INTRODUCTION
Sometime between 1688 and 1698, French composer Marc-Antoine Charpentier composed his Te Deum in D major. About 250 years later the European Broadcasting Union (EBU) chose the instrumental prelude to the Te Deum, the Marche en rondeau, as the theme music to precede its broadcasts. It has since become inexorably associated with the EBU’s most popular broadcast, the annual Concours Eurovision de la Chanson, the Eurovision Song Contest. The first contest took place in Berne, Switzerland, in 1956, and in 1983 SBS broadcast the contest in Australia for the first time. I knew about the contest back then. It was hard not to after ABBA burst onto the scene in the 1974, and, of course, The Goodies’ Eurovision Raving Loony Contest, hosted by Miss Katie Pimple (no relation to Miss Katie Boyle who hosted the Eurovision Song Contest four times). I tuned into the 1983 broadcast and was immediately hooked, and have watched every contest ever since.
A VENERABLE INSTITUTION
The contest during the late ‘80s and early ‘90s had an institutional. The songs and constumes were changing, but many things remained reassuringly the same, year after year. The Marche en rondeau and the EBU logo announced that another Eurovision Song Contest was underway. The host or hostess spoke in French, English or their own national language. There was a live orchestra, and the conductor was introduced, often the same one year after year. Postcards were an integral part of the proceedings, filling in the time between performances. Sometimes they were about the guests’ country, sometimes about the host country, or sometimes about the guests in the host country. An intermission act, while the national juries deliberated, was normally something cultural and worthy, if a little dull. Then started the voting, but only after the venerable Executive Supervisor and Scrutineer, Monsieur Frank Naef, gave the official go-ahead.
The voting is perhaps the most entertaining part of the contest. The set script lulled the viewer into a false sense of repetitive dullness. “Hello Oslo, this is Valletta calling, here are the results of the Maltese jury. Sweden, one point.” A pause followed while the host or hostess repeated “Sweden one point, le Suede, une point.” One point, two points, three points, four points, five points, six points, seven points, eight points, ten points, and finally, twelve points, douze points. It seemed to go on forever. If there was a clear leader early in the vote, it could indeed get very dull. But if the vote was close, the suspense was excruciating. I loved a close vote. Rome 1991, hosted by the Neanderthal Toto Cutugno (who sang Italy’s truly appalling, yet inexplicably winning song in 1990) and the beautifully chic Gigliola Cinquetti (who sang Italy’s first winning song in 1964), was so exciting I nearly wet my pants! It went right down to the very last douze points and resulted in a tie between Sweden and France! The audience erupted, and Signorina Cinquetti called out to “Monsieur Naef, Monsieur Naef” for the official scrutinised result. Both countries received four douze points, but Sweden received five ten points to France’s two ten points. Sweden was thus declared the winner by Monsieur Naef (interestingly, under current tie breaking rules, France would have won).
It was also interesting to see who voted for whom. As sure as the sun rises, Greece and Cyprus would exchange douze points, Scandinavia awarded their neighbours liberally, as did Ireland and the United Kingdom. Sometimes a clearly winning song might receive nothing from a country that gave a truly awful song douze points. Sometimes an abysmal song might succeed because its sentiment appealed to the national juries. A prime example of that was the above mentioned win by Italy in 1990. The chorus, in English, of “Unite tonight, Europe” made a winner out of the sleazy Toto Cutugno and his awful composition Insieme 1992. On the other hand, sometimes an abysmal song failed simply because it was an abysmal song (I wonder if Yugoslavia’s Baby Doll ever made it to Brazil?) In those days, songs had to be performed in the national language of the competing nation. There was a theory that national juries were more likely to award points to a song they could understand. So, it was suggested, the United Kingdom, Ireland and Malta had an unfair advantage. There might be something to this; Malta has not performed a song in Maltese since 1972 (apart from a few spoken lines by Claudette Pace in 2000: don’t you just love a bit of cheeky talking?) Ireland has performed in Irish only once, also in 1972. In 1992 Ireland, the United Kingdom and Malta came first, second and third.
CHANGES FROM THE EAST
In the early 1990s the Eurovision Song Contest began to change. After the fall of the Berlin Wall, nations from the East joined the European Broadcasting Union and began to appear at the Eurovision Song Contest. Rules were introduced to keep the number of competing countries to a manageable 23. The concert venues started to change from concert halls to stadiums. The audience became more vocal; and national flags more prominent (including, for a couple of years, a Portuguese royalist who defiantly waved the blue and white flag of the old Kingdom of Portugal). However, the most fundamental changes occurred in 1999, marking the end of the traditional Eurovision Song Contest. Jerusalem was the host, and, for the first time, there was no orchestra. Live music was no longer mandatory, so the Israel Broadcasting Authority took advantage of the new rule to save money, and room on stage, by jettisoning the orchestra. It has never returned. The national language rule was dropped and more than half the performances were in English.
