This nation was once a force to be reckoned with. Thanks to victories from
Sandie Shaw, Lulu, Brotherhood of Man, Bucks Fizz, and Katrina and The
Waves, the UK ranks joint second in the all-time Eurovision Song Contest
winners league. Only Ireland has won it more often (seven times). But our
last victory, courtesy of Katrina and co, was way back on May 3, 1997. That
was Tony Blair's first full day as Prime Minister. That's an extremely long
time ago.
Andy Abraham - the former dustman limbering up to represent us at the 2008
final in Belgrade on Saturday - is under no illusions about his chances. “I
believe the song is good enough for a top ten. Anything more than
that...well, if I win, I'll probably collapse on the floor.”
This may not sound like much of a Positive Mental Attitude, but Abraham would
be right to be cautious about his prospects. Although, if anything, he's
talking them up. Because in the 11 contests since 1997, the United Kingdom
has won a spot in the top ten only twice (Imaani, second place in 1998, and
Jessica Garlick, third in 2002). In 2003 came the ignominy of our first ever
“nul points”, courtesy of Jemini's Cry Baby. Our highest
place since then was 16th. These have been lean years for Britain.
It was last year's dismal showing from Scooch (Flying the Flag (for You)
came second last) that proved too much even for Sir Terry Wogan. As Serbia
romped to victory the great man mused: “We need to build a wall.” Sir Terry
was referring to block voting, the phenomenon whereby clusters of countries
vote for each other to boost their chances of success. The trend has been
fuelled by the rush of new nations flocking to Eurovison in the aftermath of
perestroika. It has transformed the Eurovision balance of power. Since 1999
every winner has been a member of a Euro voting block. Former titans,
including Britain and many other Western European nations, have been
relegated to Eurovision midgets.
Dr Derek Gatherer is a data analyst based in Glasgow, whose hobby is computer
analysis of the voting patterns in Eurovision. His snappily named paper
Comparison of Eurovision Song Contest Simulation with Actual Results Reveals
Shifting Patterns of Collusive Voting Alliances, published two years ago in
the Journal of Artificial Societies and Social Stimulation, provided the
first evidence that, when it comes to Eurovision, the UK is now on the
outside, looking in.
“Statistically it is significant,” he says. “Countries are exchanging votes
with each other.” Whether this “craze behaviour”, as Dr Gatherer calls it,
happens because the block members have similar musical tastes and cultural
affinities, or is simply because they want to vote for their neighbours is a
moot point. What matters to our prospects of victory is that they are doing
it.
Dr Gatherer identifies three voting blocks. The “Viking Empire” or Nordic
Block has eight members; Iceland, Denmark, Norway, Sweden, Finland, Latvia,
Lithuania and Estonia. The Eastern Block also has eight members: Russia,
Ukraine, Armenia, Georgia, Poland, Belarus, Moldova and Romania.
The most potent block, 11 nations strong, is the Balkan Block. Its heart is
the former constituents of Yugoslavia; Slovenia, Croatia, Serbia,
Bosnia-Herzegovina and FYR Macedonia. Also part of the block are Turkey,
Albania, Greece, Cyprus, Bulgaria and Hungary. “This one is slightly
bipolar,” says Dr Gatherer. “And once you have more than ten members there
is the danger that some are going to feel aggrieved because each country can
only vote for ten others, so someone's going to be left out.”
If only we had a problem like that. Although Ireland and the UK have a
blockette of their own, one ally isn't enough to break the block voting
handicap. When Scooch came second last, it was Ireland they beat. But it
later emerged that we beat Ireland at all only because Malta, which awarded
Scooch 12 of its 19 points, voted for us as a protest vote against the
iniquities of block voting. It didn't really rate Scooch: it doesn't really
love the UK.
Wounded, a Lib Dem MP called Richard Younger-Ross took things a little too far
and tabled an Early Day Motion branding the contest “a joke, as countries
vote largely on narrow nationalistic grounds or for neighbour countries
rather than the quality of the song, and such narrow voting is harmful to
the relationship between the peoples of Europe”. He called “for the BBC to
insist on changes to the voting system or to withdraw from the contest”.
Eurovision is a trivial competition that reveals a truth that some Britons
find profoundly uncomfortable: Europe, or at least the nations that
participate in the competition through the auspices of the European
Broadcast Union, doesn't care for us all that much. It's not just the United
Kingdom that is feeling the effects of block voting; other European
countries not included in the Eastern family have had their egos offended
too. Scooch won second to last place only because of that protest vote from
isolated Malta, which doesn't even have Ireland on its side. Ireland itself
has had a torrid run recently - and this year, Wogan's motherland won't even
be in the final.
Its entry, a lecherous puppet turkeynamed Dustin, who has performed with Irish
greats including Sir Bob Geldof and Chris de Burgh, failed to make it
through the first semi-final on Tuesday night. Dustin's number, Irelande
Douze Pointe, was effectively a Eurovision protest song, exhorting the
Continent to end the Emerald Isle's years in the cold. It fell on deaf ears
and was, according to reports from Belgrade, even booed by “Eurovision
purists”.
Ireland tried to break the block-vote deadlock with comedy. Austria simply
stormed out in a huff. When it was announced that even the losers of the two
semi-finals would be able to vote in this year's final - thus setting the
scene for all the block-vote regulars to douze points for each other with
their usual abandon this weekend, Austria threw an almighty wobbly. ORF, its
national broadcaster, regally announced that it was orf. “ORF is not
prepared to send further talents to participate in a hopeless cause while
the contest remains an arena for political manoeuvring.”
