.”

For some stars, celebrity records paved the way to a new kind of fame--as rock ‘n’ rollers.

It began in the ‘50s when Dot Records president Randy Wood signed a TV star on a whim. The resulting disc went to the top of the charts.

Speaking from Nashville, the now-retired Wood said it happened after he watched a TV special in which Gale Storm (“My Little Margie”) appeared briefly to sing “I’m in the Mood for Love.”

Wood reached her by phone 10 minutes later (Storm was still in the network dressing room). A verbal agreement followed.

Storm--who had a good voice, plus a top TV show (the better to buoy record sales)--tended to do “cover” records of R&B; hits that had originally been performed by black artists. Storm performed them as ballads, by slowing them down and “smoothing out” the arrangements.

The result: “I Hear You Knocking” (originally performed by Fats Domino) reached No. 2 on the charts in 1955. The seven Top 20 hits by Storm that followed included “Ivory Tower,” “Now Is the Hour” and “Dark Moon.”

Two years later, Wood had another hunch that turned golden. (It also would forever affect the celebrity record genre.) After walking out of a Tab Hunter movie, Wood decided that the actor’s good looks and teen idol status were enough to generate sales.

Remembered Hunter: “He called me up and asked me if I’d make a record--providing they found the right song. I thought it was great but never expected that it would come to anything.”

Several weeks later, Hunter found himself recording “Young Love” at Dot’s Hollywood studio. As as assistant to Wood at the time recalled, it was a rough night: Hunter was unsure of his singing and Wood seemed to vacillate about the effect he wanted. “Young Love” required some 20 takes.

Within one week of its release in January of 1957, “Young Love” hit No. 1 on the charts.

Suddenly, Hunter was better known as a pop star than as an actor. Jack Warner, the legendary head of Warner Bros.--where Hunter was under contract--was livid. According to Hunter, he called him up and said, “You can’t make any more records for Dot.”

“He was within his rights,” Hunter said. “My contract gave Warners the right to my voice.”

As it turned out, Warners also cashed in on Hunter’s voice (this after forcing Hunter to squelch plans to cut an album for Dot--for which 100,000 advance orders had already been received).

The Warners label was built around Hunter. (As the actor and some of his colleagues at the time have recalled, what followed was a form of indentured servitude as regular salaries covered any musical services the studio demanded.)

Two years passed before Warners finally agreed to let Hunter make the Dot album. “By then it was too late,” said Hunter. “I needed to strike while the iron was hot.”

Warners, meanwhile, built its new label on the talents of its acting stable of Connie Stevens, Edd (Kookie) Byrnes, Roger Smith and even the aforementioned Robert Conrad--all of them virtually free of charge.

Ricky Nelson, meanwhile, proved that a “dummy” record could launch a career.

Ricky Nelson’s superstardom was built on a strong case of puppy love. As the oft-told story goes, Nelson, 16, was trying to impress a 17-year-old beauty who moaned in delight whenever an Elvis Presley song came on the car radio. Floundering for a way to impress her, he lied, “You know, I’m making a record too.”

The next day Nelson badgered his dad to let him record a single “dummy record” to impress the girl. Ozzie Nelson was so surprised by the quality of his son’s style on the record, “I’m Walkin’,” he got the record pressed by Verve.

Then, on the spur of the moment, Ozzie had the song written into a segment of “Ozzie and Harriet” called “Ricky the Drummer.” The day after the show aired, Verve got 10,000 orders. Within 10 days, the record topped a million.

The record created a bona fide singing legend: As a star on Imperial Records (the label Nelson moved to after his single record for Verve), Nelson eventually had 32 Top 40 hits and 15 Top 200 albums.

“Changes happened quickly,” recalled Skip Young, who played Wally Plumstead (one of Ricky and David Nelson’s chums) on the series. Said Young: “There were gangs of teen-agers at the gate, and we finally had to close the set. The record industry suddenly knew the power of television.”

