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Eurovision 2012: British entry risks Engelbert's street cred Eurovision 2012: UK entry risks Engelbert's street cred
(about 7 hours later)
It's fair to say that Engelbert Humperdinck's Love Will Set You Free received a mixed response when it was unveiled on the BBC's website on Monday. It's fair to say that Engelbert Humperdinck's Love Will Set You Free received a mixed response from web commentators when it was unveiled on the BBC's website on Monday.
For every PGTips, keen to offer us the benefit of his professional opinion – "I'm a musician and I think it's quite a good song" – there was an airbags_as_standard, sneering "Is it karaoke night at the funeral parlour?" Others were understandably concerned about the ruinous effect that appearing in the Eurovision song contest might have on Humperdinck's carefully cultivated edgy image: "there goes [his] street cred", opined someone called perkinwellbeck, perhaps having made the common mistake of confusing the 75-year-old easy-listening crooner with grime MC P-Money. For every PGTips, keen to offer us the benefit of his professional opinion ("I'm a musician and I think it's quite a good song"), there was an airbags_as_standard, sneering "Is it karaoke night at the funeral parlour?"
Others still felt the song was irrelevant. Someone called HELEN_of_TROY noted, sadly, that even if we had someone she referred to as "The Beetles" representing us "it would not stop the Eastern countries all voting for each other". Others were understandably concerned about the ruinous effect that appearing in the Eurovision song contest might have on Humperdinck's carefully cultivated edgy image: "There goes [his] street cred", opined someone called perkinwellbeck, perhaps having made the common mistake of confusing the 75-year-old easy-listening crooner with grime MC P-Money.
In fact, Love Will Set You Free seems fair enough. If it's never going to displace the matchless oeuvre of "The Beetles" in public affections, or indeed sell as many copies as its co-author Sacha Skarbek's most famous creation, James Blunt's You're Beautiful, it's certainly not a bad song: a ballad laden with strings that builds to a timpani-rumbling crescendo, with a hint of the French chanson about its melody. It's the choice of Humperdinck himself that might be the problem, at least if you're considering the chances of Britain improving on its poor recent performances at Eurovision. Others felt the song was irrelevant. Someone called HELEN_of_TROY noted, sadly, that even if we had someone she called "The Beetles" representing us "it would not stop the Eastern countries all voting for each other".
On the plus side, he can still belt it out; he is popular in what HELEN_of_TROY calls the Eastern countries ("I once played to 18m people in Riga") and, furthermore, first came to public attention representing Britain in long-forgotten Eurovision rival the Knokke Song Contest in 1966. Even so, outside of the die-hard fanbase that call him the King Of Romance, he is viewed – rightly or wrongly – as a kitsch figure, best known in rock history for keeping Strawberry Fields Forever by our old friends "The Beetles" off number one in 1967: a reactionary figure triumphing against the white heat of musical innovation. In fact, Love Will Set You Free seems fair enough. If it's never going to displace the matchless oeuvre of "The Beetles" in public affections, or indeed sell as many copies as its co-author Sacha Skarbek's most famous creation, James Blunt's You're Beautiful, it's certainly not a bad song: a ballad laden with strings that builds to a timpani-rumbling climax, with a hint of the French chanson about its melody.
Sending him to Eurovision has a hint of the knowingly raised eyebrow about it, and knowing kitsch – in the form of TV talent show also-rans, reformed boybands and Scooch dressed as airline cabin staff – has served us pretty badly in recent years. There's the sense that the rest of Europe isn't interested in Britain dishing up rather half-hearted camp sarcasm. In 2008, the same year that Britain was represented by Andy Abraham, the singing dustman who was a runner-up on The X Factor, the winning Russian entry was produced by visionary hip-hop and R'n'B auteur Timbaland, fresh from working with Jay-Z, Kanye West, Beyonce and Madonna. You can sneer that it smacks of the oligarch buying the premiership club and pouring millions into its transfer fund, but it suggests that other countries are taking the competition noticeably more seriously than we are. As does the subsequent career of 2004's Ukrainian winner Ruslana: she was brought out to address the pro-Yushchenko crowds in Kiev during the Orange Revolution, which certainly puts the post-Eurovision achievements of Bucks Fizz into perspective. It's the choice of Humperdinck himself that might be the problem, at least if you're considering the chances of Britain improving on its poor recent performances at Eurovision.
