You cannot be serious . . .
Simon Hoggart
T hadn't watched the Eurovision Song 1 Contest (BBC1) since that unforgettable night of 3 May 1997, when Katrina and the Waves's landslide victory with 'Love Shine A Light' seemed to mirror, like the comedy in a Shakespearean tragedy, the political landslide which had occurred two days earlier. A new, popular charismatic leader, liked and admired around the world, had taken office and for once Europe, a continent in which it is often easier to hear funkier music in elevators than on the radio, seemed prepared to give the British popular music industry its just rewards. This may be in deep desuetude now, but even then it was roughly a hundred times more exciting than anything the rest of Europe had to offer, especially since Abba had broken up long before. (Italy, a country with a certain reputation for songwriting, didn't figure at all last week.)
Now Tony Blair is fighting to stay in office, and we seem to be disliked across the globe. I blame that Piers Morgan. If he hadn't published those torture pictures, we might have zoomed up in the voting from 16th to. I don't know, 13th place. In the past, even a crummy entry from the BBC, like this year's 'Hold On To Our Love', would have got a few points simply because it was British — even if they hated the song, national juries would feel obliged to give it the benefit of the doubt because it might represent the wave of the future, like punk or ska, though I doubt if Lulu's 'Boom Bang-a-Bang' (1969) fooled many.
Oddly enough, last week most of the songs, even the German, the Albanian and the winning Ukrainian, were sung in English, though in a special, strangulated Eurovision English. A couple from the Netherlands sang 'yur sairt mah soul on fyer', in the same outraged yet weary tone in which you might declaim, 'yur have just poured strychnine in my tea'. The Macedonians also seemed to have a shaky grasp of the nuances of our language: 'I saw my ID. It wasn't me. It was someone else's identity.'
One way we could get our own back would be to have next year's British entry sung in, say, Latvian, or possibly a madeup but vaguely east European-sounding language. And now, the British entry, a poignant love song entitled "Ez Mir Wocz Plo‘qz".' This would win us brownie points with the disaffected nations, as well as helping to disguise the tune.
Pointing out the awfulness of the event means nothing, like warning that one of Dall's molten watches wouldn't tell you the time. It's not what they're there for. The Turkish TV couple, she in a sort of latticed thing, more slashes than fabric, like a supermarket lettuce, he dressed like a stage-door Johnny of a hundred years ago, down to the white silk scarf. Wogan said he looked like Igor: I was reminded of the Phantom of the Opera, though that halfmask would have helped.
The performances: the Maltese duo who seemed to be singing two entirely separate songs, the poor Russian teenager who held a note like an alcoholic holds a pint of beer — the melody spilling on the floor as she warbled. The winning Ukranians, dressed in tailored wild-animal skin, as if tailored by a blind leather fetishist. The tragically dreary British ballad — from the country that gave the world the Beatles, the Rolling Stones and, to be fair, Sandie Shaw singing the intolerable 'Puppet On A String' (1967). In those days our Eurovision choice would be a top five hit here, even if it didn't win the contest.
A reporter on the Today programme last Saturday pointed out a truly horrifying fact: Britain is probably the only country that doesn't take the EVSC seriously. This was mirrored in the turnout on the streets. In other countries, the commentator who introduced the voting was generally surrounded by excited fans ('here in Austria, at the world's most successful party for HIV and Aids!'). In London, nobody. But of course there were thousands of Eurovision parties all over this country, at some of which people turn up dressed as if for an appearance in the event.
The voting brought out the best in Terry Wogan, commentating on his 31st contest. He long ago stopped pretending that the songs were anything but unspeakable: 'It's the last entry. Make the most of it, it's going to be another year before you have to hear this kind of stuff again.' Or when Belarus announced that it was giving 12 votes to Russia, he murmured, 'Yes, they're still bigger than you.'
He seemed at one point to be genuinely appalled by the demented voting patterns — Baltics voting for Baltics, Balkans for Balkans. Greece and Cyprus for each other — and felt the authorities should take it in hand. But this would only matter if any of the songs deserved to win anything; this is not `Grandad' getting more votes than 'Yesterday' or 'Satisfaction'. It's irrelevant. If the songs were any good, it would spoil the show.
Mind you, I am inclined to feel that the joke is over now. Wogan sounded very crabby about it on Monday morning. When he retires, why bother finding anyone else? We should pull out. All the other countries would be furious and accuse us of sour grapes, but so what? And it would free a whole evening's viewing for reruns of The Good Life, Or anything.
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