Wednesday 30 January 2008

Interval Feature # 1

Not for the first time over the past five years do I find myself asking the question “Why is the Eurovision so terribly important to me?” It’s a question I unexpectedly found myself asking a week before the 2002 Eurovision in Tallinn, Estonia. It was a moment which left an indelible mark.

I remember exactly where I was sitting and what I was doing at that moment. Sat at my grey desk, overlooking a typically messy IT support department somewhere in the City of London, I poured over the emails in my inbox.

Email after email listed IT problems demanding immediate attention. Bold red messages rung out with tired inevitability as I scrolled down the screen. I remember looking down at my keyboard and then at my hand clamped to the mouse and then letting out a sigh. I can always be relied on for a spot of self-induced melodrama.

Predictably, I ended up getting distracted by the contents of my own personal email account. I checked it. Then I checked it again. Then I checked it a third time. Surely something would arrive which would allow me to coast through the remainder of the day before my journey home.

A few months before I’d been working on writing some articles for a website I had built. The website was nothing particularly exciting – just a place where members of a social group could post their adverts and find out where and when their next get together was – but for some reason I reckoned what the website needed was a series of articles. I got friends to write some pieces and, inevitably, I threw one into the mix about the Eurovision.

That very process prompted me to review that year’s songs. Pictures I’d grabbed from the internet accompanied what I thought were fairly dull assessments of each act’s presentation. “It will do,” I thought, “I like the layout and I like the fact I’ve made it look like a BBC webpage. It will do.” Up it went on my website for all to see.

What I hadn’t anticipated was an email from someone managing a Eurovision fan website based in the Netherlands. I can’t remember his name nor the website address but it seemed from even a cursory glance over his work that his efforts had been considerable, mine somewhat paltry in comparison. Despite that, his email was charming, flattering even, complimenting me on what I’d written and promising to include a link on his website to that very page.

We conversed via email over a couple of days about this and that until the point he announced that he and his partner were going to be off email for the next few days as “We’re leaving for Tallinn this afternoon! So very excited.”

“He’s going to Tallinn?” I thought, “Why on earth would anybody be going to Estonia to see the Eurovision when you can watch it on TV? What’s the point in going to the Eurovision a full week before the actual show?

It’s true. Back then I had absolutely no idea. It seemed utterly bizarre to me. And yet, at almost the same time, the strangest feeling came over me. Without any warning and certainly no immediately explicable reason, I suddenly began to feel incredibly jealous, incredibly lonely and incredibly left-out. Everyone else was going to Tallinn to see the Eurovision. The thought hadn’t even crossed my mind. How could I feel I was missing out when I didn’t know what I was missing out on?

I still can’t come up with a reason, even after five years. It’s one of many aspects of this bizarre event which leaves me wondering one fundamental question. How on earth a television programme can provoke such strong emotions in a 30 year old man? If you think you could hazard a guess, please let me know.

Saturday 26 January 2008

# 16 No estas solo



Roll up, roll up for my most favouritist song in the Eurovision Song Contest ever.


No estas solo, sung by Patricia Kraus', represented Spain in 1987 at a contest which oozed visual style both in it's presenter Viktor Laslo and the set. It makes me tingle watching it. And yes, I do watch it in its entirety from time to time even now.


Kraus' performance is powerful, even if her make-up is a little alarming close up, and this is no way understated by her choice of body morphing outfit which grips her waist like a vice.


I remember pouring over the video back in 1987 and somehow marvellous at the way she strode on to the stage with a green chiffon scarf across her shoulders. "She's not going to be able to sing with that on her," I remember thinking when I watched the contest and, sure enough, off she tosses it almost as soon as she's perched on her stool.


There was one other reason this particular act caught my eye and it's still the case now. I seem to recall thinking the miming guitarists were quite cute at the time. It's one of the few Eurovision opinions I had then I still have now.

But if there's one thing about this particular song which drives me wild every time I hear its that falling chord in the chorus before Kraus sings "radio" and does the twirly-mad action with her finger. That one chord turns me to jelly every single time.

Kraus came a miserable 19th place with a miserable 10 points in 1987. Frankly, I don't care about the score or the placing. Not really, anyway.

