After a bidding process lasting many months and amid near-endless speculation, it was announced today that the 2020 Eurovision Song Contest will be held at the Ahoy arena and conference centre in Rotterdam on 12, 14 and 16 May.

The Netherlands’ second-largest city with a population of over 600,000 and a key part of the vast Randstad economic region, Rotterdam had been in a tightly-fought battle with the other city remaining in the bidding process, Maastricht. The latter was seen as an unlikely candidate on account of its relative lack of hotel rooms and other facilities, but the fact that it made it to the final two was enough to make some people suspect the bid was destined for success – a contest in perhaps the most “European-branded” of all cities at a time of upheaval for the old continent. However, logistics and common sense appear to have prevailed in the end, and Rotterdam 2020 it is.

Of course, many eagle-eyed fans had spotted the official ESC website apparently leaking Rotterdam as the winning bid on Wednesday night, including this image:

Someone behind the scenes moved quickly to create a dummy page for Maastricht too, in an attempt to cover their tracks – but you can’t get anything past Eurovision fans, you know…

Ticketing information, the identity of the hosts and all the rest of the details on ESC 2020 will follow later in the year.

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The history book on the shelf, the one about the Eurovision Song Contest, begins with the 1956 edition. And none of us know yet when it will end, as the contest is still going strong and keeping relevant after more than 60 years. Over time, though, a lot of things have changed when it comes to music, rules, visual appearance, and many other aspects.

And we know the Eurovision Song Contest also goes back and forth sometimes – take the native language rule, which was first dropped in 1973 and then gradually reintroduced in 1977 and 1978, only to be abolished again in 1999. Similar things have happened with the televoting, which was gradually rolled out first in 1997 and then in 1998 – only to lose its weighting again around 2010, the first year with pure 50/50 voting between the televoters and the juries.

However, a change in the voting rules doesn’t really alter the overall “face” of Eurovision, so we ignored these in the list below. Instead, we asked ourselves: In which years did the very nature of Eurovision change the most? It’s hard to really set those markers, but we’ve come up with these obvious ones:

1968: Colour!

One of the biggest changes in the visual appearance of Eurovision happened in 1968, when the contest was broadcast in colour for the first time. Good for those who had a colour TV set in their homes already, even if that certainly wasn’t the majority back then. We probably would have bought one just for Eurovision. For the first time in history, viewers at home could discuss the colours of the outfits. Without colour TV, glorious ESC moments like Lydia (Spain 1999) – for example – wouldn’t have been possible.

More than fifty shades of grey: Colour came to Eurovision in 1968.

1975: The birth of 12 points

Can you imagine a Eurovision Song Contest without the iconic “12 points”? Well, five countries managed to get “12 points” in contests before 1975 – but in total, that is. However, one thing the various scoring systems used in the early days of the contest had in common was that no one could get more than ten points from a single country. 1975 marks the birth of the voting system as we know it, and while that system has also developed over the years, especially since 2007, its DNA remains the same: 12 points to the favourite, 10 to the second best, then 8, 7, 6… etc. You know it by heart. The first country to ever receive a “douze points”, incidentally, was Luxembourg.

“Luxembourg, 12 points” and others, as performed by Karin Falck

1990: Chameleon stage

Wait, a stage that can change colour to better suit a specific song? Did we have this before 1990? I don’t think we did, and so 1990 pretty much introduces something we deeply connect with Eurovision nowadays: A stage architecture that acts like a chameleon, changing colours from song to song, and even during a song. Sure, before 1990 you could drown the stage in a different colour using lights, but a colour-changing floor and big screen walls? It may have all still been very basic, but it was brand new and very effective – and paved the way for the visual effect-laden contest we know now.

The gate is open – The stage can change colour!

1999: No orchestra

While some other years brought additions to the contest, 1999 came with a huge loss: The orchestra had to go, to the outrage of many fans of the contest even up until this day. One of the arguments was that modern music needs half playback (if no instrumentalists are allowed on stage), and Eurovision had to find a way to make contemporary-sounding music possible in order to survive. Some critics complain that this was only a half-hearted rejuvenation, as any playback that includes vocal sounds is still banned, even if those sounds come out of a synthesizer. But the other argument is indisputable: Rehearsing 40+ songs with an orchestra, and actually picking it all up for the live transmissions, is an immense logistical and financial task – and something that a modern Eurovision Song Contest has no capacities for anymore. Unfortunately.

New sounds. Even forbidden ones.

2004: One more night

Esther Hart sang a song with this title in 2003, and her plea was heard: Eurovision 2004 came with a second night. With a semi-final in advance of the Grand Final, to be clear. Ever since, the Eurovision Song Contest has no longer been a one-night event. Following a semi-final for the history books in 2007, it quickly became clear that even “one more night” wasn’t enough – and since 2008, the Eurovision Song Contest consists of two semi-finals ahead of a Grand Final on the Saturday night. It’s hard to imagine that changing now – but if there’s one thing we’ve learned from Eurovision history, it’s that change always comes one way or another…

Reaching new horizons: A typical Eurovision semi-final experience

But in all those years since 1956 one thing has never changed: A peaceful music festival, in which competitors and fans from different countries become friends and connect across borders, across the continent, is probably one of the best things that could have happened to our beautiful Europe.

Not Eurovision. Still.

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Tick Tock
Time is a funny thing. The seven weeks before I left for Tel Aviv? Time didn’t move. Not even a little tiny bit. It felt like a year. The seven weeks since the last night in Expo? They’ve flown by. Because, seriously, how is it July already? And how is it that, after spending a year feeling so involved and invested in every detail of the upcoming ESC production, next year’s one feels like it’s taking place in a parallel universe? The non-stop stream of news coverage, even when there was nothing new (or verified or, you know, remotely accurate) to report, was exhausting. I have no idea what the situation is like with the Dutch media, but I’m enjoying not feeling like I need to find out. Israel obviously had its fair share of problems that were unique to this particular edition of the contest, but no production is free of dramas, so what can I say, Dutch friends? Good luck with that. I’m just going to sit here in my sunny California corner and enjoy some peace and quiet. Call me when your stage is ready.

Visionary Dream
One of the many odd things that comes with the territory of being the host country is a slightly misplaced sense of ownership. For example, I really love this year’s stage and therefore I’m somehow also proud of it, even though I obviously had no part in creating it.

