Most people have their revered
traditions and customs, not all of which sit easily in the modern world. The
Africans rated FGM, the Indians the practice of suttee and the Japanese
revelled in hari kiri.. Brits once practised the Ducking of Witches, no
longer thought efficacious, but even at the State Opening of Parliament last
week Prince Charles evoked Guy Fawkes and despatched 6 wheezy Yeomen of the
Guard in full fig (usually retired warrant officers from the Forces) to inspect
the cellars for gunpowder. With Putin and ISIS still at large, this may be
thought merely a prudent precaution, and happily they found nothing.
The revered tradition we
faithfully observe is watching the Eurovision Song Contest. My wife and I have
done so annually since the 1970s. Clipboards list the countries, an
ever-growing horde, and the title of their musical offering, if you can
penetrate Icelandic or Breton. A bottle or two of wine are at hand to assist
slumber or anaesthetise the tonsils and off we go to wonder, laugh and be
scandalised by the antics of the unbuttoned Eurovision audience. It is
old-fashioned family fun.
The UK
entrant Sam Ryder
This year the omens were not very
favourable. The ferocious Russian attack on Ukraine darkened the mood, which
was nervous but full of support and admiration for the Ukrainians. The UK’s
recent history at the contest was dismal – low placings for 20 years and in
2021 the dreaded nul pointes. The glory days of yesteryear when Sandi
Shaw or Brotherhood of Man could wow the audience were but distant memories and
even Ireland, who could once boast of Johnny Logan and Dana, failed to survive
the semis. Sadly gone too was the late Sir Terry Wogan, whose light good-humour
brightened many a contest with his jokey commentary. Mind you Graham Norton is
an amusing guide too.
Anyhow, on Tuesday we kicked off
with the first semi – final, with many vacuous songs, mainly dismal ballads
sending my dear wife comatose. Thursday saw the shock (to me) exits of Israel, Cyprus
and Malta and the survival of a bizarre Serb effort centred on hand-washing
(sic!). The Grand Final was on Saturday in Turin before a noisy, but not
riotous, crowd heavy with proud gays, hideous tattoos, spaced-out weirdies, in
other words typically European hipsters.. In the meanwhile the airwaves had
been awash with the entries from the Big Five, UK, France, Germany, Spain and
Italy. We had come to realise that the UK entry Spaceman was rather good
and the singer Sam Ryder, while in need of a haircut to my elderly mind, was an
excellent representative in this peculiar milieu. There was nothing to
fear from the French whose dismal Breton effort would even bore the pants off
Macron. The German entry was worse. There was however one entry, that of Chanel
representing Spain, which was a threat to all the others.
Her number SioMo, her
dancing, her nubile buttocks, and a crotch to die for, would make the nuns of
Zaragossa reach for their smelling salts. My loyalty to Sam Ryder wobbled as
the blood in my veins bubbled, but the mad moment passed. Phew, that was close!
Chanel of Spain adds excitement
At long last, the 25 surviving
songs were performed. The 40 national juries eventually pronounced their
verdict and to our delight and astonishment the UK leapt into the lead, with
generous 12 points from Austria, France (Yes, France!) and many others. Some
deserved success went to Belgium, Greece, Moldova, Sweden and Poland. There was
a final obstacle to surmount – the verdict of the voting public. This was
certain to be more political than musical and sure enough the powerful sympathy
vote for Ukraine gave them an overwhelming victory with the UK in a very
honourable second place.
The Kalush Orchestra
representing Ukraine
I think everyone was happy. The
Ukrainians received a well-deserved boost. The UK was no longer a pariah at
Eurovision – all that is needed is a good song and a good performer. We are all
brothers again and I warm a little towards Europe. Thank you, Eurovision!
SMD
16.5.22
Text copyright © Sidney Donald 2022
No comments:
Post a Comment