# 14 Poupee de cire, poupee de son

If ever there was a song which defies the Eurovision stereotype most people thrust upon the television show. You might listen to this for the first time and think "What the bloody hell is this nonsense?"

This "nonsense" was the song which won for Luxembourg in 1965, sung by a 17 year-old understated glamour-puss France Gall and written by none other than Mr Serge Gainsbourg himself.

I always forget that all important fact - the composer's name. So whenever I'm reminded I nearly always end up thinking it's hardly surprising the song sounds as unusual musically as it does.

The racing rhythm section is daring for a pop song, so too the relatively short verse. Look at the entire song and you'll see it only last two minutes eighteen seconds (a full forty seconds short of the three minute limit imposed on all composers for their songs in the Contest) - if you're looking to make an impression on judges you'd think everyone would want to maximise all of the time available to them.

The sound is evocative, the lyrics ironic. But perhaps the most striking thing to me looking at it now is the way that Gall doesn't have to leap around the stage in order to make a distinct impression. This is intense musical writing delivered by a girl with a sparkle in her eyes. Like Dansevise, Poupee de cire poupee de son gave Eurovision an unexpected musical integrity even if it wasn't immediately obvious then or still perceptable now.

# 13 Dansevise

In Eurovision circles there's a massive question mark over the 1963 Eurovision Song Contest, which this song from Denmark sung by Grethe Ingman won.

John Kennedy O'Connor's Eurovision book raises the thorny issue again about whether the songs were pre-recorded by the BBC in the event they hosted from the then newly built Television Centre in West London.

Look closely and you'll not see any microphones in shot. Look even closer and you may, like me, wonder whether the singers are singing at all seeing as the breaths they take don't seem hearty enough. We don't see the usual shots of the orchestra. There's not shot of the audience during the songs. Historians love this kind of thing.

Is that paranoia? Is this Eurovision fandom looking for conspiracy and intrigue when it's not there?

Well, possibly. Today is the first time I've actually heard Dansevise. I haven't stopped playing it all day. It has an unusual style to it with an ingratiating lilt sung by a woman with a sparkle in her eyes, an enticing smile and momentary pout. It's a song with a melody so strong and catchy that I was able to whistle the tune as soon as I'd heard it. In that respect, this song transcends the Eurovision style as it was in those early years (very "middle of the road" in terms of pop and certainly not reflective of the Beatle's then success) and certainly transcends Eurovision now.

Musically, it's quite unusual too. Here's a jazz-based song with an unusual yet organic melody accompanied by a dizzying array of chords. The unusual orchestration is more reminiscent of the year it was performed in (unusual in Eurovision terms) and, because of its relative complexity stands up well to repeat listens. Who knew Eurovision songs could be so robust?

If there's a huge question over whether the BBC filmed the event then in 1963, listening to the song now makes that question of little import to me even though I'm the first to admit I'm a pendant when it comes to protecting the Eurovision traditions even if they're outmoded.

Quite apart from Denmark's strongest song in the entire history and a shameless love of nostalgia on my part, there is another reason I find this act and the 1963 contest as a whole one of the most appealing events in the Contest's history.

I walk through Television Centre nearly every day on my way to meetings. Sometimes I meet friends for a drink in the bar or take my lunch in the canteen a short walk away from the tower I have my desk in. These places and the studios I walk past are where Eurovision history in 1963 was secured and where I find myself indulging my shameless love of nostalgia. To most people the studios are vast ugly spaces situated in a relatively inaccessible part of London where few people want to visit. To me, they're places with a palpable sense of history, a sometimes overwhelming feeling.

I've deliberately included the reprise of the song at the end of the contest below. Before I'd seen the video of the contest I'd spent a week pouring over the files at the BBC's Written Archive Centre in Caversham reading what was discussed, what was planned, who was frustrated with whom, who wasn't delivering on their word and what plans the commissionaires had to follow to make sure the artists didn't get lost in Television Centre.

The names which croppped up in the letters and the memos and the minutes of meetings with frightening regularity were the names of the production staff in the credits at the end of show.

Those names almost certainly won't mean anything to anyone now. Despite that, I'm struck by one key thing which struck me back at the Written Archives Centre. In 1963 the Eurovision Song Contest was directed by a woman, Yvonne Littlewood. That was very, very unusual.