One of the biggest challenges Israel faced as a host country this year – and also one of the topics which was discussed the most often – was the lack of a proper hall, or rather, the lack of a proper hall in a city that was really a much more suitable choice for the event Eurovision has become. For better or for worse, the Eurovision in Tel Aviv will be a case study for years to come. One very obvious negative point that will need to be addressed in future is the financial implications. Being a new public broadcaster, having no financial contribution from the government and a very small hall in a very expensive country left Kan with very few funding possibilities, which in turn led to the high ticket prices. It’s easy to get angry and shout words like “greed”, but the truth – as always – is more complicated. Still, this should be a red flag for the EBU, whose investment in the desire of making Eurovision a bigger-and-better sort of event is driving many potential hosts to being weary of participating or actually trying to win.

That aside, Kan showed it is possible to hold Eurovision in a smaller hall, something that has become a make-or-break thing over the last decade or so. It is, as they continuously tried to remind us, a television show, and the main objective is that it should look good on TV.

Last year, I had a very long rant about Sweden’s staging and how they essentially dismissed the local effort completely by never showing anything they didn’t bring with them from home. Truth be told, though, I wasn’t a big fan of the stage last year anyway, and I can understand the reluctance of delegations to show off the local stage when that makes it very hard to set yourself apart from the opposition, short of surrounding yourself with props.

What I liked about the 2019 stage was that it offered so many options – it wasn’t just about the backdrop or floor art, but the positioning and flexibility of elements, all of which allowed delegations to create a unique visual identity for themselves (as long as they put some effort into it). And it was actually possible to achieve quite a lot with the stage even if you had no props.

More than that, I enjoyed seeing delegations actually using the various tricks it had to offer – there are editions of ESC where all kind of cool features are added but barely anyone uses them, but it felt like delegations were both more aware of the possibilities this year and also more willing to use them. I hope that going forward, host countries will take a leaf out of this particular book and focus on building stages that allow delegations to focus less on the gimmicks and props, and more on how to just make their song come across the best they can in the unique setting of that particular year.

Size isn’t everything

Be My Guest
Another thing I never realized until sitting through this year’s dress rehearsals was how much local culture finds its way in, and not just when it comes to interval acts.

The area where it jumped at me the most, way more than any other year, was watching the hosts. Each of them had a different temperament, and yet they all shared something very Israeli in the way they presented and communicated – a form of unapologetic directness in which we flat-out refuse to engage in any forms of socially acceptable politeness unless we actually mean it.

Erez, by his own admission, was the responsible adult, and as the most experienced figure in the quartet he was actually very dominant throughout rehearsals, helping the other three to find their feet and figure things out. But as a person who thrives on high-pressure situations, he had a harder time on the actual nights where he actually had to stick to the script and not step in to guide the others through difficult situations. If any live crisis had happened during the show, he would have been the one to take control of the situation – he’s the person who can keep presenting like absolutely nothing is wrong even while an alien invasion takes place right behind him. But since the event was generally crisis-free, bar Madonna’s performance, the better part of his contribution was the tidbits he provided off-stage – I’ll probably always laugh when I remember his story about the show’s director singing “Say Na Na Na” into his earpiece during one of the live broadcasts – and it’s hard to not be sympathetic to a host who says he started his Eurovision journey knowing little about the contest but that he now suffers from PED (yes, he actually used that term).

The cringe-worthy dialogue was there as it is every year – but like I said above, considering that we Israelis tend to be both very cynical and very much devoid of communication habits that can be perceived as polite, the delivery was self-aware enough to be surprisingly bearable. Also, like the good Mediterraneans we are, there was a good measure of jumping into each other’s sentences and sometimes winging it and having no idea who is supposed to speak next. But towards the end of the show, the combination of that mayhem, the general absence of decorum and our touchy-feely ways with a pinch of being oblivious to the idea of personal space, helped by how endearing Duncan was when he made it on stage, made the often stiff and uncomfortable final interaction between the hosts and the winner into something that felt more sincere and very human.

Shortly before that, there was another little lovely moment that I almost didn’t catch until re-watching the end of the vote several more times, in which the Netherlands wins and behind them, to the far end of the green room, the entire Israeli delegation – including performers and crew who were part of last year’s winning delegation – stand huddled in a half circle and cheer the winner on: a figurative tip of the hat from the last winner to the new holder of the crown.

A Matter of Time
There’s never a real way of predicting who will win next. The last three winners came from countries who thought they’d either never win or never win again. And really, if Portugal managed to win the Eurovision Song Contest, anyone can. Except maybe San Marino.

But there are some countries where it really feels like it’s a matter of time before the dice land right. And topping that list is one specific country that is even better than Israel when it comes to being chaotically Mediterranean. It also has the shape of a boot, people who say “allora” all the time, and a selection platform that provides it with such strong entries that it has managed to average an 8th place across its nine participations since returning. That is still quite a bit below the other most obvious future winner, Sweden (with an average of fifth across its last nine participations in the Eurovision grand final), but it’s only one place lower than the average of Russia’s last nine participations in the final, and a couple of places higher than the average of the last nine final performances of Azerbaijan and Ukraine.

The main difference between Italy and those four countries, though? Italy has achieved that average without actually making much effort to stage their songs. This year’s was probably the best they have done in that respect (and they could have done it even better). But at the end of the day, the success of “Soldi” – my biggest favorite this year, even if I honestly thought it would be lower in the top ten, and I was as thrilled to see Mahmood as runner-up as I suspect RAI was, albeit for different reasons – was mostly still based just on the song.

Not there’s ever anything wrong with songs that are so strong they can get a good result without much else, but just imagine what Italy could do with the combination of a stellar song, acceptance that Eurovision is not Sanremo and hence there’s a more urgent need for a real staging, plus general luck of the draw and a favorable line-up in terms of the other songs. I just watched Mahmood’s performance at the Radio Italia summer concert in Palermo last week, where he was the final artist to perform in an evening featuring a load of Italian music all-stars, and the giant cheer he received when he was introduced as the Sanremo winner was as loud as the one he got two seconds later where he was also introduced as this year’s Eurovision runner-up. When it comes to RAI’s avoidance issues, I can only imagine that the more recognized Eurovision becomes in Italy, the more they’ll be interested in investing more creativity and more soldi in the endeavor.