Popular televoting had been used for a few years in some countries, and by 1999 it was the preferred method (national juries were kept on standby in case telecommunication services failed). As a result, gimmick acts started to do better, culminating in 2006 with a triumph in bad taste when Hard Rock Hallelujah by Lordi won the contest for Finland. In 2008 Dustin the Turkey from Ireland was booed, quite rightly, by some sections of the audience. Dustin was a low point for Ireland and the Eurovision Song Contest. The ascendency of image over substance became so bad that in 2008 national juries made a comeback. The national results are now a 50/50 combination of the popular vote and jury results. But it was probably too late. The gimmick acts seem to be here to stay.
SO MANY COUNTRIES, SO MANY POINTS, SO LITTLE TIME
By 2004 there were too many participants to be fairly culled by the relegation methods used since 1993. A semi-final was introduced, to be joined in 2008 by another semi-final. This reduced the number of participants in the final to a manageable number, and is the format currently in use. When it comes to the voting, however, every country, whether in the final or not, gets to have its say. There is no longer enough time for all the points to be read out in French or English, let alone both. The national presenters are also a problem. Gone, for the most part, is the dignified script of “Hello Dublin, this is Nicosia calling. Here are the results of the Cypriot vote…” National presenters now try to make the most of their moment in the lime light, screaming out “Hello Europe” and thanking the hosts for a great show! To speed things up, since 2006 the first seven points are automatically added to the scoreboard in one hit. The presenter reads out only the eight, ten and twelve points. It all happens so quickly that it is well-nigh impossible to keep track of the voting.
In recent years, however, not keeping up with the allocation of une or douze points has not really been an issue. With so many countries voting, the front runner comes out way too early and stays there. The early mathematical certainty of a win, and points whizzing by too fast to notice, kills off any lingering enjoyment in the voting idiosyncrasies of Europe’s bloc voting habits. Also, with so many countries, even the most appalling song has a good chance of getting at least one point. There has not been a dreaded nul points in a final since 2003. No wonder Julia Zemiro opens up a packet of chips, or downs a couple too many glasses of bubbly: there’s nothing else to do. How I long for the years of a good close vote, like Rome 1991.
Another great year was 1993, Mill Street, Ireland. Early in the voting the call from Valetta could not be connected and Malta had to be skipped. Another attempt would be made once all other countries had voted. At the end of the final jury the UK’s Sonia was on 164 points and Ireland’s Niamh Cavanagh was 11 points ahead on 175. Both songs had received votes from every single jury. But if Malta gave no points to Ireland, and 12 points to the UK, Sonia could still win. It was all down to the Maltese jury. “Hello Mill Street, Valetta calling” came through loud and clear. At each point the audience held its breath, but each time the points went neither to the UK nor to Ireland. But no! A stunned audience could not believe Malta’s choice of Luxembourg for ten points. Luxembourg was coming last with only one point from Slovenia. Sonia was still in with a chance. It was all down to the very last points from the very last jury. The anticipation was excruciating. After a good pause for dramatic affect, the voice from Valetta declared “Ireland, twelve points!” The audience drowned out Fionnuala Sweeney’s response of “Irlande, douze points, Ireland twelve point”, as it erupted into cheers. Ireland had won for the second year running.
Another close year was 1999, but unfortunately I already knew who had won. I always go into a complete media blackout on the Sunday of the contest’s broadcast. In 1998, however, I was living in Canberra, the Nation’s Capital, and there was a problem over access to a TV. A few hours before the broadcast I unbolted the TV from a community room, and with some help, carried it up to my room. As I tuned in the TV, with its old-fashioned rabbit ear antenna, I caught a quick glimpse, on an evening news bulletin, of a woman singing. Later that evening I immediately recognised Dana International’s frock and hair. Oddly enough, a similar thing happened last year with a fleeting glimpse of a bearded lady as I switched off the evening news.
THE COMMENTARY
For many viewers of the Eurovision Song Contest late last century, the commentary by the BBC’s Terry Wogan was an integral part of the overall Eurovision experience. Mr Wogan could be very funny indeed, and his quick wit livened up many a dull postcard. (One of my favourite Terry Wogan comments occurred during the 1990 contest in Zagreb. In the front row sat some of Yugoslavia’s most serious looking officials, including the Minister of Culture, “what’s he doing here?” quipped Mr Wogan.) But as the flood of new participants from the east increased, Mr Wogan’s tone took on a tinge of bitterness, and in 2008 he left the commentary box. For many years SBS plugged into the BBC broadcast, but in the 1990s, during the glory days of Ireland’s winning streak, SBS switched to RTÉ. The commentary by Pat Kenny was amusing, though somewhat understated and mellow compared to Terry Wogan. Because of the Irish accent, many viewers probably thought it still was Terry Wogan, and might have wondered why he was a bit subdued that year. In 1995, if memory serves me right, the broadcast started with the BBC, but inexplicably switched to RTÉ after the first act (or maybe it was the other way around), and there was even one year without commentary.