I could wax lyrical about 1963 but there's no space to here. Still, at least there are fifteen other things from that year...

Friday 25 January 2008

# 12 Give a little love back to the world

No offence to the composer (who was also the lyricist) Paul Curtis who wrote the UK's effort for the 1990 Eurovision Song Contest, but this song does meet the "dross criteria" spectacularly well.

It did do well and it struck a chord with many at the time. It hooked in to the concern being focussed on environmental issues - some things haven't changed really. It ended up coming sixth. And whilst there are some moments in this song which do rather make me tingle (like the soaring descant the lady on the left in blue is responsible for in the second and third choruses), the song as a whole makes me wriggle with embarrassment.

I can't quite work out whether it's the cheesy presentation on stage (the lead singer is dressed to make her look a lot older than she really is), the saccharin message of the song or indeed the crude attempt to reflect the message amongst the line-up of singers. Whatever it is, this particular doesn't stand the test of time.

Thursday 24 January 2008

# 11 Musik klingt in die Welt hinaus

Keen to meet the demands of the handful of people who read and comment on this Thoroughly Good Eurovision blog, I hereby offer up what I consider to be a terribly fine example of a Eurovision effort. And of course, by effort I really do mean "effort". I might even go as far as to say that this presentation from Switzerland at the 1990 Eurovision truly is utter dross.

I don't even know or care where they came in the ranking. I'd rather listen to the music bed Terry Wogan chunters over as he introduces the song.

Don't even get me started on that suit Egon's wearing.

# 10 No dream impossible

Lindsay Dracass sang for the UK in 2001. I remember watching it on the night and thinking it was OK. It struck a chord even though I didn't realise it. Her live performance was pretty good given the demands of the song and her relatively young age. She carried off the performance well. She did us proud. The crowd went wild at the end when she hit the top note. Just take a look at the video embedded at the bottom of this post.

But it's not the Eurovision performance which hits me like a freight train. It is in fact the video release available on the CD single. That's the embedded video at the top of the post. It's for a ridiculously personal reason I love it.

Five years ago (very nearly to the day) I went to the BBC's Written Archive Centre in Caversham. Back then I was working in an IT department depressed as hell about the work I was doing, yearning to do something challenging and something creative. It all seemed too impossible for me to imagine.

Then I hit upon the idea of researching the Eurovision. I was going to write a book. I'd need to find out about it. I had to go to the Written Archive Centre in Caversham and have a look around, see what I could find.

That was just the beginning. At every stage in the research process I was amazed about the chance things which happened. What started off seeming like the most ridiculous idea quickly gathered pace. Maybe this wasn't such an impossible dream after all.

Every time I hear Lindsay's song I do remember the moment I was on the train, the day I went to the Written Archive Centre the first time. Every line seemed to mean something.

Now, minutes before I go to a meeting about the Eurovision again, amazed that I find myself there, I listen to this song and feel the same way I did back then. Totally excited and utterly humbled by the experience.

Tuesday 22 January 2008

# 9 Don't ever cry

I remember this song well from the 1993 Eurovision. The Croatian band Put gave the audience a stylish performance with their song Don't Ever Cry.

It was terribly simple, terribly sad and terribly hopeful all at the same time. Given events in Croatia at the time, the song's title seemed the complete opposite to how I felt at the end of it.

I was certain it would win when I heard it for the first time a few weeks before. Consequently it's 15th place in the final tally was surprising and disappointing.

# 8 Bandido

No need to spend a huge amount of time introducing this. Terry Wogan does the job adequately in this clip from the 1990 Eurovision from Zagreb in the former Yugoslavia.

Wogan wasn't in any way expecting what he and the rest of us had to see. This was one of those genuine Eurovision moments.

Yes, it's true. We might have been hearing the music but the dancers and the "backing group" couldn't hear a thing. Hence the confusion as they stood centre stage wondering what the hell was going on.

And of course, in case you're wondering, Bandido were singing for Spain at the beginning of the contest. This was one hell of a live TV mess.

It wasn't all bad. The two Spanish ladies (and don't be any doubt, they OWN the stage) came back fighting delivering a damn good performance and a well deserved 5th place.


The song has lived on in numerous remixes since then and secured Spain a well deserved place in Eurovision history.

