When
Belgium opened this year’s Eurovision Song Contest, I was pleasantly
surprised. Having felt that the last couple years had been growing increasingly
more dull and less energetic, this fun, silly, if slightly subdued
disco-inspired number had me optimistic for the rest of this year’s offerings.
That goodwill soon faded, however, after what followed was wave after wave of tedious, sappy, lifeless ballads, culminating
in a win from yet another utterly
uninspired and ball-achingly dull performance. This is a trend that’s been
slowly emerging over the last few years, and now, finally, seems here to stay.
Perhaps without many of us realising it, the campy joy of Eurovision has been
displaced by a mawkish over-sentimentality and a laughably misplaced sense of
self-importance. What happened to the camp? What happened to the fun? What happened to this?
What happened to Eurovision?
Eurovision has always been famous for its colourful
costumes, exaggerated staging, energetic choreography and corny, Europop music –
best represented by acts like the charming and incestuous ABBA and the UK’s own Bucks Fizz, who appeared
to be an attempt at creating a genetic hybrid between ABBA and the cast of Tiswas
that went horribly right. Though these performances might seem a little tame in
comparison to the levels of camp that Eurovision would reach in the 2000s, the
same elements are there – the costumes, the colours, the choreography, the crap
singing (okay, ABBA are pretty good but I wanted another word that started with
c). The only difference is, this sort of fashion and style was commonplace in
the late-70s and early-80s. What made Eurovision in the 90s-onward so unique,
was that, even in the year 2007, it still looked like it was
taking place in the late-70s and early-80s.
And so, Eurovision found its purpose and its place. Long-lasting
accusations of the contest’s voting system being highly politicised and not
really about the music has meant that Eurovision is rarely taken seriously as
an actual music competition (at least, not in most of the major European
countries). Therefore, instead of putting forward “real musicians” to represent
them, many countries opt to put forward “joke acts” that are designed to catch
the audience’s attention through bright, extravagant costumes and exciting
choreography, rather than impress them with their musical stylings. Though this
might sound like most acts in Eurovision are a bit of a write-off, on the
contrary, this is exactly what makes them special. These acts take their
performance seriously, but do not take themselves seriously. They are willing
to go out and do things that most “real musicians” would refuse to do, out of a
fear that it would make them look silly. As a result, Eurovision provides us
with joyful musical performances just intended to entertain, rather than
establish a brand, sell a product or make a statement, allowing us Brits to experience types of music
we don’t hear very often and for the world at large to see types of entertainers that
would not normally be deemed aesthetically appropriate. In no other musical
event would a group of old Russian women dressed like Strega Nona
be allowed to go on stage, but suddenly, in Eurovision, it becomes a
possibility. They may not be the best singers, but they are fully committed to
their performance, they have no sense of ego or pretention and their honest
enthusiasm is infectious.
This is the charm of Eurovision – a weird, wonderful and
unique experience you can’t get anywhere else that isn’t afraid to poke fun at
itself and doesn’t feel the need to try to make a statement and change the
world. At least, that’s what it used to be. But times have changed. Dramatic power ballads have
been a staple of Eurovision for a while now, but they have remained
buffered by a large collection of corny Europop music, allowing them to still
maintain a sense of goofy likeability and not bleed into the style of the contest
as a whole. In the last few years however, these ballads have come to dominate the
contest. This culminated
in the victory of Conchita Wurst in 2014, whose win not only sounded the
death knell for the campy Eurovision of the past, but also began the rise of a
whole new type of power ballad. Yes, no longer could Eurovision just be about
fun songs and stage presence, now it had to make a statement.
The success of Conchita Wurst in the face of the great
amount of homophobia that still lingers in Europe and, in particular, in the
face of the violent homophobia in Russia that had been heavily publicised during
that year’s Winter Olympics, lent the song a sense of political power. The overwhelming success of the song and the
emotional chord it seemed to strike with people immediately affected the way in
which Eurovision was approached, and the last two years have been replete with
copycats attempting to replicate this success. Gone were the sweet old Russian
women, now everyone had to look like a supermodel or member of a boy band. Gone
were the goofy costumes, now the men must wear expensive suits and the women,
luxurious dresses which we can hopefully project some kind of graphic onto.
Gone was the elaborate staging and fun choreography, now everyone must stand
perfectly still in the centre of the stage while we show some shitty effects on
the screen in the background. Gone was the playful self-awareness and
willingness to embrace the absurd, now we must all respect the force for
political change that Eurovision can be and the sheer musical talent of all
these performers, even though the vast majority of them still couldn’t carry a
note in a bucket the size
of Engelbert Humperdinck’s head.
While, of course, there are still a few
holdovers from Eurovision’s former style, these are few and far between and
it’s difficult to maintain enthusiasm for them and get excited when (or if)
they finally do arrive when you have to sit through 20 identical,
sleep-inducing ballads to get there. This year’s winning song,
from Ukraine, displayed all these now tried-and-tested elements for success –
an emotional power ballad with a politicised theme, a beautiful performer in a
long, flowing dress, standing in the centre of the stage as rubbish effects
that wouldn’t impress someone who enjoyed Batman v Superman swirl around the
stage in typically lifeless fashion. Its strong win (at over 500 points) has
solidified the way Eurovision has been headed for the last few years and says,
perhaps a little sadly, with a mournful sigh as they take off their silly hats
and put away their turkey
puppets, ‘I guess this is the way things are now.’ This was even reflected
in the show’s interval, which featured Justin Timberlake being... Justin Timberlake, as if to say as loudly as
possible that this is what Eurovision wants to be now – cool, hip,
musically-respected, to be taken seriously and thought of as trendy and
in-fashion, not corny, not unconcerned with its image and, perhaps most of all,
not just good old-fashioned fun.
Is it over-dramatic to be so disappointed by the death of a
song contest which featured talking turkeys, a person of indeterminable gender
dressed as an aluminium Christmas tree and Jedward? Twice? Probably. But I
don’t know, I think that’s kind of the point of Eurovision isn’t it? Jedward,
an act so utterly reviled they weren’t even considered good enough for The
X-Factor (the show which, bear in mind, gave us this swaggering prick)
found a home here. Their tuneless singing, ridiculous over-acting and
humourless shtick which would probably be rejected by Butlins, not only seemed
suited to Eurovision, but was actually a lot of fun. This was the heart and
soul of Eurovision. They didn’t need to clutch onto this purpose as a vehicle
for political change in Europe, they already had a purpose – to give a home to
acts that had nowhere else to go. The result was a colourful collection of
refreshingly individual misfits and a night of honest and unpredictable entertainment
that simply wanted to do that – entertain. And I think that, in this
increasingly cynical, depressing and homogenised world, to lose that is a very
sad thing, and representative of a much greater loss than many of us might
realise.
R.I.P Eurovision. At least we’ll always have
the memories.
