Hey there, bubble-boppers and analog adventurers! It’s your deep-sea disc jockey Finnley the Dolphin, broadcasting from the kelp-lined shelves of Finnley’s Audio Adventures. I’ve flippered through a lot of oddities over the years, but few labels capture the chaotic charm of mid-century vinyl quite like Crown Records. This wasn’t your high-end audiophile dream, it was more like finding a seashell with a crack that still sings when the tide hits it just right. Crown didn’t rise to glory through precision or polish. Instead, it churned out budget LPs faster than a tuna school scatters at the sound of a boat motor.
The Biharis had already made their mark with Modern, RPM, and Flair Records, but Crown was something else entirely. Designed to flood racks with low-cost LPs, Crown carved a niche in the world of cut-rate music, releasing everything from Dixieland to doo-wop with little concern for fidelity or liner note accuracy. It built its empire not on artistic prestige but on sheer volume, with shoddy pressing quality, flimsy jackets, and the kind of sound-alike recordings that made casual buyers believe they were getting something close to the real thing.
The rise of Crown’s budget strategy wasn’t accidental. By 1957, the label had embraced its identity as a mass-market supplier of $1.98 records, issuing dozens of albums through rack jobbers and chain stores. Saul Bihari, one of the label’s co-founders, confirmed that all future LP releases would be rebranded under the Crown name. The model was clear: flood the market with inexpensive, eye-catching records that could pass as the real deal from a distance. Stereo editions occasionally came pressed on translucent red vinyl, a brief nod to flair in an otherwise utilitarian operation. Despite its bargain-bin reputation, Crown still managed to document a surprising range of genres and performers, many of whom remain obscure or pseudonymous to this day.
What’s most revealing about Crown’s ambition is found in the structure of its catalog. Crown’s back catalog reveals an eclectic spread of genres. The label offered albums under categories like Big Band, Dixieland, Classics, Movies and Shows, Hymns, Children’s, Latin, Polka, Hawaiian, Variety and Specialty, Rock ‘n’ Roll – Rhythm and Blues, Golden Strings Background Music, the Ink Spots, Sing-A-Long, and Christmas. Each genre section was a patchwork of public domain material, recycled session work, and cover versions, packaged to appeal to general audiences and impulse buyers. These categories weren’t about musical innovation but about casting the widest net possible.
Among these varied categories, the Hawaiian section stands out for its thematic consistency and cultural timing. Within the Hawaiian section, the offerings included a few standouts that were marketed to capitalize on the midcentury mainland fascination with island culture. Titles like Aloha in Hawaii by the Polynesians, The Magic of Hawaii by Sounds of a Thousand Strings, and Pat’s at Punaluu Presents Likelike and the Voices of Hawaii reflect Crown’s approach of blending easy listening arrangements with exoticized branding. These albums sold the dream of a Hawaiian vacation for the price of a sandwich, relying on steel guitars, syrupy strings, and lush reverb. Though often imitative and romanticized, the records captured a very specific cultural mood of the late 1950s and early 1960s, when tiki bars and backyard luaus were suburban fixtures.
Out of this Hawaiian series, one album in particular merits closer attention. The Magic of Hawaii, credited to “Sounds of a Thousand Strings” and conducted by Robert Krewson, was originally issued around 1960 with the catalog number CLP 5163. The album typifies Crown’s easy listening fare. The front cover features a profile of a woman with a hibiscus flower in her hair, framed against a deep blue background and boasting full-color high fidelity. The record sleeve itself reflects the budget nature of the label,both front and back covers are noticeably crooked, with visible misalignments and bare cardboard edges left exposed. The presentation lacks the refinement of major-label design, yet it remains visually striking in a way that only low-budget charm can offer.
Of course, aesthetics only go so far when the physical medium fails to deliver. In typical budget fashion, the quality of the pressing leaves a lot to be desired. The record itself is very flimsy and can bend with almost no effort. Even though the sleeve boasts “High Fidelity” in bright type across the bottom, the actual sound is thin and lacks any meaningful dynamic range. It took considerable effort to digitally clean up the audio for my video version of this album, and there were several moments where I nearly abandoned the project entirely because of how poor the source material was.
