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Delve into the heart of Eurovision's revival as it returns to its original essence. This guide offers insights into a song competition steeped in ABBA nostalgia and an unexpected lasagne fervor, capturing the essence of this year's event.
CNN — Fifty years ago, two Swedish married couples embarked on a double date that would alter the course of music history, leaving an indelible mark on pop music at the Eurovision Song Contest.
Admittedly, the standards weren't particularly high in 1974, with hits like Paul Anka's "(You're) Having My Baby" dominating the charts, a song later deemed one of the worst of all time in a 2006 CNN survey.
However, Abba, still in human form at the time, emerged as the de facto pioneers of Eurovision, guiding the event's evolution into the most vibrant and festive musical competition worldwide.
Half a century after their breakthrough with "Waterloo," Eurovision returns to Sweden, its symbolic birthplace, following Loreen's victory last May, securing Sweden's seventh crown and making her the first woman to clinch the title twice.
The convergence of these narratives seems almost fateful, suggesting that perhaps even a divine hand favors Eurovision. Loreen reflects on this, remarking, "People say, 'Sweden is the spiritual home of Eurovision' – I see Eurovision as this evolving entity. Who cares about the place?"
Ah, got it! Well, Loreen, who has inherited the glittering legacy from ABBA and now reigns as the undisputed Queen of Eurovision, must surely feel a rush of nostalgia when encountering those iconic faces adorning billboards throughout the host city of Malmo, right?
"I see ABBA and I'm like, 'I need those pants,'" she enthuses. "Those platform shoes, where can I find them?"
Absolutely, Loreen acknowledges ABBA's remarkable contribution with warmth, stating, "It truly is a masterpiece, what they've crafted." She admires both their musical compositions and distinctive style. "ABBA as a whole," she muses, "emanates a unique vibe, doesn't it?" Now, let's shift our focus to this year's Eurovision contenders.
Indeed, while ABBA represents a glorious past, the present Eurovision stage is dominated by figures like Baby Lasagne, Windows95Man, and the enigmatic Nemo – a person, not a fish – each bringing their own brand of entertainment.
This year's competition remains as emotionally stirring, delightfully absurd, daringly provocative, and irresistibly captivating as ever.
In anticipation of the Pulitzer season, CNN has meticulously observed rehearsals and scrutinized every song to present you with the definitive guide to the 2024 Eurovision Song Contest.
After competing in two semi-finals earlier this week, 26 artists have earned their spot in Saturday's grand final, commencing at 9 p.m. local time (3 p.m. EST) in Malmo.
In the words of Malta's vocal virtuoso Sarah Bonnici: "Here we go aga...aaa..aaa..aa...ain, huh?"
For the rest of Europe, hosting Eurovision is an unparalleled honor. However, for Sweden, it's akin to remembering that "quirky" friend's improv troupe you promised to attend but forgot until the last minute, just as you're sinking into a bubble bath with a glass of Pinot Grigio.
This year's fan park has drawn complaints from seasoned Eurovision enthusiasts for being a bit low-budget. Public rehearsals saw only half-full attendance, and tickets for the final are still available mere hours before the event. Some speculate that the show's slogan, "United by Music," might have been influenced by last year's slogan, "United by Music."
Nonetheless, Eurovision holds a unique place in the cultural calendar. "This community represents the full spectrum of who we are. Silly, earnest, geeky," Loreen remarks, ticking off adjectives on her unnecessarily long, golden fingernails. "Everything you can imagine."
If there's one invaluable lesson Loreen has gleaned from the contest, it's the profound realization that "you can genuinely feel love for people whom you don't know, yet somehow feel connected to... you know?"
Loreen will grace the stage as a guest performer during Saturday's final, while 22-year-old identical twins Marcus and Martinus bear the weight of representing the host country.
"We're incredibly competitive individuals; arguably the most competitive in the entire competition," they assert, devoid of any irony.
This year's frontrunner is the enigmatic Baby Lasagne, whose electrifying anthem "Rim Tim Tagi Dim" sheds light on the brain drain affecting Croatian towns. "Ay, I'm a grown man now; I'm leaving and I've sold my cow," he chants.
Yet, despite his success, Mr. Lasagne remains remarkably humble, attributing his rise to fame to his fiancée. "She's the lasagne, and I'm just the baby," he quips to CNN. However, he admits, somewhat disappointingly, "I'm not even that fond of lasagne. It's okay. I have it a few times a year."
His main contender is Switzerland's Nemo, whose groundbreaking anthem "The Code" was conceived at Eurovision camp, a concept that might baffle the non-European mind. "It felt like a playground," Nemo reminisces. Now, at the grand event, Nemo finds himself amidst a spectacle "even grander and crazier than I ever imagined."
