There are national finals. And then there’s Melodifestivalen. Whether you like it or not, there’s no doubt that the Swedish preselection is – by far – the most popular and most talked-about national final format that exists in our Eurovision world. It’s as polarising as Justin Bieber. It has always had a lot of die-hard fans, and probably just as many haters. A lot of fans watch “MF” (as we prefer to call it) online, but the most beautiful side-effect of the Swedish competition’s popularity doesn’t take place on television or the internet; it takes the form of international fans meeting in Stockholm to watch the show in the hall or in front of a TV, whether in a hotel room or at the home of local friends.

This trend started back in 2002, when Melodifestivalen reinvented itself with the now-familiar semi-final format. Very soon it wasn’t just “Melodifestivalen” that people travelled for, it was – to at least the same extent – the Eurovision and MF parties at various Stockholm bars and clubs, and the company of other fans (and in some cases close friends) that you only get the chance to meet every once in a while. Those parties used to be properly big, teeming with Eurovision and Melodifestivalen fans from all around Europe, and we from the #esc chat here on escgo! – and our friends from ESCNation and elsewhere – were just a small part of the massive fan meetup that “Stockholm in March” used to be. Having just returned from Stockholm in March 2018, I think it’s time to write some lines from my personal perspective.

How I learned to accept Melodifestivalen

Here in 2018, Melodifestivalen still has its lovers and haters. I myself belonged to the second group for quite a long time. Back then, in the first years of the “new” Melodifestivalen in the early 2000s, I simply couldn’t understand why the crowds of fans all talked about Sweden, Sweden, and Sweden again. I felt sorry for all the other countries and decided to boycott Melodifestivalen. Whenever I attended Eurovision parties and a song that I didn’t know was played, I had to ask my friends: “What IS this?!” – and in most cases, it was indeed a song from the Swedish preselections. “Ugh!”, I responded. “Why don’t they also play songs from the Andorran finals then?”. But still, even subconsciously, I admit that I fell in love with some of these songs. “Vågar du, vågar jag”. “Att älska dig”. “Håll om mig”. “Alcastar”. And more besides.

I also admit to being a very stubborn kind of person, and so it took until 2008 – that’s ten years ago now – for me to actually watch Melodifestivalen for the very first time. There was no other show on, and so I pulled myself together and gave it a try. I wasn’t quite blown away, but I began to understand that this isn’t an overrated show with bad songs at all, and that I might have missed something due to my stubbornness. And so it happened that one year later, in March 2009, I “did Stockholm” for the very first time. Apparently I was late to the party, as the heyday of Melodifestivalen was already on its last few breaths. Still, I was overwhelmed by the massive fan meetup taking place in the Swedish capital, and especially the festive dinner and party that we used to have every year on “Patricia”, the party boat moored near Slussen on the south side of Gamla Stan. The virus got me. I was a fan, I got to see my friends, and the goodbyes were tough and painful. But the thrill of anticipation for the next time was just as big.

Stockholm failed to deliver

But then, all of a sudden, about five years ago, Stockholm failed to deliver. It all happened around the same time. One of the club nights (Paradise, in the iconic Kolingsberg building) had to close due to the Slussen area becoming a massive construction site, Melodifestivalen moved from Globen to the remote (and way too big) Friends Arena, the Sunday night at Patricia became a lot less good than it used to be (and the boat itself also had to relocate). Schlager was declared dead as far as the Swedish selection was concerned, Eurovision in Concert in Amsterdam superseded Stockholm as the biggest fan gathering ahead of Eurovision itself, and some of us turned 30. Or 40. It was all a bit too much at once. The big years were over.

One might ask whether it’s worth reheating an expired dish. But you know, we are Eurovision fans. We are lovers of one of the longest running and most successful TV shows in the entire world. So many times over the last decades, people have found reasons to call Eurovision an expired dish, and yet it keeps reinventing and reheating itself. And we are experts in keeping things alive and finding our passion again and again. The problem with the Stockholm weekend in mid-March is that there are two factors at play: Melodifestivalen itself, and the way we use it to get together in Stockholm. We obviously don’t have any influence over Melodifestivalen. We aren’t the ones who can give the badly missed schlager the renaissance it deserves. We can’t move the final back to Globen. We also can’t call the mayor of Stockholm and demand massive schlagerparties to be held in clubs around the city on that weekend. We don’t even get heard (do we?). And, of course, we can’t turn back the clock and become ten years younger again. But can we really stay at home and get old without reinventing “our” weekend in Stockholm?

Reinventing “Stockholm in March”

This used to be the biggest fan gathering besides Eurovision, and that’s a thing of the past. The Stockholm MF experience won’t become as big as it used to be anymore, at least not in the forseeable future. But there does seem to be some new life in the old party capital now, at least in our “escgo!, ESCNation and friends” circle. Last year, we saw more people beginning to return to the Swedish capital again, as much as an excuse to spend time with friends as for the Swedish final itself. And I know fans from other corners of the Eurovision world went to Stockholm this year, so the weekend clearly still has a lot of potential. Where events do happen, they are popular – as proven by the crowds of people on the dancefloor at Secret Garden on Friday night or at the various events organised by Melodifestivalklubben across the weekend.

Of course, the new “Stockholm in March” still hasn’t found itself yet. One can’t know what to expect each year, unlike in the glory days of the Melodifestivalen weekend where the pattern was well established – Torget on Thursday, Paradise on Friday, the big show on Saturday, Patricia on Sunday. But a change of routine doesn’t have to be a bad thing. Since no one person is responsible for the entire weekend, all we can do is wait and see what happens in the next years. For my part, despite getting older, I do wish there would be at least one bigger schlager and Eurovision party in town – there is clearly enough demand from local and foreign fans to fill a nightclub dancefloor. But as I mainly go for the company, I’m also happy enough with “just” meeting friends and familiar faces – that’s the most important thing. And in general, a more relaxed, more settled gathering in Stockholm is a very welcome new way of doing old things. Staying at home is not an alternative. After all, I boycotted Melodifestivalen for way too long.

And who knows how things will look a few years from now? Fast-forward to 2025: The new Slussen is finally complete, even if Gula Gången is a thing of the past. Schlager is alive again, and not doomed to finish in last place when it is allowed into the contest at all. Christer Björkman has become HoD of Azerbaijan, Magnus Carlsson has taken over Melodifestivalen and brought back the fun, and escgo! has bought Patricia, parked it back in its former position and employed a truckload of shirtless barkeepers and some DJs who know how to bring a dancefloor to life – and that you don’t cross-fade ESC songs, because the big ending is the most important thing. Well, we can dream, can’t we?

Image sources:
Title picture: Visit Stockholm; Ingrosso/Sandman: SVT; Torget: YEC Gay Travel Blog; Patricia: Wikimedia Commons; Paradise then: Tommy Engström on Facebook; Paradise now: Wikipedia; Gula Gången: skumroffe on flickr