In the ‘mood to win?

The History Book on the Shelf
When I was growing up in Israel, it wasn’t cool to be a Eurovision fan. There was this lull between the 1979 competition and the 2019 one – both taking place in times where liking the contest was perfectly acceptable, and even to be expected – where people preferred to pretend they really couldn’t care less.

Even then, there was that one Sunday every year where kids would discuss Eurovision performances during the morning’s gym class, and the same people in my military base who made fun of me when they found out I like Eurovision somehow managed a very informed discussion about the performances and results of the 2000 final.

Things were different this year. I’m not just talking about being able to walk into pretty much any shop in Tel Aviv and not only have animated discussions about this year’s favorites, but also being regarded with respect and bombarded with questions by people keen to learn more. It wasn’t even the news coverage, because when Eurovision gets so many hours of that, you have to think out of the box for more ideas – but I enjoyed seeing the interviews with previous Israeli hosts, features about the orchestra and conductors, and especially a very cool story in which the directors and producers of the 1979 and 1999 shows came to visit the 2019 set.

But no, the real reflection of how much we truly do love Eurovision in Israel was generously sprinkled across all three live shows. The video montages in both semis, as well as the final promo montage which was aired in the second semi and the montage opening the final with explanations on how to follow the show and vote, were easily among my favorite segments in any Eurovision ever. Sure, they featured a lot of familiar favorites, but they also included a wonderful selection of choices that I suspect the majority of non-fan viewers had no memory of, yet it worked wonderfully in context – because even if you didn’t recognize the specific clips, the whole thing was so undeniably Eurovision.

I loved all the touches and nods to Eurovision history during the final – local and international, recent and not so recent. Having Netta, last year’s winner, in the opening video, together with Jon Ola and a little touch of the 1979 winner, set the tone for the night. The late Ofra Haza got her moment of recognition when her iconic “Im Nin’Alu” was played during the flag ceremony, and it was wonderful seeing our first entrant – a household name to this day – getting the respect she deserves on center stage. There was a nod and a wink to a recent success, too: Nadav Guedj was the first entrant we sent when our selection system was changed to the cooperation between the national broadcaster and the commercial channel, a system that brought us a win four participations later, and while nothing could be more obvious than bringing him to sing (or, well, mime) the words “let me show you Tel Aviv”, it was also entirely appropriate.

All four winners were involved in one way or another. Netta obviously opened both the first semi and the final, “A-Ba-Ni-Bi” got a brilliant video montage of highlights from this year’s postcards during the first semi and Izhar Cohen presented the Israeli points during the voting, although rumor is he was a bit upset about being the only winner not invited to sing anything. Don’t worry, Izhar, I’m pretty sure Dana didn’t really sing anything either. Speaking of the diva, I didn’t care much for her semi interval – because, ugh, that song – but her final appearance offered a clever transition from “Tel Aviv”, one of the biggest hits penned by Doron Medalie (the co-composer of last year’s winning entry), into her own Eurovision winner, “Diva”.

I personally also really enjoyed everything about seeing recent participants singing each other’s songs. Not just the different takes, but mostly the idea of involving Eurovision artists from other countries – we’re all in this together, after all – and even more so, including notable runners-up and not just winners, because there’s more to this than just winning. For me, it was particularly sportsmanlike to invite last year’s runner-up to take part and share some of the spotlight.

There was never a way in which our Eurovision hosting trademark, a group singing of “Hallelujah”, wasn’t going to happen. And for all I roll my eyes at that kind of sappiness most of the time, insert a joint performance of that song into the right context – namely Eurovisions hosted in Israel – and you might as well just hand me that entire damn tissue box.

That was also accompanied by one of the most genius visual moments of all-time at Eurovision – the reincarnation of the 1979 stage. So simple, so brilliant.

Either way, don’t let anyone fool you. The Irish can show off their seven titles until Sweden overtakes them, and Sweden can show off how they are about to overtake the Irish, but mirror mirror on the wall, who loves Eurovision more than all?

Yes, that would be us. We love Eurovision. We really do.

We’ll follow along

On a Sunday
I said goodbye to Eurovision 2019 on a Sunday. Literally, and not because Sunday clearly comes after Saturday and Eurovision clearly happens on a Saturday night.

Having Eurovision in Israel means my Saturday night schedule was pretty much this: The final started at 22:00, finished at some point after two in the morning, and that was followed by some press center commotion, hugging emotional Dutch fans and running to catch the bus to Euroclub. So when the afterparty only starts at 3am and the weather is so warm and nice it allows you to spend most of the night in the outdoor patio area, so you can have conversations with people where you can actually hear one another and say proper goodbyes, it’s easy to stick around and forget it’s been a while since the last time you left a party once the sun had already come up.

But that was how I found myself standing by the outdoor bar, at 7am, in broad daylight, having an animated conversation with Fred from KEiiNO. We covered a variety of topics, starting with his admiration of Mahmood’s voice and “Soldi” (can’t argue there) and how he thinks Mahmood will make an excellent joiker (I probably could argue there), through him making fun of my very old smartphone (but then expressing an admirable amount of both respect and self-restraint when I explained my life choice of not actually using anything that requires internet on a phone, which apparently was an acceptable explanation as to why I wouldn’t need anything particularly sophisticated in my hand), to then realizing that Tom and Alexandra had ditched him at some point and having no clue how to get back to his hotel (I pointed him to the direction of the taxis, because I’m nice like that). We both tried – and failed – to understand what the two drunk women who joined our conversation were saying, and when the security people came to shoo us out, it turned out I had a lot less interest in being yelled at by Israeli security guards than the rest of them, so I left them to it and made my exit.

As I was walking towards the main road, I passed by a gathering of deliriously happy and unsurprisingly drunk Dutch fans belting “Arcade” (it’s really not the best party song, is it?), then momentarily joined a trio of girls sitting outside a small café who were shouting “Goodbye, Estonia!” at Victor’s back as he disappeared into a cab – before I reached the bus stop, entirely on my own and accompanied by the usual busy sounds of the first morning of the new week, because yes, in Israel our week actually starts on a Sunday. And just like that, the journey that was Eurovision 2019 was over.

Until next year, Eurovision.

