Tough times for Europe. Economic malaise, the Eurozone teetering on the brink of collapse, voters sending strong signals about how much suffering they can stand, unemployed young people camping in the streets to protest their absence of a future, anarchist violence making an unwelcome comeback, right-wing nitwits making trouble big and small.
Surely, what Europeans could use now is a giant continent-wide singing competition, which is obviously what the original founders of Eurovision must have had in mind all those years ago when they thought everyone needed a break from picking through the rubble of their remarkable first half of the century.
Eurovision manages to so completely occupy so little mental space that I'm always surprised when it springs upon me. Then I remember that one of the great joys for me of being in Europe in May is to vote like any other preteen girl (is that the target audience? I honestly have no idea). I've written about previous editions in recent years (2007 and 2010) — long before Anthony Lane realized it was something respectable people could snark about. So I've watched as much of the preliminary material as I can stand (i.e., not that much), and have everything you really need to know about this year's edition.
Hungary's entry this year is a band named Compact Disco, who do a pretty serviceable Nickelback imitation. This, of course, means not only that they stink, but they are also doomed (because, I mean, look what the hell Ukraine came up with!). I don't think you can afford to be quite this mopey. I enjoyed (is that the right word?) their video because it includes a lot of pretty shots of Budapest, including on shot at my favorite restaurant. It is a "problem" song (though I guess most Eurovision songs not from Scandinavia sort of are). The gist of it seems to be that whether you are a wealthy, hard-charging businessman or an angry homeless drunk, you're pretty fucked.
Perhaps nothing captures the zeitgeist of the time like Rona Nishliu from Albania, a nightmare of moaning and screaming with sad children running around. That in a nutshell is life in Europe these days, if you believe the financial press.
But alas, from what I saw, it doesn't look like a particularly interesting year. There's no truly jaw-dropping work of crap, like Aisha from Lativa's heart-wrenching ballad "What for?" which features the immortal conversation stopper of a lyric, "Only Mr. God knows why." Nor is there a song that you secretly kinda like and hate yourself for it, like Lena from Germany's "Satellite." Nor is there a singing turkey puppet begging for points (Ireland got serious this year and nominated Jedward), nor a Ukrainian drag queen taunting Russia.
My personal preference this year is the entry from Montenegro, Rambo Amadeus. His goofy little rap song hits the silly accent button, and is topical: it seems to be about idea that an earthy peasant from southern Europe and his donkey have the right kind of laid-back attitude to get Europe through this mess. He may be right. Also, I looked this chap up, and found that he says his biggest influences are Zappa and Captain Beefheart. And he was the first Serbian or Montenegrin musician to perform in Croatia after the war ended.
But none of these are going to win. I have a gut feeling about Soluna Samay from Denmark. She's cute, wears very silly costumes, and her song sounds like a "normal" professional recording industry production if you don't think too hard about it (also, her cello player in her preview video is wearing a Red Sox cap!). Of course, I'm useless at predicting things, so I'll probably be wrong. But I'm pretty sure that Germany will vote en masse for Turkey, and Englebert Humperdink won't win anything.
This year's semifinals and finals take place this week in Baku, proving just how flexible the idea of Europe really is. For once, the event is serving a greater purpose, specifically, it is an opportunity for the entire world to see what an unsightly, repressive, oil-soaked absurdistan Azerbaijan has become.
Surely, what Europeans could use now is a giant continent-wide singing competition, which is obviously what the original founders of Eurovision must have had in mind all those years ago when they thought everyone needed a break from picking through the rubble of their remarkable first half of the century.
Eurovision manages to so completely occupy so little mental space that I'm always surprised when it springs upon me. Then I remember that one of the great joys for me of being in Europe in May is to vote like any other preteen girl (is that the target audience? I honestly have no idea). I've written about previous editions in recent years (2007 and 2010) — long before Anthony Lane realized it was something respectable people could snark about. So I've watched as much of the preliminary material as I can stand (i.e., not that much), and have everything you really need to know about this year's edition.
Hungary's entry this year is a band named Compact Disco, who do a pretty serviceable Nickelback imitation. This, of course, means not only that they stink, but they are also doomed (because, I mean, look what the hell Ukraine came up with!). I don't think you can afford to be quite this mopey. I enjoyed (is that the right word?) their video because it includes a lot of pretty shots of Budapest, including on shot at my favorite restaurant. It is a "problem" song (though I guess most Eurovision songs not from Scandinavia sort of are). The gist of it seems to be that whether you are a wealthy, hard-charging businessman or an angry homeless drunk, you're pretty fucked.
Perhaps nothing captures the zeitgeist of the time like Rona Nishliu from Albania, a nightmare of moaning and screaming with sad children running around. That in a nutshell is life in Europe these days, if you believe the financial press.
But alas, from what I saw, it doesn't look like a particularly interesting year. There's no truly jaw-dropping work of crap, like Aisha from Lativa's heart-wrenching ballad "What for?" which features the immortal conversation stopper of a lyric, "Only Mr. God knows why." Nor is there a song that you secretly kinda like and hate yourself for it, like Lena from Germany's "Satellite." Nor is there a singing turkey puppet begging for points (Ireland got serious this year and nominated Jedward), nor a Ukrainian drag queen taunting Russia.
My personal preference this year is the entry from Montenegro, Rambo Amadeus. His goofy little rap song hits the silly accent button, and is topical: it seems to be about idea that an earthy peasant from southern Europe and his donkey have the right kind of laid-back attitude to get Europe through this mess. He may be right. Also, I looked this chap up, and found that he says his biggest influences are Zappa and Captain Beefheart. And he was the first Serbian or Montenegrin musician to perform in Croatia after the war ended.
But none of these are going to win. I have a gut feeling about Soluna Samay from Denmark. She's cute, wears very silly costumes, and her song sounds like a "normal" professional recording industry production if you don't think too hard about it (also, her cello player in her preview video is wearing a Red Sox cap!). Of course, I'm useless at predicting things, so I'll probably be wrong. But I'm pretty sure that Germany will vote en masse for Turkey, and Englebert Humperdink won't win anything.
This year's semifinals and finals take place this week in Baku, proving just how flexible the idea of Europe really is. For once, the event is serving a greater purpose, specifically, it is an opportunity for the entire world to see what an unsightly, repressive, oil-soaked absurdistan Azerbaijan has become.
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