Germany is getting frustrated too. Nicole, Germany's only Eurovison winner,
reacted to Serbia's win last year by telling Bild: “It is obvious that
Eastern European countries engage in dirty trade with points every year.
Germany should withdraw from the competition.” Were Germany or the UK to do
an Austria, it would be much more of a blow to Eurovision. We are one of the
so-called “Big Four”; along with Germany, Spain and France, the BBC
contributes around 40 per cent of the cost of the contest. In return, we get
automatic qualification for the final. As Svante Stockselius, Eurovision's
executive supervisor, says on the contest's website: “If these four
countries would not participate, the fees for the other, smaller countries
would be so much higher that many might have to stay out because of
financial reasons.”
Sir Terry is on holiday now, getting his fettle up for Saturday. But, in an
interview published this week in the Radio Times, he uttered more dark
comments about the effects of block voting: “Andy Abraham's song is the best
UK entry for a while: if we finish nowhere again, I worry that
disenchantment might take hold.” Sir Terry hints that the new block-voting
nations of Eastern Europe might chase the UK out of Eurovision, but many
believe that without them the contest would have quietly died years ago.
While Sir Terry renders Eurovision palatable to British audiences by drenching
it in a Bailey's Irish Cream-flavoured marinade of irony, the new Eurovision
members wolf it down unseasoned. They love it as is, and take it deadly
seriously. Dana International, the Israeli transsexual who won in 1998 and
who has written this year's Israeli entry, said this week: “They took over
the competition and because of them Eurovision still exists. They treat it
with the respect that Western Europe treated it with years ago.” Dr Gatherer
says: “They still have some of the original spirit of the Eurovision Song
Contest. You can either mock Eurovision or you can take it deeply seriously.
But you probably can't do both simultaneously.”
Should stoic Andy Abraham's self-penned Euro entry, Even If, fail to
make the top ten this year, the block-voting recriminations will begin anew.
As Duncan Watts, Australian-born professor of sociology at Columbia
University, wrote in The New York Times after Scooch-gate: “The large,
industrialised nations magnanimously invite their poorer but more numerous
eastern cousins to join their party, and offer to pay the bill, only to
discover themselves locked out in the garden while their new friends
complain about the quality of the liquor and the arrogance of the hosts.”
But Andy, who is about to release an album, probably won't be too offended
should he fail to win; he knows that on Saturday 100 million Europeans will
see him perform. That's priceless exposure for a former runner-up on The
X-Factor . And at the same time, around 11 million Britons will relish -
albeit via a mechanism of incredulous ridicule - songs from some new
European neighbours that many of us have barely registered. To suddenly stop
seeing the joke, to storm out of Eurovision in a huff would be pathetic. We
should treat it like Wimbledon: a fantastic spectacle that we have only the
slimmest chance of ever winning again. Let's not get a persecution complex
about something as unserious as Eurovison. Let's not do an Austria.
“As far as I'm concerned about the whole so-called block voting, there's not
really a lot that I can do about it,” says Andy. “So my philosophy is get
out there and perform my arse off, basically.”
How Britain struck a bum note
Pete Paphides
They exaggerate, but then, isn't that the job of The Sun? Despite what the
red-top says, Andy Abraham's Eurovision 2008 effort, Even If, isn't
our worst-ever effort. The singing binman would have had to enlist six
dentists' drills if he wanted to outcrap Scooch's Flying The Flag (for You),
but - of course, he won't win. We won't win. We can't win. Not this year.
Not ever. And here's the strange paradox. Now that we can't, it bothers us -
yet back when we could, we were strangely aloof about it.
Once upon a time, British Eurovision winners entered the contest under no
illusions about the Faustian trade-off it represented: your cool in exchange
for the career boost that the huge international coverage might trigger. Our
aloofness was a corollary of the fact that - Abba aside - we knew that we
were better at pop than all the other European nations put together. We
could afford to treat Eurovision like a joke. Even in the years when we
submitted decent if cheesy fare by the likes of Cliff Richard, Coco and
Bardo, we knew that our songs were still better than everyone else's.
Now, much of the best pop music is made in mainland Europe. Some of it is even
officially represented in this year's contest - for instance, the French pop
star Sébastien Tellier with the arpeggiating Beach Boys thrill of Divine.
The roles have been reversed. Where once we used to laugh at the
attention-grabbing antics of Çetin Alp & The Short Waves (1983) or
the Greek lot who dressed up as Charlie Chaplin (1981), the likes of Scooch
and Jemini (nul points in 2003) and Daz Sampson (laughing stock in 2006)
have reduced us to the same level. Just like our national football team's
inability to seize the glory in the penalty shoot-out, it all rather smacks
of knowing our place, deep down, in the modern world.
But even as recently as last year, it didn't have to be like this. Famously,
Morrissey briefly showed an interest in representing the UK. It could have
been a masterstroke. His default take on Britishness accords with the view
that the rest of Europe has of us. Now Eurovision is a public vote, his
fanbase alone would have ensured victory, whatever the song was like.
Incredibly though, he was told he would have to compete with the likes of Scooch and Justin Hawkins for his place.
For heavens sake! Any other country would have said to hell with the rules and
fast-tracked him directly in to the contest. And, so, one of the greatest
British songwriters of the last 25 years withdrew his offer. Heaven knows
we're miserable now.
