Eurovision Settles It. We Had To Leave The EU
© PAUL ELLIS/AFP Swedish singer Lorin celebrates winning the final of the Eurovision Song Contest 2023 - PAUL ELLIS/AFPLiverpool was the best place to watch Eurovision 2023 because Scouse's commentary was often hilarious and unedited. My bar mates had no time for the artistic ambitions of Serbian Luka Black, who emerged from a giant soap dish in a frilled shirt.
"It looks like Poldark on fire," my partner said. What is he reading?
"According to Wikipedia, it's about how he got addicted to video games during the quarantine."
"Oh, stop," cried one lady, "people are dead!"
“Imagine going to rehab with that excuse,” his girlfriend said. “What's wrong with you? Heroin. What's wrong with you?” I'm addicted to this Nintendo Wii. It's a shame."
Eurovision is a show where the critics are more interesting than the performers, so Sir Terry Wogan was a hero and wanted to be written about the concert. Think of it as a drawing competition. I cornered the cultural editor and, anticipating a fight over the ticket, said: “I've been here for 10 years. I'm not saying it's a matter of retirement, but I want to do this job."
"Tim," he replied, "absolutely nobody in the office wants to go." This is yours."
After being persuaded to participate in the Eurovision Song Contest, I felt compelled to talk about it, telling myself it would be "the biggest cultural event in the world" in the city that almost invented pop music. I checked into my hotel (marine-themed crossover: I didn't live on the second floor, I lived on the second deck) and ran into the rehearsal arena, which was the height of horror.
Knock Knock. "Techno, techno, techno!" After beating the pedestal for an hour, a voice heard in a nearby garden called out to the Council, as if about to have a heart attack. The music was actually bad, almost all of it, yet I was surrounded by reporters who not only cheered but knew the words. I found one sane soul who admitted it wasn't exactly a "miracle."
"Who are these people?"
“Oh, they are super fans. You can't get enough.
Indeed, as I write this on the train back from Lime Street, I'm still surrounded by comrades arguing about the "sheer genius" of Laurie, the Swedish victor who fought in the flag training parade. Instructions. go forward' and turn right. He wasn't alone. Ukraine almost fled to Moldova.
Whilst our performance was nothing short of impressive, I can't imagine anyone could tell the difference between the UK, Sweden or elsewhere as the music was nearly identical and rote - the dope waste of club life . Music has always been a formula. The problem is the formula of my generation. Previous Eurovision songs were so sweet they could have been played by a string quartet at a wedding, and they're using that silliness to deliver their captors.
Experiments have shown that not only do rats and humans nod in time to music, but the optimal tempo for both species is 120-140 beats per minute. By making the music faster and heavier, producers turned the music down so low we could be rodents nodding to the metronome. Color sounds less melodic and more acrobatic; Screaming is confused with singing, and melisma (singing a group of notes in a syllable of text) with talent. Compare Dolly Parton's version of the simple "I'll Always Love You" with Whitney Houston's version, which turns the "you" into a nine-syllable course.
So I can't ignore all modern pop music. But I think that if Eurovision looks terrible, it's not just because they "picked the wrong artists", it's because it's a very bad period in the history of culture, and in 30 years we won't have any sorin. The songs will sing more. For years we will hear the hum of a vacuum cleaner, they are eerily similar. The development of artificial intelligence will exacerbate the situation, completely destroy humanity and the beauty and dystopian ballad of Serbia prophesies.
Great Britain will be represented in Eurovision 2044 by singer Dyson. The talented Norwegian tattoo artist took 26th place.
I also covered the coronation a week ago, and everyone I counted asked the same question: What were the baths like? This is a quintessentially British concern.
The answer of future historians is that additional toilets were installed for visitors and journalists were brought into the abbey from the south corridor, so we use the common toilet in the monasteries. They were crowded but unbearable. The hand soap was sponsored by Joe Malone.
Then we were taken to the north transept, where we had to sit for three hours. Inevitably, one of the press representatives timidly asked if he could go again. Then another, and another... A lady in the building told us that if anyone else needs a bath, can you raise your hand now? Everyone raised their hands. So he told us to get in line and follow him to the monastery.
Next, sitting in the elegant hallways, my editor told me he saw a string of necklaces strolling down the aisle like a school field trip, and I said to myself, "Those must be the reporters."
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