OK, not that I give a crap [I don’t. really. No – REALLY] but I honestly could not BELIEVE what I was SEEING during the voting in the Eurovision Song Contest earlier tonight. The song I predicted would not get a single vote – nay, would get LESS than a single vote, would go home with a NEGATIVE vote, actually WON fricking Eurovision.
It was Russia. It was Russia with the most nauseatingly drippy song ever conceived. A song that, all the way through, when you thought it couldn’t possibly get any more sappy, it actually did. I first saw that song during the semi-finals last Thursday and EPI and I laughed ourselves silly; at that time I couldn’t believe that it actually made it through to the finals. So tonight, AAH and I were watching [smart EPI gave Eurovision a miss in favour of Wayne Shorter] and the song started, and AAH just kept going OH. MY. GOD. and YT just kept going: NO, WAIT FOR IT. JUST … WAIT FOR IT. And then we proceeded to roll around in absolute stitches. First at the fact that the guy was crouched down on the ground [so overcome with emotion] and singing barefoot. Second, when the violin player started madly going at it in the background, third when the main singer shimmied up to the violin player. The real clincher came, though, when the [male] figure skater appeared and started twirling pirouettes around the pair of them and when he dramatically turned his back and the singer touched him [lightly!] on the shoulder to make him start twirling again. [Seriously – you had to be there.] And finally when, during the climax [natch], the male singer tore open his shirt, exposing his bare, masculine [and immaculately waxed] chest. [Oh, right: *swoon*]. However, by the time the song finished and the three of them reached out their hands, on their knees, and crooned the word BELIEVE in absolute unison, we were no longer laughing. And that’s only because I never laugh at pornography, emotional or otherwise.
Anyway. If there ever was a case to prove that the Eurovision Song Contest has become a bastard of its former self, tonight was it. Because let’s face it: we just don’t get each other. Tonight’s emo porn was as far removed from me as Silvía Nótt’s outrageous antics were from southern and eastern Europe two years ago. It all sounds very good on paper, but Europe is no longer one big happy family fortified by the annual spectacle that is Eurovision. Which is why they should totally split the contest up into West and East Europe. Like, immediately.
That said, I must admit that I enjoyed the breadth in the different songs this time around – from heavy metal to Beyonce-Shakira clones, to performance art, to disco pop. OK, maybe splitting the contest up isn’t such a great idea. Maybe they could just outlaw anything that brings on an attack of nausea.
[Weather – see yesterday’s post from a few hours ago!]