After last year’s dream scenario you’d think it would be highly unlikely if none of the songs in this year’s pared down contest actually went on to be victorious. But casting a glance down the competitors list for the 2021 iteration of our favourite song contest it really looks as though nobody actually wants to host the contest in 2022.
So here’s our in depth dissection of why we reckon none of the bleeders are going actually going to win the thing. And of course, as is traditional – and like so many of the songs this time round – it’s not anywhere as good as last year.
Because after that absolutely devastating first twelve seconds it settled into another seen-it-loads histrionic Balkan ballad. Shame they didn’t just stick when they were ahead. Imagine that – a twelve second Eurovision song. That’s like a dream to us!
I’ve not heard it yet, but it’s about time this lot won the thing, so it might just be their year. Sorry, what was that? Oh damn…
Because even though you and I can see it for the sweetly accessible slice of hyperpop that it is, Ma and Pa Moldova at home are just going to see it as a bunch of noisy old pop trash, sadly. Shame though. Just imagine those awkward Green Room shots though, as she sits on a stool on her tod like that poor Georgian lass at Junior this year. You have to feel for the woman.
We were really quite enjoying this when it started. Drawn to the edge of our sofa we were. And then it hit the dreary and tediously repetitive chorus and we started to hope that that crow in the video would have his eyes out. Next!
Oh. We should have been careful what we wished for. And while you have to admire them for just chucking last year’s song in a bucket and shaking it about a bit, do you think they actually did any research on where the real Mata Hari actually came from? Man, if they were playing to a full hall of locals there could have been a lynching!
Because the EBU did the right thing for once in their lives and booted Lukashenko’s sorry lump of propaganda into the sea.
Because even though the limited crowd this year will lower the volume somewhat, there’ll still be enough booing from the lucky few that did make it into the arena for the folks at home to notice what a snooty bunch of arses this lot really are, despite their solid pop track record.
Because too many people will be going “Oh, this is a bit reminiscent of that Eilish girl that had some hits the other year” to actually notice what a cracking artist Victoria is in her own right. And that’s a shame.
Oh, wait a minute! Hold back on the Eilish-alikeness from before, because while this song may not sound like Eilish in atmosphere, that chorus is enough of a lift of herself’s massive international hit ‘Bad Guy’ that if it does OK in this contest the Californian teen’s people will be demanding a writing credit. Well if the White Stripes bagged points off Toy, this is surely a shoe in for a major legal case. How is nobody else seeing this?
Because just as Elena parts her lips to begin to sing, a crack squad of warrior Cypriot monks descend on filaments from the roof to wrap her in barbed wire and whisk her off the stage into some muggy dungeon for even considering to allude to the devil. Look, these are literal times – she should have known better.
Because as is becoming disturbingly apparent amongst the fandom, our Benny is probably the wrong kind of black for Eurovisionia. But they’ll still be quick to blame Eastern Europe for his lack of win rather than their own somewhat racist microaggressions.
Because eighties karaoke night at the over-thirties divorcee club never won nothing. Not even in the eighties.
Somehow, despite being almost too handsome to see, Uku has managed the almost impossible and sent a better song than last year that still manages to have even less chance of qualifying. And that’s some weird kind of science.
Because after the first time they put their middle finger into the air at around the eight second mark, TV stations across the continent darken their screens and play a nice little video of kittens having fun with baby otters instead, rendering the Finnish song near pointless in many territories. The kittens and otters, however, finish a respectable twelfth.
Because some songs are just too classy to win.
Oh Georgia! You seem to have completely forgone the old one-for-us, one-for-Europe scheme and have just started sending stuff that you like. Bless you for it – and indeed, this is constantly in our top ten when we do a Gerbear – but even we are realistic enough to recognise that this ain’t going nowhere.
You don’t feel hate? Bit of luck that, Jendrik mate.
Flying wires in a live show in front of an audience? Have you suffered an injury at work…?
Because it’s almost exactly the same as last year – bar the fact that the big lad has forgotten to bring a chorus this time, the great nit.
Playing the Estonian gambit, here’s another song that’s immeasurably better than her effort from last year but still manages to be even less qualifiable. That’s some kind of weird musical alchemy that we haven’t get gotten out heads around.
Because when she hits THAT note at the end, enough glasswear around the continent will instantly shatter that all potential voters will be too busy sweeping up the shards to even remember the actual song.