Ricky Nelson’s fame meant that teen-age stars on all studio lots were in “danger” of being shoved onto a sound stage to cut a “hit.”

As Annette Funicello recently recalled, when she auditioned to be a Mouseketeer for Walt Disney and he asked her to do some singing, she replied, “I’m sorry, but I don’t sing.”

Laughed Funicello: “I went on to do 23 albums. Is that a fluke, or what!”

That “fluke” got its start when Funicello sang a song on one of the serials running on “The Mickey Mouse Club.” Recalled Funicello, “The fan mail started coming in. And Mr. Disney came to me one day and said, ‘We want you to sign a recording contract.’ And I said, ‘Please, no. I don’t sing.’ And he said, ‘Well, you’ve got something people like.’ ”

Disney went on to found the Buena Vista label: Its first Funicello single was 1958’s double-sided “Meeting at the Malt Shop” and the theme from “Zorro.”

Among Funicello’s albums: “Italianette,” “Dance Annette,” “Hawaiianette.”

Deadpanned Funicello: “And somebody wanted me to do ‘Bayonette.’ ”

Producers of Columbia’s “Donna Reed Show” virtually ordered its shy 19-year-old star, Shelley Fabares, to record a bubble-gum hit, “Johnny Angel.” (The song went to No. 1.) At first, declared Fabares, she fought the request. (“It was hard for me to say no, but I did it.”)

Finally, her contract forced her to capitulate. Moaned Fabares, “Here I was in the studio with people like Glen Campbell and Darlene Love--with no singing ability of my own. I felt that I was put on the spot and the result was absolutely terrifying. I hate to even talk about it.”

Fabares’ “brother” on the series, Paul Petersen, suffered similar indignities (he has told interviewers that, like Fabares, he had no choice but to sing), and wound up with two big hits, “She Can’t Find Her Keys” and “My Dad.”

Still other TV teen warblers included Patty Duke (who had a hit with “Don’t Just Stand There”) and “The Rifleman’s” Johnny Crawford (the album that included his “Your Nose Is Gonna Grow” tabbed him “The New Teen-Age Singing Sensation”) and, later, Sweat Hog John Travolta.

In the late ‘60s, TV idols began to demand more recording clout, which they got. When Bobby Sherman spun off the series “Here Come the Brides” into a major recording career, his agent called most of the shots. History repeated itself and Metromedia formed its own record company to “package” Sherman and sell him through “bubble-gum” music.

Sherman, who these days dabbles in TV production, told Calendar, “I thought it was sheer folly at first. I didn’t think it would happen. But before it was over I could have sung ‘Auld Lang Syne’ and made a hit out of it. But that was entirely due to my fans developed through the televison show.”

Sherman has no illusions about his recording success. He is aware of the degree of “manufacture” that was involved. But, he argued, “They (the industry) perceived a demand there and capitalized on it. It was right at the time.”

(Proof of that demand: During his five-year gig with Metromedia Records, Sherman sold 20 million records.)

Of the zillion or so TV and movie stars who’ve attempted to sing, only a handful have come to be better known as singers than as actors.

Like Ricky Nelson and Gale Storm.

And like former “Dukes of Hazzard” star John Schneider.

One of the few celeb artists to completely transcend his TV image, he started on the Scotti Brothers label and proved such a success as a Country-Western singer that he moved to MCA Records in 1984. He has since recorded six country albums and has received nine gold records for singles.

Today he is one of the top country singers, with four Top 20 albums in the last three years and eight Top 10 single hits, four of which went to No. 1.

And of course, more recently, there’s been the chart-topping success of TV kings Johnson and Willis.

But, points out Rhino Records president Richard Foos, by no means will the current crop of celeb singers have the same longevity as those who’ve already left their voice prints: “There’s a great difference between a Ricky Nelson and a Bruce Willis. I can’t visualize Bruce forming bands and going on the road for 10 years. And Don Johnson is getting by on his sex appeal.”