In 2001 SBS decided not to use the BBC or RTÉ commentary and instead introduced a local commentary team headed by Effie, hostess of her very own Eurovision Party. It was a disaster. Instead of the actual hosts we had Effie and her friends discussing proceedings. The postcards were cut, as was much of the voting. The tone was overwhelmingly one of mockery, and that did not sit well with loyal viewers. I was furious beyond words that night. How dare SBS presume to hack to pieces Eurovision? First thing Monday morning I was on the blower to SBS to voice my disgust and the previous night’s abomination. This I followed up with a strongly worded letter of complaint. A couple of weeks later SBS showed the full BBC broadcast. But SBS was still determined, by hook or by crook, to introduce local content to Eurovision. After licking their wounds for a few years, another attempt was made. In 2004 Des Mangan was packed off to Istanbul to provide a more traditional commentary for SBS. Again there was a backlash against SBS. But not from me. I thought Des Mangan was most acceptable. He had a thorough knowledge of the history of the contest, and, like Pat Kelly, an affectionately amusing style. But apparently viewers still wanted Terry Wogan, so it was back to the BBC for a few more years.
Finally, in 2009, SBS got the formula right. I had hoped for a return of Des Mangan, but it was not to be. Instead Miss Julia Zamero and Mr Sam Pang squeezed themselves into the commentary box in Moscow. Their commentary was relaxed and chatty, witty and informative: a fine balance that seemed to go down well with viewers. They have been with us ever since, now long enough to become a reassuringly familiar part of the contest. Who knows, in a decade or two, they may become as venerable Monsieur Naeff.
A GIANT CHIP ON THE SHOULDER
The United Kingdom has won the contest five times, and come second 15 times. This century, however, it seems to be stuck in a particularly long losing streak. For some reason British commentators blame anti-British sentiment on the continent, and often get themselves worked up at the injustice of their predicament. But the truth is, as always, so much simpler. For many years now, the United Kingdom has entered some extremely average songs, some of which were performed so badly that they were doomed before the voting had even started. The worst had to be excruciatingly off-key performance of Cry Baby by Jemini in Riga 2003. It was a most worthy recipient of the dreaded nul points. In more recent years the United Kingdom tried using established stars who might have helped increase the number of votes. Andrew Lloyd Webber, Blue, Engelbert Humpledink and Bonnie Tyler were all given a chance, but unfortunately the songs were just too dull to have any chance of success. But the United Kingdom continues to blame everybody else for their doldrums.
WHERE TO FROM HERE?
For the last few years I have been disappointed by the overall quality of songs in the contest. Maybe I am just getting old, but I simply do not understand the appeal of elderly, gravel voiced male performers. I particularly dislike rap and would like to see it as reason for immediate disqualification. Incessant drums must surely be passé by now, along with quirky ethnic sounds (this is a music contest, not a lesson in ethnomusicology). I also do not approve of some of the more titillating performances; this is a family show after all. Last year in Copenhagen, Poland relied on the gratuitous use of boobs to get through to the Grand Final. A few years ago, the Former Yugoslav Republic of Macedonia had some back up dancers who looked like they belonged in a seedy strip joint in down town Skopje. There is nothing wrong with a cheeky Carry On style reveal, a la Lil Lindorf's 1985 wardrobe malfunction. But blatant smuttiness has no place in the Eurovision Song Contest.
I think the Eurovision Song Contest has two major problems in it current format. The first one is the voting. It is too rushed, it is almost impossible to keep track of the tally board, and an early run away makes the voting very dull. One option is to restrict voting to the countries in the final, and return to the traditional method of point-by-point presentation. I suspect this option would be very unpopular and extremely unlikely to occur. Therefore, loath as I am to see any changes to the traditional elements of the Eurovision Song Contest, it might be time to sacrifice the douze points, and award, for example, one, three and five points (as was the practice in the 1960s). It would make it easier to follow the tally board, and the results might be closer. You never know, the dreaded null points might even make a comeback.
The second problem is much easier to fix. It is the music, or lack thereof. The orchestra should be brought back, and, if a backing track is required, it should not contain any vocals. I would also be pleased if the national language rule was reinstated, but it is not vital.
AUSTRALIA AT EUROVISION
After the announcement that Australia would this year compete in the final of the Eurovision Song Contest, various friends asked me if I was pleased. They were generally surprised, if not a little frightened, at my snappy response. I am vehemently opposed to Australia’s participation. Quite simply, it is against the rules, and that is that. I have no objection to the choice of Mr Guy Sebastian to represent Australia, and the song should score well. But I still do not approve, and I cannot wish Australia bon chance.
I thought for a moment that I might not watch this year, but I know I will. I will not be able to stop myself. The lingering hope still remains that maybe things will get better. Maybe, just maybe, this year there will be some good songs. Maybe this year the voting will be tantalisingly close. Maybe this year the winner will be a deserving song, sung by a singer who can actually sing.
