Here we go again. Every year, with the inevitability of death, taxes and political regicide, the BBC’s Eurovision coverage reminds viewers that most pop music produced in European countries is of a terrible standard, and that our country’s banal offering is never going to inspire any patriotic fervour. This year, British hopes are pinned on an electropop act called Look Mum No Computer, with a truly terrible sub-Depeche Mode song called ‘Eins Zwei Drei’ that contains the lyrics ‘Counting in English doesn’t cut the mustard / So sick of munching roly-poly with custard.’ Don’t call me Cassandra, but I suspect that Look Mum No Computer (real name: Sam Battle) will be receiving rather fewer than drei punkte from many of the international judges.
However, Eurovision is what it is. Since it began in 1956, it has produced the odd brilliant song (most notably ‘Waterloo’ and Sandie Shaw’s ‘Puppet On A String’), along with a huge amount of dross, much of which is forgotten immediately after it is performed. And every year, there are the usual political and nationalistic shenanigans, more pronounced than ever this time round, as several countries including Ireland, Spain and the Netherlands are refusing to participate in the contest in protest at Israel’s inclusion in the event. Similar uproar arose last year and ultimately resulted in the Israeli singer Yuval Raphael – a survivor of the October 7 attacks – having protesters attempt to storm the stage as she performed her song ‘Brand New Day’.
In the event, Raphael came second and won the public vote. Some have suggested that the reason why she didn’t win was because of anti-Israeli bloc voting by juries; others surmised that the reason why she came top in the public poll was because of Israeli government social media pressure for their citizens and sympathisers to vote for her. In either case, it was clear proof that, for all Graham Norton’s arch eye-rolling and sarcastic one-liners when he presents the BBC’s coverage, the event is far from a bit of harmless fun, and that there is a real sense of aggression lurking beneath the kitsch and autotuned pop songs.
This aggression is increasingly channelled by many of the most fervent viewers of Eurovision, who spend every year preparing for their very own slice of organised fun. If you can be bothered to check social media, you will see a certain kind of person assembling with like-minded friends in large groups to watch Eurovision, dressed up in costumes and armed with brightly coloured drinks and snacks, and determined to laugh along as to how CRAZY! and ZANY! and MAD! it all is. That many of these people are the kind of characters who will use hashtags like #PrayForGaza and think that Zack Polanski is the answer to all our prayers will give you a fairly good idea of their politics. It is a fair bet that some of the most fervent will themselves be ostentatiously boycotting this year’s event – or, perhaps, taking a leaf from the Irish national broadcaster RTÉ’s book and instead watching the famous Father Ted Eurovision episode, ‘A Song For Europe’.
There is a real sense of aggression lurking beneath the kitsch and autotuned pop songs
That episode, incidentally, featured two Neil Hannon-penned songs, ‘The Miracle Is Mine’ and, of course, ‘My Lovely Horse’, which are infinitely better than virtually anything that you will hear this year. They are supposed to be funny, and they are, but they’re also superbly crafted songs: unsurprising, really, given that Hannon is one of the greatest living songwriters, who also, casually, produced another Eurovision send-up, ‘Trafalgar’, that skilfully parodied all of the silliness and excess of the novelty pop on display. (‘Oh-oh-oh Trafalgar, I’m looking through the wrong eye at ya’, etc.)
In a sense, Eurovision is far beyond parody. So ridiculous and so absurd are many of the acts who come forth to do their patriotic duty, only to hear the predictable clang of ‘nul points’, that they bring shame on their families and their names. But it is the spectacle of the braying Eurovision fanatics, who live for this Saturday night absurdity, that transforms the whole affair from being simply an inconsequential piece of silliness into something more unsettling.
At best, you want to say to these people that they should find a more worthwhile means of channelling their desire to have a good time. But as their increasingly anti-Semitic and anti-Israeli chants drown out the plasticised choruses, it is not hard to feel that Eurovision’s most committed supporters are no longer the kind of people who you would want to sing from the same songbook as, even if the lyrics are as banal as our entry’s: ‘I’ve always been a fan of aviation / I’m jumpin’ on a plane to another nation.’ Not to Israel, probably.
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