With a Sunday work commitment looming I decided to stay in and watch television on a Saturday night. The choices were an international football match, Norway v England or the Eurovision Song Contest hosted by Azerbaijan. England football performances are a bit like the Euro song event – all promise going in and a flat performance to finish so I decided to opt for Eurovision. Besides I knew at the very least I would be entertained by the cheesiness of the staging, the possibility of some attractive women in skimpy outfits, the political voting and the dire offerings that song writers produce in the effort to become the next Abba. And even if Azerbaijan is the other side of the Black Sea, on the Caspian Coast, east of Turkey and bordering Iran, that is Europe...... err, is it!!!???
The show was introduced by two people. A typical glitzy, glamourous lady and a bloke who was twelve but had managed to get himself into the auditorium by wearing a false beard. This made him look fifteen. First up was Englebert Humperdinck with a dirge so depressing that after two minutes I wanted to shoot myself. I would have done but for the lack of a handgun (at one point I was seriously considering a quick trip to the badlands of North London to score one) and the fact that I would have missed the following twenty five songs. The poor start was swiftly followed by a woman from Albania who appeared to be wearing a pile of cork on top of her head and whose delivery of her ‘song’ was akin to someone screaming in abject agony. A glance at the dress she was wearing supported the argument that in fact she was screaming in agony and not singing. Her upper body was wrapped in a giant hard, upright collar, so rigid that it must have been the nearest you could get to public asphyxiation. A quick trip to Google Translate confirmed that the chorus was not a chorus at all, but simply her screaming ‘Get me out, get me out, woncha, get me out of this f*****g dress.’
For some reason Israel were performing. I glanced at my atlas and found that it appeared that the country was still in the same geographical location it always had been and not in Europe at all. I am still busily searching the internet to see if in fact they have negotiated a deal over disputed territories in their region and have taken over Belgium, thus qualifying to wail at the event.
Russia sent on a group of grannies in traditional costume who not only attempted a performance but also baked some cakes at the same time. Nobody was fooled as, to go to such extraordinary efforts, it was clearly remnants of the KGB dressed up to spy on Ukraine, Estonia, Georgia and Lithuania.
Cyprus came up with the first tune that you could possibly consider as a ‘europop mainstream discoeeee’ offering. However, since most of the stuff that had gone before was a serious assault on the ears, this conclusion may have been open to argument. A bloke from Lithuania came on wearing a blindfold singing ‘Love is Blind.’ He was singing in English so it didn’t need the ironic symbolism. I was willing him to walk closer to the edge of the stage so he could unwittingly indulge in some audience participation.
Denmark’s offering was not bad. Strip away the backing band, including the demented female drummer, take out the usherette’s costume that some nobhead decided Soluna Samay (the singer) should appear in and you had a passable voice accompanied by her guitar - a bit of an Alanis Morissette/Avril Lavigne thing going on.
Greece delivered a song called Aphrodisiac. This title may have been some unwitting response to the parlous state of their economy and a sub-conscious attempt to arouse the nation into thinking all was well. The song was upbeat in the way that a demented hyper-active child on speed is (you haven’t been to those parenting classes??) and contained the inspired lyrics, ‘I think about you all the time, I just can´t get you of my mind.’ Sensibly it appeared that the writers and musical arrangement team had created a song that had no chance of winning in the knowledge that to win meant hosting the next contest which means bearing a significant financial commitment. Since this time next year Greece will be using sea-shells for currency and no civilized country in the world is likely to trade in sea-shells, it is a good thing that they stood no chance of success.