Nothing would give us more pleasure than to see this win this contest by any margin, but we fear that it’s just that little bit too sexy dirty to elicit too much in the way of punter love from the folks back home.
All the beautiful noise and chaos of last year, only with none of the song.
Because they spent so much time on their comedy dance routines that they clean forgot to bring a song.
Because despite claiming that she wasn’t bitter about it, Dinah Nah will bit sitting in the wings with water-filled balloons and catapults full of coarse gravel to do everything she can to put Destiny off her stride, resisting the urge to shout “Bitch, that’s my song!” until right at the very end. Jealousy is such a cruel mistress, but in this case she might just have a point.
Because during the earliest moments of the song she aims both of her palms towards the camera in an unscripted move. Across them, written in scratchy felt tip, are written the words “Help me – I am a hostage! Take me off stage and stop the big beardy man from making me do things against my will”. Terrible scenes followed.
Because it’s almost the perfect host song. Big, bold and breathtaking, but just about edgy enough to keep the home voters from nudging it into the top five and bringing this whole contest back for another go in the Netherlands. Job done.
We bloody love this, but surely even Vasil himself is smart enough to know this ain’t going nowhere.
Because the bloke has no voice, not much of a song, and doesn’t look like he believes any part of the production. It’s still coming top five though, isn’t it.
Because if you’re doing an eighties pastiche you’ve actually got halfway believe it yourself, rather than just looking like a cheesy-assed lump of wood in a suit. And if he does that robot dance on the big night he’s even more fucked.
Because as there are almost certain to be hats and waistcoats on show the juries are going to absolutely lap this one up, only for it to get next to piss all from the folks at home who will see it for the dreary pub rock tune it actually is.
Something something Billie Eilish. Part three.
Because Comrade Putin surely isn’t going to let someone this outspoken actually win the thing, is he? He’s got to be revving up somebody far more bankable in the wings for next year. The hybrid war can be this complex, surely.
Because when our lass Senhit proudly announces “Laideez and gennulmen, here’s
Flo-Rida!” and a flickering hologram appears near the back of the stage, and households
from here to Vladivostok will fling their left slipper at the telly and pop off to the kitchen
to add something a little stronger to their cocoa.
Because while it’s far better than last year’s sorry stab, it’s still a right bloody mess.
We thought sending the same song two years off the bat was slightly illegal. If anything, it’s gunning to be even more last than the last one was going to be.
Speaking of “even more last”, we’ve got a strong suspicion that this one won’t even finish in the top forty. So much confidence, so little chance of beating the UK.
They’d have been better off sticking with Je Me Casse, to be honest with you.
Look, we know they’ve skipped a year, but even though it’s been a hundred odd weeks since the last contest, the chances of a doe-eyed sadboi winning this thing twice in a row are really highly unlikely, however excellent the song is.
Friday afternoon in the red woods of Pripyat,
half a mile from Chernobyl Reactor 4.
“Hey Kateryna, I’m sure that there was something we were supposed to be doing
this weekend. Got any idea what that
might have been?”
Kateryna looked up from the mangey fox that she’d been combing nits the size of bees out of with a puzzled expression.
“Now you come to mention it, Taras, I’m sure there was something. Ihor, Ivan… do you have any idea what it might be?”
Ihor stuck his head out of the tank and grudgingly groaned out a reply.
“Well, there was that song thing in Holland. That’s some time around now isn’t it?”
“Hivno!” Kateryna and Taras shouted as one. That’s this weekend! Fuel up the wagon, it’s going to be a long night on the road…”
Blah blah Brexit. Blah blah Covid. Blah blah any excuse yer average exceptionalist civilian Brit can think up to disguise the fact that once again we’ve sent a beige and barely interesting song – however much they’ve upped the tempo this year.
There you have it. When you consider the evidence we’ve displayed above I’m sure you’ll have to admit that absolutely none of them are going to actually win the thing this year. AGAIN!
Ooh, and while I have your attention, keep an eye out for my second novel, Worst. Eurovision. Ever., which will be available via www.earthislandbooks.com sometime in the Summer. It’s pretty much this annual ramble in long form – you’ll love it! (A bit).
Roy D Hacksaw edits the national finals speciality blog Eurovision Apocalypse, chucks out the occasional novel, and provides questions for daytime TV quiz shows as his day job. This will be the first year he hasn’t attended Eurovision in person since 1997. To be fair, he’s quite enjoying the rest.