Why Spain from 1990 today? Well, it would have been Spain from 1988 or 1992. But the final decision was made by EuroDave2000 who seems to be quite knowledgeable about these things. Many thanks to him.

If, like me you're not too taken with the quality of the clip above, you can always visit this version which, disappointingly, doesn't allow me to embed in this blog, the rotters.

Monday 21 January 2008

# 7 Toi, la musique et moi



Personally speaking, 1976 was quite a good year in Eurovision terms. No, I don't mean because the UK romped to victory with Brotherhood of Man's Save all your kisses for me. More, there were a number of smashing songs.

My favourite is, without doubt, Marie Christy singing Toi, la musique et moi. This song has gone through a rigorous test procedure this afternoon and come out good in all reports.

Quite apart from the conductor's smashing smoking jacket visible at the beginning of this clip, I'm especially excited to see the gracefully elegant Ms Christie shimmy effortlessly along to this shameless disco number. The high spot is, without doubt, the sight of Christie throwing back her head in advance of belting out the final note. Here's one performer clearly enjoying her job. As for hair? Stunning, absolutely stunning.

The backing singers have that 70s groove going whilst maintaining a stylish elegance too. Assuming the colours I'm seeing here aren't the result of faded TV, I especially like the two purple colours. Very nice.

Listen out for the bass player in the orchestra too. His is by far the most satisfying musical line I've heard during this Eurovision-research-thing I'm doing. And yes, that's quite a geeky thing to point out, musically speaking.

Sunday 20 January 2008

# 6 Where are you?

The UK didn't always used to be bad at Eurovision. We did churn out some quite good stuff every now and again as this smashing performance from Imaani in 1998 clearly shows.

Yes, I'm biassed.

# 5 My number one



Yet another confession to be made with this particular Eurovision song, one which won for Greece in 2005. It wasn't until a few days ago I discovered that Helen Paparizou actually sang for Greece in 2001. That lack of simple knowledge is really quite shameful. (Listen out for the hoards of "serious" Eurovision fans chase after me with rusty spears as a result.)

This is not the only confession here. The truth is that after having completed what is a very rigorous testing procedure where this particular song is concerned, I have to say that this isn't a song I'd necessarily want to hear again.

The song does tick some good Eurovision boxes however. The verse has an ethnic feel to it - there was a time when the aim of the contest was for countries to submit songs to the final which represented their cultural identity. The choreography on stage is considerably tighter than in the 2001 show and Helena shows the performance experience she's obviously gained over the years. How anyone is able to deliver a song powerfully and confidently like she does at the same time as leaping around the stage is quite impressive.

In those respects it's not surprising that Greece won with the song they did. Here was a plausible television act with a tub-thumping beat representing a country which was long overdue for a win. Who could deny Greece a win? No, not even me. I just don't think I particularly want to hear the song again.

Saturday 19 January 2008

# 4 Beg, steal or borrow

Heard this for the first time this evening.

Is that bad? I mean, this being the UK's song for the 1972 Eurovision and me being born in 1972 and everything? I mean, really? Is that bad? Am I a really shit Eurovision fan?

I really enjoyed it listening to it for the first time this evening. It seemed terribly me.

# 3 Die for You

Die for You featured in the 2001 Eurovision. I didn't actually realise that until only yesterday. Up until that point I'd known Die for You was a Eurovision song (and a surprising one at that) but hadn't known when it featured or who had sung it.

Somewhere after the UK last hosted the Eurovision (back in 1998) and 2002 I lost interest in the Eurovision for some reason. I still recorded it on video, convinced that having a library of videoed contests would prove useful in years to come, but didn't watch a single contest live until 2003.

Consequently Die for You was one of many songs I only heard on audio downloading it from the original Napster service. I did a search for Eurovision. "Antique - Die for You" was one track returned in the search.

It's an unusually satisfying track to listen to. It's flicks all the switches in the space of 3 minutes.

There are still some astonishing clichés in it. The chord progressions in the chorus crop up in lots of different songs and classical music. It’s short hand. Just listen to the instrumental break at the end of the first chorus.

The beat is fast enough to walk quickly to (very useful for listening to when running late for a meeting) which although not a cliché in itself, does afford the composer enough time to run through a couple of verses and choruses before racking up the tension and resolving with a good shameless key change before the end.

