Subject: The Eurovision Song Contest. (A Storm in a Teacup)
Only if you are a nightclub techno dance freak will the Euro Song Contest make sense to you with its largely repetitive drum and base sound tracks and the wild gymnastics of the dancers as they circle a scantily dressed singer blasting out what some describe vaguely as a songs complete with pyrotechnics.
I’m usually found hiding behind the couch, all that noise and energy can’t be good for you, it’s the antithesis of what I like being so synthetic, the display drowning out the melody if melody was ever included or intended. It’s the shear active volume of it all the overhyped promotion. From a slip of a “man” ‘in a dress’ balancing on a terrestrial dish to a goth resurrected from an Irish bog, the songs and costumes are bizarre as is the cryptic commentary by the British television presenter, we masters, as always, of the art of delusionary taste.
This years contest has been peppered by the Israeli bombardment of Gaza and their right to perform. The Russians were barred last year for their invasion of the Ukraine and it’s hard to justify Isreal’s presence but their calm civilised performance both on and off the stage is a lesson Benjamin Netanyahu could learn from.
To further illustrate how far I am from mainstream thinking and following on the trend where I am usually nonplussed by judges on our popular media show ‘Landscape Painting’ who score points for daubing the canvas with unrelated images to what I clearly see, so the judges in this international song contest seem to think from a different box, a different value pack to mine.
Nemo, the winner sees him/herself as what’s called non binary, belonging to neither gender, man or women which, looking around the wildly shrieking fans in the audience and could describe so many of them.
Perhaps it’s time for me to bow out from this confused world with its determination to overturn century old concepts for an overcharged hyped up existence sustained by drugs and hormone therapy.
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