Each year, we gather as one. Each year, we join to bask in the warm, mesmeric glow of our screens. Each year, we witness this parade of panache, this spectacular spectacle, this extravagant extravaganza of the goodest, baddest and ugliest that European music has to offer.
And each year, I write some correspondingly good, bad and ugly words about it.
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Kyiv, 2017
This is the year I vastly overestimated the chances of that cool Italian guy and his attendant dancing gorilla, and vastly underestimated the chances of the eventual winner, my darling husband Salvador.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I am in love. That mousey boy from Portugal has ensorcelled me, with his scruffy mug, his tentative gesticulations and his deep, soulful, melted-chocolatey-brown eyes. He has stolen my heart, along with thousands of others from across Europe and the world, just like he stole his dad’s ratty old blazer. His sweet, lilting ballad is reminiscent of understated torch songs of yesteryear: sentimental, but never saccharine. Senhor Sobral is hotly tipped for a podium finish in tomorrow’s grand final, and I can only hope that will mean more reaction shots of him and his sister being utter dorks in the green room. Salvador — more like Salvadorable, am I right?"
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Stockholm, 2016
Australia's very own Dami Im knocked it out of the park, but even the perfect performance could not compete with rampant anti-Russian sentiment. Congrats to Ukraine.
"Witness Iceland's gothic take on Mumford and Sons. Cheer the Azerbaijani backup dancers dressed as Greek demigods playing American football. Be amazed at the several holograms of a tragically clothed Belorussian dancing with similarly holographic wolves. And of course actually vote for various entries that may win."
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Lisbon, 2018
Oh heck yes Jessica Mauboy tore it up! What a star! Other people sang too I guess? Including wacky Israeli motherclucker Netta and smooth stylish Cypriote Eleni Foureira and the second coming of very cute fiddleboy Alexander Rybak!
"As we set sail for the most westerly Eurovision yet, let us take a moment to consider the sunset that must end even the brightest of days. And let us further consider all the colours cast upon the oceans only as the evening draws closer: luminous pinks and strange new indigos, impetuous yellows and impatient greens and serene blues all appearing unbidden and unrequited as yet another day sinks beneath the water. And let us also consider that as you travel further and further left during those few magical moments, they can last longer and longer. You can chase the sun behind the Earth, if you’re quick enough."
Kyiv, 2017This is the year I vastly overestimated the chances of that cool Italian guy and his attendant dancing gorilla, and vastly underestimated the chances of the eventual winner, my darling husband Salvador.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I am in love. That mousey boy from Portugal has ensorcelled me, with his scruffy mug, his tentative gesticulations and his deep, soulful, melted-chocolatey-brown eyes. He has stolen my heart, along with thousands of others from across Europe and the world, just like he stole his dad’s ratty old blazer. His sweet, lilting ballad is reminiscent of understated torch songs of yesteryear: sentimental, but never saccharine. Senhor Sobral is hotly tipped for a podium finish in tomorrow’s grand final, and I can only hope that will mean more reaction shots of him and his sister being utter dorks in the green room. Salvador — more like Salvadorable, am I right?"
Click here to read the full article
Stockholm, 2016Australia's very own Dami Im knocked it out of the park, but even the perfect performance could not compete with rampant anti-Russian sentiment. Congrats to Ukraine.
"Witness Iceland's gothic take on Mumford and Sons. Cheer the Azerbaijani backup dancers dressed as Greek demigods playing American football. Be amazed at the several holograms of a tragically clothed Belorussian dancing with similarly holographic wolves. And of course actually vote for various entries that may win."
Click here to read the full article