It was the Russian grannies who originally made me reassess the musical merits of Eurovision.
Performing under the catchy name Buranovskiye Babushki (say it fast three times) they were so cute, and so good, I just wanted to wrap them up like a big Matryoshka doll and take them home.
Sadly, they were pipped at the post by Loreen of Sweden, with her Kate Bush inspired dance moves.
I just now pulled the lovely Russian boilers up on my screen and sat here grinning, giggling and tapping my foot. This is the genius of Eurovision – it’s catchy, it’s competitive but it doesn’t take itself too seriously.
Or maybe it’s just us viewers down here in Australia who don’t take them seriously, because above all, with Julia Zemiro hosting, Eurovision is funny. She seems able to walk that tight rope between being encouraging to the artists while sharing an in-joke with the viewers back home. I’ve watched comedy festivals with less laughs and very few with more.
The thing is, for all I was introduced to the magic of Eurovision by some friends of mine as recently as last year, and I am already a big fan. I mean, if Jay Jays had Eurovision t-shirts, I’d be wearing them.
Ah, the music. It’s big and it’s glitzy: generally a cross between pop and poop. But it gets your inner dancing queen up and shaking her groove thing.
But of course, Eurovision isn’t about the music, is it? No, it’s about comedy based on bad dance moves and the complete lack of what we would consider fashion. And I wear Sampson sandals with jeans and flannel, so I know bad fashion.
Yep, the all too frequent fashion horror – that’s why I’ll be glued to the set. And my laptop. A small group of friends and I watch the show while we type our witty critiques in a private Facebook group.
Still, you can’t judge a book by its cover. Maybe we’ll discover the new Whitney or Beiber. (Hmm..more chance of a Beiber, I fear).
But then I remember having a bit of a chuckle when Kurt Nilsen stepped onto the stage in World Idol before he opened his mouth and the guy’s voice blew me away.
I, for one, can’t wait for the Eurovision final.
I just hope the standards set by those marvelous Moscow mamas are maintained and someone thinks to raid another retirement village and hand out microphones.
Oh, those Russians – once the lights go on and the Iron Curtain goes up, they really do know how to party.
Originally published on The Shake 19 May 2013
“Raising a family on little more than laughs”
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