There was little doubt that Ukraine would win this competition: the performance of the Kalush Orchestra spelled victory. But the Eurovision Song Contest played the Eurovision Song Contest for four hours: with a shortened “Give Peace A Chance” by the Band Of Thousand in the streets of Turin, but without any conspicuous declarations of solidarity from the artists, without any mention of the war by the three presenters. And the lengthy querying of the ratings of the national juries brought the expected result: The Brit Sam Ryder, a Viking with a theatrical space song borrowed from Queen and David Bowie, succeeded ahead of the Swede Cornelia Jacobsen with the ready-made pompous ballad “Hold Me Closer” and the burlesque dance ensemble of the flamboyant Spaniard-vulgo-Cuban Chanel. Only the public voices, which make up 50 percent, catapulted the Kalush Orchestra from the Ukraine to the top of the survey with an unprecedented vote.
But this orchestra, a kind of traveling folklore circus troupe, has taken almost all the principles of the ESC into account: the song is a flaming, sentimental hymn set to a jagged electrobeat, which is interrupted by the ludicrously fast rap of a Jamiroquai bucket hat wearer, it contains a catchy cadence of a kind of shepherd’s whistle, and a hybrid of breakdancer and contortionist spins and hops in front of the men in folkloric waistcoats. Of course, one woman is missing from the group. But the woman is the “Stefania” of the title to which the trusting musicians want to return. A stone whose heart would not be touched.
The Kalush Orchestra has combined tradition and modernity much better than, for example, Alvan & Ahez, which the sharp-tongued observer Thomas Herrmanns correctly described in the home studio as a “Brittany medieval flea market”, or the fiddled senseless “Cotton Eye Joe” polka from Moldau, a favourite of the audience. The Eurovision Song Contest has long since ceased to be a chanson competition, but an exhibition and experimental space for contemporary music, challenged by backward-looking pop kitsch and populist aberrations.
The masked Norwegian jerks Subwoolfer with “Give That Wolf A Banana” remained as unsuccessful as the self-deprecating Marius Bear from Switzerland (“Boys Do Cry”), the Belgian Jeremie Makese with a Michael Jackson pastiche, the delicate Dutchwoman S10 (” De Diepte”) and Sheldon Riley, a pompous face-draped Australian swan whose song “Not The Same” fell short of pathos. And also Malik Harris, Germany’s contribution to the spectacle, who incorrigibly sang his funny “Rockstars” with a t-shirt and acoustic guitar between the instruments standing around on the huge stage. Six points from the people and last place. Finns The Rasmus emulated last year’s winners Maneskin with the blunt, shirtless hard rock of “Jezebel” (written by Desmond “I Was Made For Lovin’ You” Child) and barely got a vote.
After all, the most sophisticated songs received decent scores from the juries: The Italians Mahmood & Blanco sang the most demanding, too delicate song of the evening. The Portuguese Maro relied too much on the often proclaimed Portuguese general feeling with the fine song “Saudade, Saudade”. And the Azerbaijani Nadir Rustamli dared with “Fade To Black” an avant-garde and also nihilistic ballad that almost comes to a standstill, from proven Scandinavian song manufacture. The Serbs Konstrakta drew attention to the health of artists with their not-so-subtle “In Corpore Sano” (“music theatre!” commentator Peter Urban called devoutly from his booth) and a washbasin. The charming Lithuanian Monika Liu (“with Mireille Mathieu hairdo”, according to Urban) sang an adorable little chanson, “Sentimentai”, in the local language. And Norwegian Amanda Georgiadi Tenfjord intoned the actual Norwegian contribution to Greece, the morbid love song “Die Together” (high scores from some southern European countries).
The Italian-Lebanese-English moderator trio was sovereign, especially the singer Laura Pausini, who embodied the personal union of Gina Lollobrigida and Anna Magnani. The demonstration of Italian gestures contributes to European understanding.
In the German studio in Hamburg, the points are distributed as follows: the exhilarated Thomas Hermanns gets twelve points, the always moody Barbara Schöneberger ten, the clumsy Michelle two and the taciturn mumbling Max Giesinger one.