See you in Rotterdam. Or anywhere.

All images from eurovision.tv

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They Can’t Stop the Spring
The last few days in San Francisco have been ridiculously hot, which made me very miserable and earned me quite a few “are you sure you’re Middle Eastern” comments.

Yes, I’m sure. And throughout the fortnight in Tel Aviv, this particular Middle Easterner was also reminded why she usually avoids visiting at any time between late May and early October. But most people who were not Shi and/or Israeli passport holders seem to have enjoyed the ESC weather – in which Tel Aviv skipped spring and moved straight into summer – and to be fair, for such a colorful and party-heavy event, the weather had its advantages.

You could take a break from Eurovision and remember you’re actually on vacation by going to the beach and having ice cream, and even though Eurovision is broadcast at 22:00 in Israel, the weather was warm enough to go to any public viewing – be it at Eurovillage or just sitting on the sidewalk and watching in one of the many pubs and bars that were showing the event, like my sister, brother-in-law and myself did on the night of the second semi-final.

It was also really nice to be able to sit in the large patio area of Euroclub at 4am and actually enjoy the night air as it went from unbearable during the day (I tell you, my inner Middle Easterner is broken) to pleasant during the night. And though I spent a lot of time at the press center – something I normally try to not do as much during ESC, but it seemed to matter less in a country where I didn’t have to play tourist and where I tried to avoid the daytime weather – even there, they made sure to provide us with a reminder that we were on a vacation. More than that, they forced us to remember: once you sat down in one of those sun chairs, it was impossible to get up again.

Being me, though, I spent a lot of my time in those chairs analyzing Eurovision data. Because I’m a nerd and I can also multitask. As such, my look back at the 2019 Eurovision Song Contest doesn’t stop with the above review of the weather. This is your coffee alert! Or frappe. Or something with a colorful umbrella.

Sommar’n som aldrig säger nej

Believe Again
It always amuses me to see that the Wikipedia entry for every contest contains a few paragraphs about that year’s returning artists. I mean, each year is its own story, so why does it matter that much, really? At the same time, I’ve always liked the idea of returning artists, because as a fan I know many artists actually go to Eurovision without it being their lifelong dream or even knowing much about the competition and what it’s like. And it’s always made me happy, somehow, to see artists “getting” it and wanting to experience the whole thing again, maybe even doing it better next time. Not necessarily in terms of results – we had quite a few returning winners whom I assume knew were unlikely to repeat that feat – but at least getting the most out of the experience now that they knew what to expect.

Five lead artists from past ESCs returned this year, each with a different story arc. We’ve covered Joci Pápai already; he came back with a much more personal song, and sadly (especially for me) was far off his previous achievement, as he didn’t even qualify for the final.

At 24, Nevena Božović has spent half her life in the Eurovision circuit – starting with her Junior Eurovision participation in 2007, through being part of Moje 3 in 2013, to competing as a solo artist this year. Despite only finishing 18^th in the final, I imagine this year was very special for her. Not only for being back in Eurovision, this time as a solo artist, but for writing her own song and actually qualifying after narrowly missing out in 11th in her semi-final back in 2013.

I could have lived with Serhat not coming back, to be honest. But credit where credit’s due, and my views on his musical capabilities aside, he did improve on his previous result – 12th in the semi – by both qualifying and getting San Marino’s best result to date. 19th in the final may not much to write home about if you’re any other country, but it’s a good year in San Marino’s unnecessary Eurovision book.

It was a mixed bag for Sergey Lazarev. He generally looked relaxed throughout, and I think in part that was because “Scream” was never a really big favorite in the way his previous entry was. I’m sure they hoped to do really well, but you never know what the actual expectations behind the scenes are. Still, finishing in third again with a song that is quite different from your previous entry probably counts as over-achieving, all told. If you’re a glass half empty kind of person, though, you might point out that Sergey got 121 points fewer than last time (with only one more country participating then compared with this year), and he actually did worse with both the public and the juries: fourth in the televote this year after winning it in 2016, and ninth with the juries compared with fifth in 2016.

Of course, none of the returning artists this year had quite the journey Tamara Todevska had. After four qualifications for the final, her 2008 entry with Vrčak and Adrian – “Let Me Love You” – was the first Macedonian entry to miss out in the semi-final era, albeit only losing out to Sweden on a jury wildcard. This kicked off a stretch of eleven years in which Macedonia only qualified once, including Tamara witnessing her older sister Tijana failing to qualify as well. Knowing all this made it even more special seeing her emotions when she qualified and during the final jury vote (which she did eventually win, even if not on the night), where it was clear that, whatever happened in the televote, she was already going to deliver her country’s most successful result ever.

Plus, random useless trivia: North Macedonia’s previous five finalists scored a combined total of 299 points. Tamara got 305.

‘s got alls vo seal, weil’s dr guat got

Don’t Play That Song Again
The main problem with actually attending Eurovision and its 323,435,300 run-throughs is something I have been in denial about for much of the season: it’s a lot harder to avoid certain songs. Normally, I’m able to skip a song until I absolutely must endure it in the live broadcast. But watching and blogging the rehearsals, I wanted to be fair and give all the songs the same amount of attention.

Thankfully, this year I actually liked most songs – I still shudder at the idea of attending ESC 2018 instead and having to sit through endless rehearsals for that second semi-final. Still, every year has its share of songs I really don’t need to ever listen to again, and 2019 was no different.

So without further ado, Shi’s 2019 blacklist:

• Montenegro: As likable as those kids were (and they were adorable, really), there was no need for this song to exist. Or to have actually won their selection. And while I am grateful for the last minute of their performance, because it distracted me with all sorts of “what the hell are they doing?!” thoughts to allow me to manage and somewhat ignore the song, I feel no need to ever play “Heaven” again.
• San Marino: I don’t care if this was their most successful entry to date. Everything about this played nicely into my ongoing rant about the “why are they even in ESC?” issue. I already found the song annoying in its studio version, and considering how much worse it was live, I intend to never think of it again.
• Croatia: Sort of like Montenegro, really, except the distraction here was in the form of some really pretty backdrops and two miserable people who had to wear angel wings and be dropped from the ceiling into the hall. I hope they got paid well for it.
• Israel: I could never stand this song to begin with and wasn’t much of a Kobi fan, but as long as I was in the US and not feeling the Eurovision frenzy in Israel, I could at least avoid the part where so many people in my country were actually really behind the song without any concept of how bad it was and how badly it was going to do on the scoreboard. I have a lot of words to say about the Israeli song and performer selection this year, none of them positive – but you know what is positive? It’s done. It’s over. We never have to think about it again. Onward and upward, or something.

