Side note: On Eurovision.
A post about one of my great loves.
tl;dr: Eurovision has been magic in my life since I first discovered it in 2009. I try to revisit why.
Seventeen years ago, I fell in love with a song contest. A young Alexander Rybak stood on stage in Moscow performing Fairytale and collected for Norway what at the time was the highest number of points ever received by any country in the contest, and I realised - while I was supposed to be revising for my GCSEs - that whatever I was watching was really rather special.
Ever since then, Eurovision has been the highlight of my year. ‘Bigger than Christmas’ would not be inaccurate. I can recite the names of performers and songs over the years, recall obscure lyrics and recognise tracks from their opening notes. I have watched with friends and housemates, online and with family, and remember exactly where I was for each. The EBU opening music became my de facto national anthem. Eurovision was there through my lows and even in better times.
I am not a talented enough writer to articulate just how fondly I have held the Eurovision Song Contest in my heart over the years, but I’ll try to justify it.
What else brings together so many countries to take part in something all at the same time? The Olympics? No, that goes on forever. The World Cup? In the end, you get just two countries competing - that’s naff.
Eurovision brings forty-odd countries, whittled down in semi-finals to around twenty-five, who participate in the so-called grand final.
And it’s in sync. 40+ countries. 160 million people. Watching the same thing. Taking part in the same thing. Performing. Voting. Together. Each with their own commentator (in their own language). As far away as Australia (because reasons). It’s beautiful.
Look at this and tell me it isn’t the coolest thing ever:
Slowest clap in the world for Italy.
(Theres another one showing 23 channels doing the same thing here.)
The shows are live, and the final takes up a prime-time television slot on a Saturday evening. In each of these countries, and indeed others, people watch live and vote to influence the result. Each country performs, and then later in the evening announces its points allocation through a comically tedious sequence of video-links from across the continent and beyond, followed by a round of Numberwang, taking the show on past midnight until a winner is crowned.
Their prize? Not money, not a record contract, nor a speed boat or combination washer-dryer. The winning country gets to host the show next year (and foot most of the bill for it, too).
I’m forever charmed by Eurovision postcards, which are short clips played between acts while the stage is being reset.
Here, a selection from one of my favourite years in 2011, each featuring an individual from the participant country that now lives in the host country (Germany) - the first features a race through Wuppertal against the Schwebebahn:
Eurovision has always been special because it’s never taken itself too seriously. It’s often looked upon with scorn in the UK on the basis of being some silly European thing full of terrible music, but that’s literally the. whole. point. It doesn’t matter that nobody ever votes for the UK and we often end up with nil points. It doesn’t matter that we always send lacklustre acts. It matters that we’re in it, and taking part, with our neighbours. (And I really like a lot of the music, anyway.)
But Eurovision couldn’t always be there. I remember the feeling of despair when it was announced that Eurovision 2020 couldn’t go ahead as normal, which happened just as the world was starting to understand what was happening, and long before the UK government got around to putting any sort of restrictions in place. I remember the announcement of lockdown, but Eurovision got cancelled first.
In its place would be a special show “Europe Shine A Light” featuring remote performances from front gardens and in empty stadiums - watched by millions, but apart.
From 2020, here Italy’s Diodato performing “Fai Rumore” (meaning ‘Make Noise’) to an empty Arena di Verona, which still sends shivers down my spine:
Ma fai rumore, sì // But make noise, yes
Ché non lo posso sopportare // Because I can’t stand it
Questo silenzio innaturale // This unnatural silence
Tra me e te // Between me and you
And I have never been prouder than seeing the United Kingdom host the contest in Liverpool on behalf of Ukraine in 2023.
Eurovision was set up after the second World War to promote peace and cohesion across Europe, and now is the world’s largest non-sporting live cultural event. And think about it, when else can you be watching something in the UK and call a friend in Italy who’s watching the same thing with someone from Ukraine, for example? And all of our countries have a stake? How special is that?
Eurovision is a celebration. Of music, of culture, of Europe.
And it’s magical to me.
Eurovision interval acts are always an opportunity for the host country to put together special performances that celebrate the contest and Europe. Sometimes, they’re a little abstract or far-fetched.
Here’s one from Rotterdam wherein a young girl terrifies her father by jumping out of a first floor window, before running away onto a dangerously glowing EUROVISION TRAM full of masked orchestra types and driven by a hooded individual (that we’re apparently supposed to recognise) who then crashes said tram on a bridge? Or maybe they were getting away from the guy and he wasn’t actually her father and he was holding her hostage? Why are there buffers on a bridge? So many questions… (I love the music though.)
This year I feel an emptiness where my love for the contest once was. Eurovision is not a tool for politics. It is not for one country or another to use - be that for better or for worse - but rather is ours collectively.
Eurovision is fun and whimsy, and this year that fun - for me, at least - feels absent. It makes me profoundly sad in a way I can’t put into words.
I might watch some of it. I might watch all of it. But I will do so with apprehension. I’m not expecting to add to my 17-strong collection of “Best of Eurovision 20xx” playlists on Spotify. I’m not planning to get home early on Saturday evening or to watch it with friends or family. I haven’t even heard any of the songs (except our own).
And for me, that means something is missing. Something that’s been part of my life since I was in school.
I just felt I had to write something.
Happy Eurovision week, I suppose.