As to why stars feel they “have to sing,” DRG Records president Hugh Fordin offered: “I think they reach a terrible, empty place in their careers. A chasm of loneliness confronts them. They have tasted all the other ‘highs’ of superstardom and have become jaded. Then along comes a record contract--singing! This is a high they haven’t experienced yet--so they try it.

“They sing.”

TOP-SELLING CELEBRITY ALBUMS

Artist Album Title Walter Brennan “Old Rivers” 1962 Gertrude Berg “How to Be a Jewish Mother,” 1965 Carol Burnett “If I Could Write A Song,” 1972 George Burns “I Wish I Were 18 Again,” 1980 Richard Chamberlain “Richard Chamberlain Sings,” 1963 Johnny Crawford “A Young Man’s Fancy,” 1962 James Darren “Gidget Goes Hawaiian,” 1963 Shelley Fabares, Paul Petersen and Darren “Teenage Triangle,” 1963 Mike Douglas “The Men in My Little Girl’s Life,” 1966 Patty Duke “Don’t Just Stand There,” 1965 Shelley Fabares “Shelley,” 1962 “Things We Did Last Summer,” 1962 Sally Field “Flying Nun Sings,” 1962 Lorne Greene “Welcome to the Ponderosa,” 1964 Richard Harris “A Tramp Shining,” 1968 “Yard Went on Forever,” 1968 Don Johnson “Heartbeat,” 1986 Cheryl Ladd “Cheryl Ladd,” 1978 “Dance Forever,” 1978 George Maharis “George Maharis Sings,” 1962 “Portrait in Music,” 1962 David McCallum “Music--A Part of Me,” 1966 “Music--A Bit More of Me,” 1966 Marilyn Monroe “Marilyn” (posthumously), 1962 Jimmy and Kristy McNichol (Same Title), 1978 Eddie Murphy “How Could It Be,” 1985 Jim Nabors “Love Me With All Your Heart,” 1966 “How Great Thou Art,” 1972 Leonard Nimoy “Mr. Spock’s Music From Space,” 1967 “Two Sides of Leonard Nimoy,” 1968 Carroll O’Conner “Remembering You,” 1972 Dorothy Provine “The Roaring Twenties,” 1961 Sgt. Barry Sadler “Ballad of the Green Berets,” 1966 “The A-Team,” 1966 John Schneider “Now or Never,” 1981 “Too Good to Stop Now,” 1984 “White Christmas,” 1984 David Soul “David Soul,” 1977 “Playing to an Audience of One,” 1977 John Travolta “John Travolta,” 1977 “Can’t Let You Go,” 1976 “Travolta Fever,” 1977 Mae West “Way Out West,” 1966 Bruce Willis “The Return of Bruno,” 1987

Highest Weeks on Artist Chart No. the Chart Walter Brennan 54 10 Gertrude Berg 131 12 Carol Burnett 199 2 George Burns 93 10 Richard Chamberlain 5 10 Johnny Crawford 40 18 James Darren 137 18 Shelley Fabares, Paul Petersen and Darren 48 18 Mike Douglas 46 15 Patty Duke 90 12 Shelley Fabares 106 11 121 5 Sally Field 172 4 Lorne Greene 35 19 Richard Harris 4 42 27 15 Don Johnson 17 27 Cheryl Ladd 129 11 179 3 George Maharis 10 30 32 24 David McCallum 27 24 79 12 Marilyn Monroe 111 10 Jimmy and Kristy McNichol 116 4 Eddie Murphy 26 26 Jim Nabors 24 56 4 40 Leonard Nimoy 83 25 97 13 Carroll O’Conner 118 13 Dorothy Provine 66 66 Sgt. Barry Sadler 1 5 130 3 John Schneider 37 22 155 7 155 7 David Soul 40 22 86 7 John Travolta 39 22 66 9 161 7 Mae West 116 5 Bruce Willis 14 29

Jim Pinkston also contributed to this article.