Lost and Forgotten
When I was looking through the list of participants this year to make sure I didn’t forget any pet hates for the list above, I realized there were a few songs I’d already forgotten about. Because I’m a nice person, I want to make sure everyone gets a shout-out in my 2019 wrap, though, so I’m going to quickly scribble a few thoughts about them before they return to the drawer marked “who was that again?”.

• Finland: In theory I actually sort of like this, in the sense of never feeling an urgent need to fast-forward when it comes on shuffle. But the live performance was so disengaging it constantly made me wonder why I should care about it if even its performers couldn’t be bothered.
• Belgium: Another one where I like the idea more than the actual end product. I already struggled with the studio version – I liked some parts of it a lot, but there were underwhelming parts too, and the overall result was that I always ended up not wanting to listen to it. The performance had exactly the same problem: I liked the idea of it, but in practice it was gray and lifeless, and I had already forgotten it happened until Wikipedia told me otherwise.
• Moldova: No, please, don’t stay. To be fair, I like Anna, but the song was never more than just reasonable, and then they had to go and borrow someone else’s staging but make it considerably less interesting so even that didn’t work.
• Lithuania: Wait, are we certain they actually participated this year?

Lykken er et spann med sand i en liten barnehand

What’s the Pressure?
When writing Eurovision rehearsal coverage from the safety of your laptop in the faraway lands of Northern California, there are a lot of things that can be hard to see and feel. Over the years I have found myself theorizing about the state of mind of certain delegations coming to Eurovision, and sometimes it doesn’t take much to imagine what it would be. For example, it’s very easy to assume that the big favorites will come in with a huge amount of pressure on their shoulders, between their own expectations, the press interest and the general atmosphere of the press center which tends to amplify everything. In a documentary about Israel’s history in Eurovision, a few delegation members from last year talked about the relief Netta had when Cyprus overtook her in the odds: with the Israeli public and press preparing itself for disappointment, the pressure was off and this helped her enjoy her final performance a lot more and deliver a stronger performance as a result – essentially making sure she would win it after all.

On the other end of that scale are the delegations that come in with very little chance of doing much of anything. I never had it verified by anyone, but I always assumed that the Icelandic delegation last year came in absolutely understanding they were going to finish last (which they did), and that knowledge, together with Ari’s personality, helped them to get through the experience and focus on doing the best they could.

Being on the ground this year, the interaction with delegations was more limited than I expected, but the bits and pieces I picked up provided some insight and even a few surprising moments for me. Russia and Azerbaijan, two big hitters that always aim to do well, were two I expected to be highly strung, but they actually gave a very grounded feeling, putting the work in, taking the time to relax and get away from the madness and never coming out with big declarations.

Cyprus, much like last year, came pretty well prepared – for better and for worse. The positive of that was they were confident enough in their preparation and experience to not get swallowed up by the hysteria of the bubble and the Cypriot press – apparently the level of concern caused by Tamta’s vocals at rehearsals caused speculation that she might not even qualify, and the delegation had to basically handle the local press while not letting it get to them. The downside was that they were not very flexible about making any changes, and as a result perhaps ended up getting less out of the rehearsal period than they could have.

I was somewhat surprised to see the explosions of drama coming from countries with so little chance of achieving anything big that you might not have expected their delegations to be so invested. Instead, they seemed set to spend their time being angry at everyone and everything.

The Moldovan delegation is one such example. I doubt anyone there thought they could do much more than borderline qualifying at best, and since they did at least have a capable lead performer, aiming for her to present the entry to the best of her ability would have sufficed. And to be fair, they were close – only nine points separated Moldova from tenth place and qualification. Instead, they made sure to constantly complain to everyone about all the ways in which they were being wronged, without ever actually detailing them. It’s a great method, really: it’s very easy to complain about having asked for something and having been refused without actually saying what you asked for, just as long as everyone knows that if you fail, it’s not your fault. It’s not that I think that they’re lying – in fact, I’m sure they’re not – but I also mentioned in my previous piece that, having seen the amount and degree of changes other delegations were allowed to do, being refused something would require a damn good reason. Considering the finished product, it’s also very doubtful that any changes they might have done would have changed much overall. Spreading so much negativity for such low stakes suggests that someone, somewhere, was going to ask for explanations afterwards, so some precautionary groundwork needed to be done.

It was even like that to a degree with the Dutch delegation. With criticism about their staging from many quarters (myself included, as you well know – obviously they couldn’t care less about what I think, but there were other critics the Dutch delegation did care about), there were a couple of days in which we heard several voices from the delegation complaining about Kan not doing this and not doing that, even though the run-throughs showed very little willing to change anything. Again, putting this kind of claim in the context of seeing how much other delegations changed between runs, it was hard to believe that supposedly crucial requests from the delegation would be ignored to such a degree. Discussing this with a few Dutch journalists, we all felt like they were trying to get their excuses ready in case they didn’t win, just to make sure no one accused them of not doing enough.

Since I talked about Ari from Iceland earlier, I should say that I had Croatia 2019 down as the candidate for the same role this year. A lovely, talented guy with a fairly chanceless and tacky song. He’s obviously great, I thought, and they put a lot of effort into the staging and really did everything they could with it, even if that’s not much. They should be pleased with themselves, whatever happens.

In reality? Not so much. It turns out the delegation was under so much pressure to qualify, especially from certain people on high, that being around the Croatian delegation was pretty dangerous. The delegation actually demanded to have the volunteers assigned to accompany them during their stay removed, after they had the joy of witnessing some of the verbally explosive incidents which took place within the delegation. I may never like his song, but my respect for Roko grew knowing that he kept smiling throughout and giving it his best despite having all this noise boiling behind him.

And for what? No matter how much pressure you’re under, everything everyone does within a delegation plays a part in how well you do, and the mental well-being of all delegation members – not just the performers – is as important as everything else. Just ask anyone from the German team in 2002, which fell apart under stress from above. If you want your performers to give their best on stage, you need to make sure you give them the best opportunity to do so.