I can’t quite put my finger on exactly why I like it, but there’s a hint of the kind of excitement I get whenever I visit a forward thinking European country where the air is fresh and the skies are blue. I don’t quite know how I get that from the song, but I do.

What's surprising for me (having only just watched this video for the first time today) is what the singer went on to do for Greece only a few years later. The comparisons between the two performances are really quite surprising, at least they surprise me at any rate. Maybe I'll make that video the subject for the next post.

Die for You, sung by Antique, came third for Greece in 2001 with 147 points. And no, I don’t know that off the top of my head, I copied it from a book.

Thursday 17 January 2008

# 2 L'Amour de ma vie

Imagine yourself in her shoes. You’re Canadian, standing on a stage in Norway, singing a song in French, representing Luxembourg. A floor manager gives you and your backing singers a shove on to the stage. You’ve got to stride into position, stand upstage on your own, looking confident. For god’s sake smile.

In front of you, somewhere in the dark void, are thousands of people, smartly dressed, waiting for the show to begin. Between them and you is a massive gap occupied by television cameras and one or two people standing around with headphones on.

Who do you sing to? The audience or the cameras? Where are the audience? Where are the sodding cameras?

Oh, and don’t forget, you’ll need to hit the right notes, sing in tune, present a convincing performance bearing in mind the sedate tempo of the song you’re singing and the rather drab set you’re standing on.

Oh .. and your dress looks fine and for god’s sake don’t forget to smile.

Oh and in case you didn’t already know, you’re the first performance of the night, you’ve only got three minutes, this is a live performance and yes, I know we’ve got a recording of the dress rehearsal we did yesterday in case of dire emergencies but you’re never going to know whether we use that or not so you might as well treat this as the performance of your life. No pressure.

Sherisse Laurence opened the 1986 Eurovision Song Contest from Bergen with this song. After twenty years it’s still the reassuringly simple and ultimately beautiful song it was when I heard it back then. She carries off a confident performance on a stage which could have easily made the relatively static presentation appear bland and uninspiring.

It’s tough to sing too. It might sound simple but the melodic range is considerable – listen out for the octave leap right at the end – something which is bound to fill even the most confident of live performers with a certain amount of fear.

And how did it do? Well, if it the juries hadn’t been distracted by the thirteen year old girl from Belgium masquerading as a fifteen year old presenting her bubblegum pop to the rest of Europe, the gorgeous Sherisse may well have had a stab at the top slot. Instead she came in at a respectable third.

Wednesday 16 January 2008

# 1 Love is blue

Love is Blue may not immediately strike the passer-by as the most typical Eurovision song to feature first in this blog. The song sung at the 1967 Eurovision by a 14 year-old Vicky Leandros doesn’t conform to all the usual Eurovision stereotypes.

There’s no key change for a start. There’s no oompah-oompah sound. No eye-catching costumes.

That was all to come in later years. Some even consider it was signalled by the song which won the contest the same year Love is Blue was performed – the UK’s Puppet on a String.

In stark contrast, Love is Blue offers a strong yet hauntingly simple melody with an unusual orchestral accompaniment. There’s an earthiness to the overall sound in no small part down to the medieval sound of chord progressions and the switch to a major chord right at the end of the song. The seemingly endless repetitions of the simple melodic phrase which opens the song sucessfully permeates the brain making this song difficult to forget.


Was it a calculated move on the part of the composer Andre Poppe? It would certainly have done much to have cemented the thought of the song in the mind of the international juries at the time. That combined with the surprisingly mature sound of its singer and its undoubtedly simple yet stylish presentation would have made an impact.

It wasn't to be. Luxembourg didn't exactly languish in the final ranking, but it's fourth place at the end of the voting is a little bemusing looking back now. The song contains some ingenious writing.

But it's the subsequent commercial success of Love is Blue which secures the song’s place in Eurovision history. Paul Mauriat’s instrumental version released in 1968 secured five weeks at the top of the US charts in the same year. Featuring Mauriat’s trademark easy listening orchestral sound, it was this version which championed Andre Poppe’s melody even if the finished product sounds a little sanitised in comparison.