Joost Klein's "Europapa" is a cacophony of Eurosilliness with a moving undertone, dedicated to his late father. "I really don’t like sad songs, but I love happy-sounding songs with a sad meaning," he says. Jens Büttner/picture alliance/Getty Images
As the final draws near, Ireland's Bambie Thug is experiencing a surge in popularity, while the Netherlands' Joost Klein remains a contender. "I don't mind winning, and I also don't mind losing. I love just being," Klein reflects.
However, no one has encountered a bigger challenge in Malmo than Windows95Man, whose entire persona revolves around an operating system whose name and logo are off-limits at Eurovision.
Teemu Keisteri, the mastermind behind the act, opted to wear a blurred version of the logo on his T-shirt instead. And he wears little else; Finland's performance features Windows95Man emerging from a giant egg, then gallivanting around sans trousers for two minutes before, spoiler alert, he's eventually reunited with a pair of denim hot pants descending from the ceiling.
"In my late twenties, I realized that I don't have to conform to norms," Windows95Man shares with CNN. "I can't control how the world perceives my art."
And what's the message behind this unconventional artwork? Windows95Man sums it up succinctly: "If Daddy is a little bit naked, it's not so serious." Which, admittedly, is a rather peculiar sentiment.
Eurovision is an absolute obsession across Europe, occupying their thoughts year-round. Just ask Greece's contestant, Marina Satti, who confesses, "When I grew up, I didn't have a TV, so I kind of lost track." Fair enough, Marina.
But with over 150 million viewers tuning in annually, the fervor is undeniable. San Marino's national selection saw a whopping 129 artists vying for the spotlight – roughly one Eurovision hopeful for every 260 residents in the microstate.
However, the essence of Eurovision lies not just in the winners but also in its charming eccentrics.
CNN's inaugural award for the worst Eurovision lyric sparked heated debate. We were treated to a spectacle of spectacularly clichéd imagery: Iceland's Hera Bjork "standing on the edge of a promise," Saba "throwing memories in the air," and Slimane aiming to "create an ocean in the fire."
Then there's Azerbaijan's Fahree, serenading about "hurricanes roaming" while dressed like a visitor from a less glamorous future – perhaps a 23rd-century Italian restaurant with questionable hygiene standards.
Meanwhile, Poland's Luna belts out the truly confounding lyric, "Shining in a tiger's eyes, only I can find my future," a poetic misstep that unfortunately didn't secure her a spot in the final.
Norway's Gåte clinches the dubious honor with their emotionally detached scene-setting: "I was a very fine and beautiful maiden, with an evil stepmother. My mother had died," the band solemnly declares at the outset of their track. "She transformed me into a sword and a needle, and sent me off to the King's estate."
Amidst the Eurovision frenzy, it's the tireless publicists who emerge as the true heroes, spinning their artists' narratives in gloriously bombastic terms. Latvia's Dons crafts "compelling, soul-stirring melodies," while Luna purportedly "draws as much kind energy from the Moon as possible." Armenia boasts that its folk-duo's songs "transcend borders," though the source of this praise remains a mystery.
And brace yourself – Cyprus's Silia Kapsis garners attention for her role in a dance documentary produced by none other than Taboo from the Black Eyed Peas.
On the other end of the spectrum, Portugal's Iolanda is simply touted as... checks notes... "a promising singer." Sorry, Iolanda.
Eurovision contestants exude humility, driven by a simple desire to share their music and promote healing for our planet. "I believe we can make a difference with this show," asserts Joost Klein. Loreen chimes in, likening their impact to quantum physics, remarking, "We're restoring balance in the world right now."
One might ponder: if singing truly possesses such transformative power, why isn't it utilized more extensively? Why ever cease singing? Why not drop a Eurovision contestant, clad in a sequined flak jacket, into every conflict zone to belt out tunes until world leaders gather around a campfire, serenaded by Italy's Angelina Mango crooning "Wonderwall" on her guitar?
The reality is that a significant segment of Eurovision's fanbase feels uneasy about Israel's participation amid the country's conflict with Gaza. Climate activist Greta Thunberg led an anti-war protest in Malmo on Thursday, with another planned for Saturday to coincide with the final. Israel's contestant, Eden Golan, faced audible boos during the semi-final. The European Broadcasting Union defended the decision to include Israel in the competition in a statement to CNN this week.
However, for four hours on Saturday night, much of Europe will revel in the escapism promised by the contestants. They'll sit and watch as a parade of melancholic men lament their exes in various stages of undress. They'll cheer on assertive female performers and impeccably styled duos as they deplete Malmo's dry ice reserves. And they'll become enchanted by a fresh set of eccentrics aiming straight for the hearts of the continent.
As Loreen aptly describes, "It's a hub of love... want to join?"
Source: CNN
