By Stewart Weir
The Eurovision Song Contest means something to everyone. No, don’t argue. It does.
Oh you can ignore it, dismiss it, even deny all knowledge of it. But somewhere in the deepest recesses of your mind, something will suck you back in time to your own memory of Eurovision.
You only heard the prelude to Marc-Antoine Charpentier’s Te Deum (H. 146) – or the signature tune for the European Broadcasting Union, as it’s better known – when it was Eurovision time (if you ignore European Cup finals and the Vienna New Year concert).
And I for one marvelled at Katie Boyle – who, in addition to being able to make great gravy, was fluent in English, Italian and French – although I never quite worked out why some nations ended up with "no peas".
BBC4 recently started re-running Top of The Pops, in chronological order from 1976. So those of us who are keen on reliving our school days have, for the last several weeks, been watching The Brotherhood Of Man topping the charts with Save Your Kisses For Me.
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That was our 1976 Eurovision winning-entry from a place in time when we had winners, or were there or thereabouts with catchy pop songs and unforgettable lyrics (and not forgetting the quirky dances). And from a time when we also still had "allies" in mainland Europe to vote for us instead of just sending us Christmas trees. Sandie Shaw (in 1967) and Lulu (in 1969, the latter being in a four-way tie, although this was before penalty kick shoot-outs) were winners, and Cliff Richard (1968), Mary Hopkin (1970) and Clodagh Rodgers (1971) all left us with songs that, even now, we still recognise. Abba won in Brighton in 1974, so we can in-part lay claim to their successes, while Bucks Fizz were our toast in 1981, aided by some tactical disrobing, before Ireland made Eurovision part of their national curriculum by winning five times in ten years. While I cashed in at the bookies on Johnny Logan, not once but twice (1980 and 1987), I confess I haven’t shown any real interest in the last two decades. Apart, that is, from the year when Dana International won, who really was “All Kinds Of Everything” compared to the original winning Dana of 1970. I know which one I preferred… All of which brings me to Saturday evening, and exhausted at watching Manchester winning everything on the football fields of England, I played happy families and watched the Eurovision Song Contest, from start to finish, me being one of 125 million like-minded (bullied) individuals across the continent. Not strictly true. I didn’t watch the qualifiers in midweek, which apparently whittled the entries down from 43 to a manageable 25 thanks to a complex voting structure, a kind of common agricultural policy of music. But wouldn’t it be great to test the love affair with Eurovision to the max by having 40-odd nations signing on the one night? We could even get over 50 if the Vatican City got pulled in. I must admit, it was a pretty slick show, excluding the German hosts' attempt at comedy. Oh, Anke Engelke, she is a comedian. Sorry to further enhance the stereotype of unfunny Germans. She was joined by Stefan Raab, Germany’s Simon Cowell – although given the way he wanted to act, present, then sing the theme tune, play his guitar to the theme tune, drum to the theme tune, he might have been more akin to Dennis Waterman. Although not as funny… The motto for his year’s show in Düsseldorf (and many lovers of musicals will now be singing “and that is why they call me Rolf” ) was "Feel Your Heart Beat". I sincerely hoped that would be the case three hours hence. The logo designed to accompany that mantra looked like someone’s epiglottis, which changed to represent the national colours of the various countries. So those with red in their flags appeared to have inflamed tonsils. Thank God Belgium didn’t qualify. But on with the show. Finland were represented by a wee boy with a guitar who I am sure I’ve seen busking in the tunnel leading to the SECC, while Bosnia-Herzegovina appeared to have co-opted an unemployed art teacher, even down to his 15-year-old jacket and false guitar with painted strings. Lithuania were fourth up with a girl who sounded like Olivia-Newton John (who, pre-Grease, was fourth herself in 1974 for the UK), although I wasn’t quite sure why she started to use sign language part-way through. Was that for genuinely deaf people, or did she think folk would have turned the volume down on her and she was making sure we still listened? I lost something in the translation, and then almost lost the will to live when Deadwood – sorry, Jedward – arrived on screen, complete with "I’ve seen a ghost" hairstyles. Or perhaps they had been attached to the National Grid which I was sincerely hoping would now shut down. Try though as I might to hate them, they were really quite entertaining. Did I just say that? Sweden’s song began like Cozy Powell’s Dance with the Devil which I call cheating, before my