Should Love is Blue have won instead in 1967? I’ve been agonising over whether or not it should have done but have settled on an answer which mixes hindsight with a sense of superiority. The fact the song has become famous in it’s own right since Vicky Leandross’ performance gives it a kudos far weightier than a Eurovision win could have given it. And where Eurovision is concerned, kudos is everything.

The video below features the 1968 re-recording in a live performance conducted by Paul Mauriat himself.


Tuesday 15 January 2008

Setting a ridiculous challenge
















It's early. Well, earlier than I would normally get up, get dressed and start writing. The wind is blowing hard, rain hitting the window pane. The prospect of setting out in that weather is a grim thought.

Fortunately, I have a distraction. Late last night I started doing a spot of research. Referring to a well thumbed copy of John Kennedy O'Connor 50 Years Eurovision Song Contest The Official History (yes, the title really is that long) I started counting up the number of Eurovision songs there had ever been.

In truth I was in fact only able to count all the songs from the Contest's inception in 1956 up until 2004. The remaining contests (2005 up until the present day) aren't documented in this reasonably sized tome.

If I counted correctly - and forgive me, it was late, there is a chance I might have double counted some songs or missed some off with the blunt end of my pencil - there have been an astonishing 913 songs showcased in the Eurovision Song Contest over the years.

I turned to my partner in bed beside me and communicated my surprise. Nothing but snores emanated from his side of the bed.

I've always been strangely intrigued by the contest. As a small boy I'd position myself in front of the TV screen, scoresheet on my right hand side, comments sheet on my left hand side, a collection of sharpened pencils in the middle and and a pencil sharpener should it become necessary during the live TV show.

Eurovision was an event for me and, twenty odd years later as I started researching a book about the annual music fest which I still haven't got around to writing, I realised it was for thousands of others too.

If there was one message which rung out loud and clear during those two or three years of research it was that contrary to what my own friends reckoned about my knowledge of the Eurovision, there were many, many others who had considerably more knowledge about it than I did.

"Call yourself a fan of the Eurovision and you can't recall who sang for Portugal in 1972?" an acquaintance drip-fed on Eurovision minutae often berates me. "No," I reply, "it was the year I was born. I don't remember very much." Such defences have no weight in the Eurovision world.

It was with this in mind that I started counting up just how many of the songs listed at the end of John Kennedy O'Connor's book I actually knew from the index list. Considering my love of the Contest it was a shamefully embarrassing number.

So it is I set myself the challenge to increase the paltry total of 208 songs I know by setting about listening to every single Eurovision song ever performed in a contest and blogging about it here.

It seems like a simple task - a good deal more simple than when I began researching the phantom Eurovision book I was going to write. Five years ago youTube hadn't been started, the original Napster been declared bankrupt and there was hardly anything in written form about the Contest. Five years later there's an enormous resource available on the internet. Fans upload favourite clips from contests gone by, writers who are able to finish books they started researching provide useful historical resources and blogging systems offers people like me with an opinion a relatively straightforward way of getting stuff on the web.

Eurovision is littered with fine examples of concise pop songs. Every song which competes in the show has to conform to a 3 minute rule if only to keep the live television broadcast down to a realistic timeframe. Within that 3 minute constraint pop composers have demonstrated great ingenuity, shameless imitation and way too many key changes just to secure a vote from a jury or a telephone vote from a tv-viewer.

All of these efforts are nearly lost on those who pour scorn on the Eurovision year in year out. The Eurovision song is bubblegum pop, formed out of necessity to fill the time of a live TV show which reputedly brings Europe together for one night of the year. The idea of exploring all of those efforts day in day out strikes me as crazy, exciting and, possibly, just a little bit weird too. It's going to be Christmas Day every day. No wonder there's a smile on my face as I write this.

Don't expect great long posts (they'll never be as long as this, I promise) or great historical facts. Instead look on this as your daily Eurovision diet, a diet guaranteed to get you up and about, charged with enthusiasm and possibly a little bit happier than you were before you clicked on the play button.

The songs appear in no particular order. If there's video available, it will be available in the post. If I haven't been able to find an audio version the song will be listed in the archive. Each posting will have a tag with the year it was performed, the artist it was performed by and the country it represented.

I can hardly wait.