It’s you and me and everybody out there

We Are the Winners
One of my favorite things to write about when I was a sports journalist was stories about the process and getting a look behind the curtain. It’s easy to see a talented and charismatic sports star or a performer and not really think about how many other people had a hand in getting them to that moment, which is what makes the green room reaction shots into one of my favorite things about Eurovision – it’s wonderful seeing the entire team celebrating their achievement together.

It’s not often that we get to see the team share the stage with the artist for the winner’s reprise, though. We sometimes see the other team members join at the very end or when the song ends, which also means there are about three seconds between that and the final Te Deum of the night.

Last year, in an entirely unsurprising display of Israeli chutzpah, composer Doron Medalie had strategically placed the entire team on one of the stage’s bridges after placating a stage worker by telling him they were just going to stand there and get a look at Netta while she performed. Of course, he then proceeded to cause a diplomatic mini-crisis and put the reputation of Israeli delegations in question as he led a stage invasion which saw the entire delegation join Netta for the final part of the song. For me, that was one of the best moments of the night and one of the highlights of any reprise I can remember seeing in Eurovision. There’s something in that display of togetherness and celebration of everyone who was a part of the journey that really works for me – I guess my inner Israeli isn’t that broken, after all.

With Israel being the host this year, stage invasion wasn’t a risk anyone could afford, not even a participating delegation. But luckily for the Netherlands, having Israel as the host means you’re talking about a country that’s very fond of that “all singing together” thing. Twenty years ago, on the tiny stage of the 1999 Eurovision, Charlotte Nilsson ended up sharing the stage with pretty much all the other participants and interval act members as well as her entire delegation.

This year, as Duncan began his winning reprise performance, the Dutch delegation were led to the wings of the stage and then given permission to join him, which they were all too happy to accept. Seeing them together at the end, laughing and crying and singing the lyrics, was the perfect dose of emotion with which to end Eurovision 2019.

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Calm After the Storm
Eurovision seems to have its own rules when it comes to the time and space continuum. The national final season takes forever to arrive and then speeds up and slows down in illogical ways. The gap between that and rehearsals is somehow even longer even though it is shorter on the calendar. The ESC weeks themselves are super quick, and feel like a million years at the same time. And then it’s just a couple of weeks later and I can’t even trust my memories because the whole thing feels like it was so far away.

Geographically speaking, I suppose it is. I got back to San Francisco last weekend, having first had the opportunity to step away from the madness for a little bit. The unexpected advantage of going home for Eurovision is having the time to spend with family, be an aunt, smell the roses and stare into the Mediterranean sunset I always miss so much, even though I have a pretty good collection of sunsets here over the Pacific Ocean.

But once I got back, it all felt so far away that I ended up re-watching the competition and collecting notes on all the thoughts running through my head as I look back on ESC 2019 and my personal experiences. And luckily for me, I happen to have a blog at my disposal where I can share those thoughts and experiences, and an off-season with little else going on. What else would I do but spill out the contents of my brain for you unsuspecting readers?

So here it is: the first of my wrap-up posts from the other side of the pond.

Is it Right or Is it Wrong?
One of the biggest challenges when blogging Eurovision rehearsals is knowing you’re not a prophet. No matter how objective you try to be, you’re just one person with one person’s opinions. It’s easy to own the things you get right – and don’t worry, I will. But it feels more appropriate to start off owning the things I was wrong about. Mea culpa and all that.

So what do we have here? I thought Malta would do better, based both on the early rehearsals in which it seemed like they’d get it right when the time came and just the strength of the song. And even when the rehearsals took a more worrying turn and Malta drew first half and were selected to open the final, with so many strong songs much later in the running order, I didn’t think “Chameleon” would be ignored by the televoters so much.

I had Hungary not only as qualifier, but also as a country that could do well in the final – you know, an ethno ballad in a year with very little in that niche. Here I definitely suffered the press center syndrome of watching rehearsals so many times it was hard to see how things had gotten gradually worse until it was too late. And while I never had Armenia above the bottom third in the final, I did have it as a qualifier, assuming that the modern but more complex song and Srbuk’s fantastic vocals would help her a lot with the juries and that, combined with Armenia’s televote base, that should be enough for “Walking Out” to make it through. However, her performance was so alienating it wasn’t even close.

On the other hand, there were three qualifications I didn’t see coming during rehearsals: Albania, which is even more ironic considering Jonida was great vocally in every rehearsal but terrible in both the jury semi and the live broadcast, and still qualified. Belarus looked so messy throughout that I just couldn’t see it working, but one of the things about seeing the first rehearsals as separate units is it’s harder for you to realize how certain songs will come across in the running order, and doubly so in the sea of crazy that was the first semi.

And then there was Slovenia. I never disliked “Sebi”, but I always found the two performers so painfully boring, and it was actually rather torturous sitting through their rehearsals despite their song always being pleasant background music. I couldn’t see them getting anywhere with their zero lack of effort, but as Ola Melzig wrote in his blog: “Slovenia did pretty much not a thing, but the song was strong enough to carry them through anyway.” In the final they mostly got points from their neighbors, friends and a few Eastern countries, but in a year like this 59 points were enough for 11th place in the televote (last year, France got 59 points in the televote and finished 17th), so apparently they chose the right year to get away with boring.

We’re flying the flag for you

What for? Only Mr God Knows
Every year when rehearsals start, we remind each other that they’re there precisely for trying things out until it comes together. But while this is generally true, each delegation has its own story arc. And while most countries start at different points, move forward at different paces but ultimately more or less catch up in time for the live shows, it’s not always true.

When you don’t watch the rehearsals, it’s hard to get a sense of which delegations actually had a reverse process. One in which they actually were where they should have been – and then made adjustments that dragged their performance backwards instead of enhancing it. In Hungary’s case, it didn’t hit me until I watched it on the night of the semi and was struck by the difference between how pale it came across compared with how impactful the first rehearsals had been. Then I had the difficult task of looking back at what my brain did and didn’t record, and figuring out what had happened along the way.

Some things were easy to spot: Despite being an experienced professional who has been in Eurovision before, Joci’s pacing throughout rehearsals was wrong, and by the live show he looked and sounded tired and more detached than he normally is – which is one of his biggest selling points.

