My Irish husband Tony and I have recently moved to Birmingham UK and I am writing a weekly blog explaining Europe to my fellow Americans. This is the entry about the Eurovision Song contest.

How to explain the Eurovision Song Contest?
(a)The thrill of being in Europe in May.
(b)The cause of disco because it spawned ABBA.
(c)The salvation of American public broadcasting because it spawned “Riverdance.”
(d)All of the above.

I missed ABBA. But in 1994 I was living in Dublin with my partner, Tony, when Ireland hosted the contest because they had won the year before. And the year before that. And the year before that, I think. They hold the record with seven wins.

All of Ireland and most of Europe was tuned in that Saturday night, but I was on the ferry to France. The next morning Tony told me that the Irish had blown everyone away with the “halftime show” they staged as hosts, an energetic combination of traditional Celtic dancing and sensual choreography pulled off splendidly by two Irish-American dancers, a pretty girl with lots of hair and Michael something. Legend has it that by the end of the evening the producers were contacted about re-staging it as a London West End musical. “Riverdance” was born.

Oh, and by the way, Tony added, Ireland’s entry had won again. The winning song, “We Were the Rock ‘n Roll Kids,” impossible to sing without quite a few pints, went on to sell thousands of copies; the videotape, “Riverdance for Rwanda,” raised millions for African relief.

Each year Europe tunes in again, hoping another live phenomenon will leap from the screen. Two years ago it was a transsexual singer from Israel. Imagine! How did Israel get into Europe? Don’t ask.

This year the 39 entrants didn’t even include all 25 countries officially in the EU. To narrow the field, semi finals were held the night before, which weren’t broadcast on any terrestrial channel we get. And Ireland didn’t make the cut! They long ago came to grips with not making it in to the World Cup, but, because every Irish citizen is convinced he can sing, with or without a few pints, this was a blow to the national culture.

Worse yet—the United Kingdom DID make it in. Javine, consistently described as “Girls Aloud reject” (a group put together by a Pop Idol-type competition), famously popped out of her dress during the UK finals, which we did watch. If you see her performance of “Touch My Fire,” and think that 8 million Brits were on drugs when they voted for her, that’s because you didn’t see her biggest competition, the “model” Jordan. Picture a singing Pamela Anderson, visibly pregnant and barely dressed.

So this year on Eurovision night Tony and I, curled up with microwave popcorn and watched the whole damn thing. I took notes and woke Tony up with background questions.

The voiceover on BBC was provided by Ireland’s favourite son, Terry Wogan. He made it good as a presenter in Britain years ago and is still ranked number one in London breakfast radio drive-time. BBC viewers tune in to hear his wry, disgusted comments each year because he HATES the Eurovision Song Contest. I was fool enough to ask, why does he do it if he hates it? “That’s the point!” explained Tony.

Last year’s winner Ukraine was thrilled to host and show off their new democracy. The show began with their winning entry, Ruslana, a Ukrainian-Amazon dressed in white. When the Ukrainian hosts entered, Wogan referred to it as “the entrance of the unfortunates.” They read their lines phonetically in English, leading the attractive brunette woman to develop a loud screech that Wogan berated all evening. During the first half we assumed that the video montages between each performance were scenes from the upcoming competing country. But when the next entrant was Cyprus and the people in the video were all wearing parkas, we realized the pictures were all from Ukraine.

Tony liked Malta, represented by a big Sophie Tucker-woman singing a lovely ballad. Bat’s chance in hell said I. The smart money was on Maldova with a folk/rock combination called, really, “Grandma Beats the Drum.” Grandma sat in a rocker with her babushka while the young painted rock singer sang, “Let’s make love.” Then Grandma did indeed beat her drum. And appeared to really enjoy it.

I liked Denmark’s sweet blonde guy in red shoes singing “Talking to You” with terrific white teeth, who was introduced as a teacher of autistic children—good for the sympathy vote. The host country’s entry was presented by the group Green Jolly, famous for keeping everyone singing while camped out in Kiev’s town square during their recent revolution. The lyrics were changed to make them less political because Eurovision just doesn’t do that. (Different lyrics wouldn’t have helped.)

To begin the call-in and text-in voting, Ukraine brought on the Glitchko brothers (honestly). Did they inspire Dan Ackroyd and Steve Martin’s Sistrunk brothers, the “wild and crazy guys” on Saturday Night Live? Or vice versa? The results were announced in both English and French. Javine and her British breasts had “Nul points!” until Ireland threw eight to their former masters. In similar vein, Turkey gave 12 points to Greece, who was the ultimate winner with a totally forgettable song performed by a really big-haired woman. Because all the unimportant and relatively eastern countries scored high, and the big time countries were at the bottom, the whole event is viewed in “Old Europe” as political backlash for years of imperialism.

I stayed awake for the whole thing, along with Wogan, although halfway through he declared, “I have to find consolation in drink.”

So Europe all got together for a “knees up.” But the real “Euro-vision” took place a few nights later on the playing fields of Istanbul. Liverpool came back from 3-nil at halftime to equalize with Milan in the United European Football Association (UEFA) Cup Final. After 30 minutes of overtime play, the championship came down to five players from each team taking penalty kicks. Tony refused to watch, joining the purists who believe that matches of this stature shouldn’t be decided this way. He’s probably right; however, it would be an excellent way to decide the Eurovision Song Contest.

P.S. Liverpool won. Tony and all of England went nuts.

Explaining to Americans Archive

Kathleen Donnelly

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