attentions were grabbed by what appeared to be an Eminem/Il Divo combo who hadn’t been formally introduced before they’d met on stage, representing Greece, one of the successful qualifiers. What were those they beat like? I think they missed a trick by not singing and plate-smashing at the same time. And Russia didn’t exactly grab me, despite their lead singer pleading for me and 124,999,999 others to "Feel Your Heart Beat". More like "Find A Pulse Please". France, the bookies' favourites, was represented by someone who seemed to have got on the wrong Saturday evening show – he should have been trying out on Sir Andrew Lloyd-Webber’s Les Miserables – Make Me Happy. Italy had forgotten to pack their representative and had blagged the Billy Joel-like pianist from the hotel next door, while Switzerland had plagiarised the Lloyds TSB advert. And without knowing it, we were past the halfway stage without even opening my second bottle. And now it was us. The United Kingdom had Blue – yes, all of them – signing for our supper. Team UK last won in 1997, had got third in 2002 and had finished last three times since then, including the infamous Jemini debacle from 2003 when they failed to register a single vote, not even in protest. So no pressure and nothing to beat for the boys in Blue. And they gave it their all. Would it be enough? Well, given that Moldova followed, I think Blue’s efforts might have been forgotten about as the continent of Europe became incontinent. Because I for one wet myself laughing at the Moldovans. Madness meets the Coneheads, accompanied by a girl playing a clarinet while pedalling a unicycle. Beat that, Acker Bilk. Trying to beat it was Lena, who 12 months previously had won for Germany and was now defending her title with a bit of a Kylie production. I noticed, in her pop star way, that she had a tattoo on her inner arm – although that might just be a German tradition. Romania followed, led by David Bryan, a former binman and Karaoke singer who hails from Newton Aycliffe in County Durham. BBC host Graham Norton informed us that Bryan had been doing charity work in Romania, met a girl, and ended up being selected in a national TV audition. They sounded OK, although I wasn’t sure if he was signing in Romanian or if it was just his Geordie twang. Austria and Slovenia employed females, who in clubland speak were "great wee chanters", Iceland obviously qualified from the round that had included Tesco, Asda and the Co-op, and Spain gave us a holiday song, best appreciated after countless glasses of sangria. Ukraine arrived with a mixing desk, but there was no disc spinning. Mika Newton, who was only selected as their representative after an extensive voting process and equally extensive scandal, was accompanied by an artist who created beautiful silhouettes in sand which appeared on the huge video screens. More Take Hart than Take That, actually. Serbia – or the artist formerly known as Yugoslavia – gave us a retro-60s number with a revolving lightshow which should have included a warning for those suffering from photosensitive epilepsy or a few bottles. And then it was number 25, and at an end. Georgia were last up, although how an American state qualified is beyond me. After the performances came Mr Norton’s cutting comments and the fixing, sorry, I meant to say the voting. My young son was amazed at how I produced a performance that Derren Brown would have been proud of, accurately predicting that Germany would give their 12 points to Austria, while San Marino would hand their haul to Italy, Cyprus to Greece, Sweden to Finland and Belarus would similarly reward Georgia. Unions in the 60s and 70s never block-voted as blatantly as this. Blue and the UK began well, then slipped in the market as the larger donations went elsewhere – usually to friends and nearest and dearest neighbours, and especially on the evening to the unfancied outsiders from Azerbaijan, Eldar and Nigar, a male and female duet and their song Running Scared, although I’m still not sure who was who. Incredibly, they had qualified second in their semi-final, beaten by Greece, who only finished seventh. Just shows you what can happen when you have your pals voting for you. And why Blue "no mates" were only 11th. No doubt representatives of Marriott, Hyatt, Radisson and Hilton will be visiting Baku council offices in the next few days in readiness for 2012, when Azerbaijan play host to Europe’s musical extravaganza. Azerbaijan will still be celebrating. I mean, when was the last time anyone there won anything? Oh, I know. Tofik Bahramov was his name, north London, 1966. And what did he win? The World Cup. Because he was the linesman who awarded Geoff Hurst that dubious third England goal against West Germany at Wembley. Looks like my interest in Eurovision is at an end again for another wee while.Want to discuss other issues? Join the debate on our new Scottish Voices forum
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