The other thing that occurred to me is a tricky one we discuss every year. When we feel like an entry has been made worse by some relatively small change – whether a staging choice during the rehearsals or a three-minute Eurovision edit that removes a good part of the song – how do we know whether what’s missing will really be noticed by someone who never knew it was there in the first place? And conversely, are there details that are small enough for you not to realize right away that they have been changed, and yet big enough to actually make a difference? Looking back at Hungary and what made it work for me in its first rehearsals, it turns out the answer is yes.

The camerawork in Joci’s first rehearsals had certain things that really captured my attention. It was complicated but very immersive, using some specific and unique angles that helped the stage tell a story which matched the progress of the song. When re-watching the actual performance, I realized none of those shots were there. Thinking back through the rehearsal process, I realized that, in every run-through, they downgraded their camera shots to things that were less complicated but also less impressive. Perhaps they felt some of those shots were too difficult or risky to get right, I don’t know. In any case, by doing so, they added distance between the performance and the viewer. Throw in Joci’s deflated energy levels and the difference was staggering and, as it turned out, fatal to the song’s changes.

With Austria, it was just one thing that was changed. One detail. Most of Pænda’s run-throughs were in black and white, only changing to color late in the performance. In one of the early run-throughs, though, they tried it in full color a couple of times. I’m really curious to know what made them pick the latter version, because it was obvious to me and the people I watched the rehearsals with that the color version just didn’t work as well. The largely monochrome version had some magic in it that the color version didn’t have, and it transported you into the isolated world of the song much more. And again, much like Joci, when you marry that visual downgrade with an uncomfortable performance – another singer who peaked too early and just couldn’t carry the song on the night the way she had in early run-throughs, where she was so good it really felt like it’d be impossible to ignore her – then the end result was that “Limits” simply crumbled into the depths of the incredibly competitive second semi-final. But for all the disappointment of knowing how it could have been and what it ended up not being, I’m glad I got to see the rehearsals – because even though I was never a fan of the song, it did give me a few surprising run-throughs of magical perfection to enjoy.

We can make a change, that’s what we should

While I don’t necessarily understand the choices those delegations made, I can at least respect that they made a judgment call and went with it. It can get much worse than that. Just ask Malta.

They started off with a great song and a delightful concept coupled with an inexperienced young performer – and then they could not make their bloody minds up.

I was really impressed with their first day of run-throughs. They obviously had a complicated staging and a lot still to get right, but the leaps of improvement between takes were so big that not only did things look great by the end, but Michela was even managing to relax and really enjoy herself, which made such a big difference. I had no doubt in my mind that just a few more rehearsals would turn “Chameleon” into something polished and colorfully brilliant on stage.

And then came the second rehearsal day. Evidently, the delegation had spent a lot of the intervening time obsessing about the way the projections were working – or not working – so they decided to remove the props completely and just use the massive LED backdrop. Without the prop, Michela had to get used to a considerably changed choreography, only to have this decision reversed by the time of the dress rehearsals. That would still have been tolerable if they had settled on one version, but no: even then, they had to keep tweaking and adjusting so that every dress rehearsal brought new angles, new effects, changes in the sequences of camera shots and backdrops and different pacing of the backdrop changes. This, in turn, also meant changes in positioning and choreography each time to make sure the performance got captured well on camera. It was Malta that made me roll my eyes at the complaints of a few other delegations about their requests being ignored: the production did so much to accommodate the constant changes to “Chameleon” even really late in the game, so I can only imagine that the requests they turned down were things that just weren’t doable for whatever reason.

But back to the Maltese delegation. The result of their constant tinkering was that the team on stage never got the chance to really feel relaxed and comfortable in what they were doing. Everyone was put under more pressure than necessary. Michela’s overwhelmed emotional reaction when she qualified? That wasn’t just because she was the last to be called. And in perhaps the biggest injustice in this year’s competition, her own delegation kept doing the same thing between rehearsals, all the way to the grand final. This process of constant change would have been hard enough for the most experienced of performers to deal with, let alone a young girl straight out of a talent show. When you come to learn your lessons from this year, PBS, I hope you realize it was you who let her down and not the other way around.

Where do we go now? To the sky

When Spirits are Calling My Name
I had an up-and-down relationship with Norway this season. I loved “Spirit In The Sky” when it was in the national final, and yes, I knew it was unoriginal bordering on trashy, but hey, who cares? We all need guilty pleasures in our lives, and this was catchy and the trio were oh-so-likable, so why the hell not. As more songs got picked, though, it slipped down my rankings and I wasn’t thinking much of it by the time rehearsals arrived. Not even during rehearsals, to be honest, because the performance felt a bit too empty and perhaps taking itself a bit too seriously for the kind of song it was, in what I assumed was a Hail Mary attempt to improve its standing with the juries.

I was therefore taken by surprise when I met up with my sister and brother-in-law – two people I adore and who have completely different musical tastes – after they had attended the Thursday afternoon dress rehearsal. Their unequivocal favorite? Norway. Even in the hall, where they couldn’t see the smiles and joy that came through the TV screen later that night.

While I was always certain it’d do really well with the televote and really badly with the juries – yeah, not a hard one to call, I know – I think it’s fair to say most of us were shocked to realize that Norway had actually won the public vote. In retrospect, I suppose if someone as unlikable as Rasmussen managed to finish where he did with the audience, it’s not that crazy to see a Nordic folklore-inspired Eurovision cliché performed by visibly lovely people doing much, much better.

Do you hear that joiking? That’s Jon Henrik Fjällgren working on his next Melodifestivalen entry. KEiiNO asked for a hero. Ask and you shall receive. It’s either that or Charlotte P. Pick your poison.

All Out of Luck
There are plenty of ways to be unlucky in Eurovision. You can be perfectly nice, like Ireland this year, but be placed in a position in the running order where it’s clearly going to be even harder for your already unmemorable song to be remembered. Or you can be Poland and miss out on qualification by two points because one juror couldn’t follow voting instructions correctly. I would have added Lithuania to the unlucky list too, since they missed the final by just one point, but they were lucky to have enough friends to be in the running for qualification in the first place so they don’t count.