Still, what the album lacks in fidelity, it tries to make up for in atmosphere. The tracklist leans heavily into midcentury Hawaiian exotica:
- Moon of Manakoora
- Red Sails in the Sunset
- Beyond the Reef
- Hawaiian War Chant
- Maori’s Farewell
- Sweet Leilani
- Drowsy Waters
- Blue Hawaii
- Dark Dawn
- Aloha Oe
These selections are more than just placeholders,they create a mood that defined a cultural fantasy. The album appears within Crown’s wider Hawaiian category, nestled alongside similarly themed records by the Polynesians and the Voices of Hawaii. While the label’s catalog was bloated with copycat covers and anonymous orchestras, The Magic of Hawaii distinguishes itself through arrangement and atmosphere. Unlike many Crown releases that relied on generic studio bands, this one suggests a level of orchestration consistent with the branding of “a thousand strings,” even if the actual ensemble was more modest. The reverb-heavy arrangements and lush string sections aim to evoke surf, breeze, and late-night luaus, all conjured from a Los Angeles studio floor.
The person responsible for conducting this sonic escape was Robert Krewson. His name appears on very few known albums, making this one of the only documented credits to his name. He is also listed as the conductor for this same record across several stereo and mono editions, including the elusive red translucent pressing. Though sparse, this consistent credit gives some legitimacy to the attribution. There is a speculative but unverified connection to a Robert Krewson who appeared as a newscaster in a 1968 episode of Hawaii Five-O titled “Tiger by the Tail.” If they are the same person, this would suggest a later shift from music direction to bit acting roles in television, though this remains conjecture based on shared name alone.
For those digging into the packaging, the back cover of the album offers more than just track titles,it offers a portal into Crown’s business model. The album’s back cover offers a broader glimpse into Crown’s output. Genres are spread out in tidy categories: Big Band, Dixieland, Latin, Rock ‘n’ Roll, Children’s, and Hawaiian, among others. Most sleeves boasted colorful cover art and little else, with no musician credits and often no production details. The Magic of Hawaii is no exception, yet its enduring appeal lies in its ability to transport listeners to a dream-state version of the Pacific Islands. Like many Crown releases, it invites scrutiny for what it omits just as much as what it includes. In a catalog known for its transience, this LP has quietly endured, passed from listener to listener as both kitsch and artifact.
So there you have it, fins and friends. Crown Records may not have aimed for sonic perfection, but they captured something just as memorable—a glimpse into how music once met the masses in all its affordable, unpredictable glory. And The Magic of Hawaii? Well, it’s a little warped, a little worn, and a whole lot wonderful if you’re willing to dive beneath the surface.
Until next tide, keep your stylus clean and your ears curious. This has been Finnley the Dolphin, signing off from another sonic swim through the depths of forgotten vinyl. Catch you on the next wave!
Update: After uploading the video to YouTube, I received the usual copyright notification. I initially assumed it was for composition copyright, which typically covers the melody or written music. Instead, this one was flagged as a recording copyright, which refers to the specific audio captured on the record itself. These exact recordings also appear on another label called The Big Sound under the album title Heart of Hawaii. Whether this is a case of reused masters or shared material across labels isn’t entirely clear, but it adds another layer to the already murky world of budget vinyl.
Sources:
Modern Label To Kick Off $1.98 LP Line. Billboard, 16 Mar. 1957, p. 22.
Rhodes, Karen. Booking Hawaii Five-O: An Episode Guide and Critical History of the 1968–1980 Television Detective Series. McFarland, 2011, p. 38.
“Sounds Of A Thousand Strings.” Discogs, https://www.discogs.com/artist/2434734-Sounds-Of-A-Thousand-Strings.
“The Voices Of Hawaii.” Discogs, https://www.discogs.com/artist/2326635-The-Voices-Of-Hawaii.
“Robert Krewson.” Discogs, https://www.discogs.com/artist/2326636-Robert-Krewson.
“Crown Records (2).” Discogs, https://www.discogs.com/label/60679-Crown-Records-2.
“Robert Krewson Conducting Sounds Of A Thousand Strings And The Voices Of Hawaii – The Magic Of Hawaii.” Discogs, https://www.discogs.com/release/23802503-Robert-Krewson-Conducting-Sounds-Of-A-Thousand-Strings-And-The-Voices-Of-Hawaii-The-Magic-Of-Hawaii.