And then came Jedward. Only the Irish could take a contestant who had failed to win before and say, ‘Bejesus Mr Jedward, sure didn’t you not do too bad last year. The voters thought you were crap for sure, but shouldn’t we give yees another chance to be crap again this year.’ So Ireland was again represented by the boys who had failed last year. But to be fair to Jedward they are not pretending to be anything else but a kitsch, exuberant bit of fun. They were singing a song about water and came on wearing silver space suits as if they had arrived from another galaxy. Possibly they have. Their uncoordinated ‘dance routines’ are merely a symptom of the youthful exuberance they portray and they had no chance of winning even when they jumped into the bizarre water feature that was part of their backdrop. The British public voted for them but then you would expect that from a country that has been brought up on a diet of manufactured bands. Clearly those who pick up the ‘phone to actually vote in these shows have primary school musical taste and an IQ hovering around the single digit mark.
France came on and decided to gain some sort of advantage for both the event and the forthcoming Olympics by featuring the French Olympic Gymnastics team as backing ‘dancers.’ This detracted from the song completely and my only recollection of the performance is that Anggun (that was the singer’s name and she may well have been from the badlands of north London with a name like that) had great legs.
Moldova stole the show for weirdness. If it had been the Eurovision Weirdness contest they would have wiped the floor with the other entrants. The male singer wore a yellow shirt and some semi trouser/jodhpur arrangement held up by braces whilst delivering a forgettable song (I can’t recall what it was called!). However the full weirdness factor was provided by his backing dancers. The term ‘dancers’ is used to set the picture but would not be permissible under the trade descriptions act which is fine I suppose since I suspect they don’t have such an act in Moldova. The all female troupe wore a variety of multi-coloured box-like skirts and golden tights with no shoes. Their choreographer may well have been the victim of a drug spiked drink when the routine was created. All five girls sidled along in a weird sliding motion, curled up on the floor and wriggled and convulsed as if in a nightmare disturbed deep sleep. Meanwhile Mr Yellowshirt took it all seriously and carried on singing. Had I been the performer I may have been tempted to call an ambulance for my colleagues.
The winner of the contest for 2012 was Sweden. Theirs was a song entitled ‘Euphoria’ and was sung by a girl called Loreen who appeared to be having a seizure during the whole performance. Apparently the song had been No.1 in several Scandinavian countries before it was unleashed upon the general European public. It was also the ‘bookies favourite’. Clearly bookies all go to the same shit disco. ‘We are here. We are alone in our own universe,’ the lyrics said, and at that point I wished they were.
Finally, there was the voting. This is a series of visits to the capitals of other countries where some wannebee tries to maximize their two minutes on TV, in which they are supposed to be giving their countries votes, by coming out with gratuitous smart arse comments. At least the bloke from Finland, who came on dressed as the creature from the black lagoon, was up front about it. Predictably neighbours voted for neighbours. At other times they invade one another but when it comes to the glitzy, schmaltz of the Eurovision Song Contest they go all gooey and dewey eyed and start getting neighbourly, handing out smiley votes like confetti.
The decent songs, and there were a few, came nowhere. Britain came second bottom, quite rightly because they put in a crap song and the wrong performer. Shameful when you think about our capacity to lead the world with music. The weird, bizarre and totally hopeless songs got the most votes. This speaks volumes for the mentality of the Euro zone. We ain’t got nothing in common with any of them. It should be a top priority for David Cameron to pull Britain out of the Eurovision Song Contest followed swiftly by removing us from that other European shambles that had no chance of working from day one (if you don’t agree look at the way these countries vote in this song fiasco!). A simple massage from Dave would be, ‘It’s Your Rope. Go hang yourselves with it!’
The decent songs, and there were a few, came nowhere. Britain came second bottom, quite rightly because they put in a crap song and the wrong performer. Shameful when you think about our capacity to lead the world with music. The weird, bizarre and totally hopeless songs got the most votes. This speaks volumes for the mentality of the Euro zone. We ain’t got nothing in common with any of them. It should be a top priority for David Cameron to pull Britain out of the Eurovision Song Contest followed swiftly by removing us from that other European shambles that had no chance of working from day one (if you don’t agree look at the way these countries vote in this song fiasco!). A simple massage from Dave would be, ‘It’s Your Rope. Go hang yourselves with it!’