Or you can be Spain. You can pick a super fun party song with a lovely, charismatic performer, be drawn in the second half, be given the pimp slot right at the end of the show, hire one of the most famous Eurovision stage directors and pay him shitloads of money – only for said director to inflict an overly complicated and busy staging on your performance, which will come at the end of a playlist packed with up-tempo songs executed far better, meaning all the viewers will have pretty much picked their favourite by the time they even reach you. Imagine what this song could have done in a year like 2015.

Too much, too much, too much I say

So Lucky
If there are all kinds of ways to be unlucky in Eurovision, there are ways of being very lucky too. Take Duncan Laurence, for all his singing about losing games. Because here’s the thing. The Netherlands did lose. They lost the jury vote. They lost the televote. They actually lost most of the individual country votes with both the juries and the public.

Looking at the four winners since the new voting presentation was introduced, Salvador in 2017 was the most popular across the board – making it into the top three of 31 jury votes and 30 televotes, and of course winning the overall televote and jury vote with ease. The other three years saw the juries and televote disagree when it came to the overall winner. None of the songs in question won the jury vote, and only Netta in 2018 actually won the televote.

But here’s the difference: while all three had similar success with the juries – Jamala was in the top three of 15 different juries in 2016, while Netta and Duncan made it to the top three of 13 juries – the televote was a different story. Ukraine 2016 and Israel 2018 finished in the top three in the televote of 22 and 23 countries respectively. The Netherlands? Twelve. Not even one-third of the participating countries had the Netherlands in their televote top three, which means that more than two-thirds of the participating countries had at least three songs they preferred over the Netherlands.

When you play the game of math, you either win or, well, you don’t. It was an odd side-effect of this being a strong ESC year: everyone had lots to vote for, but some of the big hitters only worked in certain parts of Europe. Russia, unsurprisingly, pretty much swept the eastern side of the continent, while Norway hogged many of the western points and Italy ate into the difference. All three had more countries place them in the televote top three than the Netherlands managed – Russia in 19 countries, Italy in 14 and Norway in 21.

But to win Eurovision, you need to do well enough across the board. We always say this, but it was never truer than in 2019. We’ve never had a winner as far from being anyone’s favorite than the Netherlands this year, but it was liked well enough by everyone, while Europe couldn’t make up its mind about what it liked more.

Turns out there’s a right way to play a losing game.

Bien plus rouge que le sang et plus dur que la pierre

No Dream Impossible
One of my favorite things to look for when I re-watch Eurovision every year is the small moments that you tend to miss on the night, because the winner celebration in the middle of the screen understandably takes all the focus.

I’ve watched the winner announcement and reprise about seven times now, and each time has had me pretty much as emotional as Duncan all the way through. But it was when I re-watched the entire voting segment, and not just the last minutes, that I noticed another thing happening while the Dutch were deservedly celebrating in the green room. As the final ranking list appeared on screen, you could see, blurred into the background, a celebratory hug of a group of people clad in red. It was the Swiss delegation. Rather than being disappointed at having been considered among the favorites but not making it into the top three, they were celebrating the fact they had just brought Switzerland its best placing in 26 years. Think about it this way: Luca was born a year and a half after Annie Cotton’s third-place finish in 1993, so what he achieved by finishing fourth was nothing less than his country’s best position in his entire life.

Somewhere over the rainbow,
Skies are blue
And the dreams that you dare to dream
Really do come true.

All images from eurovision.tv. Stay tuned for the next instalment of the View from San Francisco!

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As the EU elections begin around the continent, the European Broadcasting Union last night provided some voting drama of its own with the announcement – as already suspected by many fans – that the substitute jury result it calculated for Belarus in the grand final was completely wrong and has been revised. The result: Changes to the final scoreboard, with Sweden replacing Norway in the top five, and North Macedonia denied its rightful moment in the spotlight as the jury winner.

We have questions.

• How come this was allowed to happen in the first place, considering it was screamingly obvious to everyone watching on Saturday night that something weird was going on when the Belarusian votes went almost exclusively to countries at the bottom end of the scoreboard?

• At the very least, did the fact that Belarus’s 12 points went to a country that otherwise received no points from any other jury not raise any alerts, given that the entire point of the aggregated vote is that it reflects how other countries voted?

• What’s the point of the juries voting 24 hours before the public, on a completely different set of performances, if that time isn’t used to verify their results correctly?

• Is the idea of devising an artificial aggregated result to replace a disqualified jury really the best one anyway? Surely it’d be possible to either find a new set of people in Belarus to vote in the final, or to simply use an alternative jury – a representative sample from various parts of the continent, people from a non-participating country, former Eurovision winners, whatever. Anything seems preferable to adding points to the scoreboard that are literally made up.

• Since we now also know that multiple jurors messed up their individual rankings by putting their favourite song in last place and vice versa – and not for the first time – isn’t it time the EBU and Digame introduced more checks and balances, from on-site scrutineers to manual confirmations when the results are submitted by each country? How hard is it to get this right?

• How will this affect the betting markets? At time of writing, Betfair are digging in their heels when it comes to paying out on the revised results – which is understandable since, in theory, it also requires them to demand money back from those who won it e.g. on Norway finishing in the top five. However, the argument they’re using is that, under their terms and conditions, more than 72 hours have passed since the original result so the affected markets can’t be resettled. Since we all knew there was something fishy about the Belarusian jury result the instant it was announced, how come it’s taken the EBU so long to fess up?

• And perhaps most concerningly of all… what if this happens again, but next time the identity of the winner changes?

What a mess. It’s not quite enough to ruin the aftertaste of a fun and dramatic Eurovision grand final, but for the sake of the contest’s integrity, it really needs to be something that is never repeated.

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The winner of the 2019 Eurovision Song Contest is “Arcade” by Duncan Laurence from the Netherlands – ending a 44-year wait for the country dating back to Teach-In and “Ding-A-Dong” in 1975.

In an incredibly exciting results presentation, Sweden won the jury vote narrowly ahead of surprise package North Macedonia, while Norway was the clear winner in the televote – a disparity that opened the door for the Netherlands to take a consensus overall victory.

We’ll be back tomorrow with more analysis and insight from inside and outside the Tel Aviv bubble, but until then, congratulations to the Netherlands! Here’s your ESC 2019 winner one more time:

Title image and video from eurovision.tv

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