Of course, it's fine for Britain not to take Eurovision seriously. It's not taking it seriously – thus giving off the weary air of deigning to join in with something we consider beneath us – then moaning when everybody else fails to join in the joke and vote for us, that seems a bit odd. And besides, this year, there's the sense that other countries are doing kitsch irony in a rather more enthusiastic way than Britain has ever managed. Having clearly rethought the tactic of employing a hip-hop auteur who allegedly charges $100,000 per track to produce their entry, Russia's song comes from Buranovskiye Babushki, singing grandmothers from the Udmurt Republic, who apparently failed to qualify two years ago with the snappy-sounding Dlinnaja-Dlinnaja Beresta I Kak Sdelat Iz Nee Aishon ("Very Long Birch Bark And How To Turn It Into A Turban"). On the plus side, he can belt it out; he is popular in what HELEN_of_TROY calls the Eastern countries ("I once played to 18m people in Riga"), and, furthermore, first came to public attention representing Britain in long-forgotten Eurovision rival the Knokke Song Contest in 1966. Even so, outside of the diehard fanbase who call him the King Of Romance, he is viewed, rightly or wrongly, as a kitsch figure, best known in rock history for keeping Strawberry Fields Forever by our old friends "The Beetles" off No 1 in 1967: a reactionary figure triumphing against the white heat of musical innovation.
Austria is offering up the amazingly named Trackshittaz, whose gimmick appears to involve dancers with their buttocks picked out in fluorescent paint and who promise to "learn a little bit of English" before the contest, at which point they'll presumably reconsider the wisdom of calling themselves Trackshittaz. Montenegro's equally amazingly named Rambo Amadeus has a video for his entry that defies all rational belief, culminating in a scene in which he surprises two topless women with a donkey. You watch it and think: what price Leicester's King Of Romance and his chanson-influenced ballad now? Sending him to Eurovision has a hint of the knowingly-raised eyebrow about it, and knowing kitsch – in the form of TV talent show also-rans, reformed boybands, and Scooch dressed as airline cabin staff – has served us pretty badly in recent years. There's the sense that the rest of Europe isn't interested in Britain dishing up rather half-hearted camp sarcasm.
In 2008, when the UK was represented by Andy Abraham, the singing dustman who was a runner-up on The X Factor, the winning Russian entry was produced by visionary hip-hop and R&B auteur Timbaland, fresh from working with Jay-Z, Kanye West, Beyonce and Madonna. You can sneer that it smacks of the oligarch buying the Premier League club and pouring millions into its transfer fund, but it suggests that other countries take the competition noticeably more seriously.
As does the subsequent career of 2004's Ukrainian winner Ruslana: she was brought out to address the pro-Yushchenko crowds in Kiev during the Orange Revolution, which certainly puts the post-Eurovision achievements of Bucks Fizz into perspective.
Of course, it's fine for the UK not to take Eurovision seriously. It's not taking it seriously, thus giving off the weary air of deigning to join in with something we consider beneath us, then moaning when everybody else fails to join in the joke and vote for us, that seems a bit odd.
And besides, this year, there's the sense that other countries are doing kitsch irony in a rather more enthusiastic way than Britain has ever managed. Having clearly rethought the tactic of employing a hip-hop auteur who allegedly charges $100,000 per track to produce their entry, Russia's song is from Buranovskiye Babushki, singing grandmothers from the Udmurt Republic, who apparently failed to qualify two years ago with the snappy-sounding Dlinnaja-Dlinnaja Beresta I Kak Sdelat Iz Nee Aishon ("Very Long Birch Bark And How To Turn It Into A Turban").
Austria is offering up the amazingly named Trackshittaz, whose gimmick appears to involve dancers with their buttocks picked out in fluorescent paint and who promise to "learn a little bit of English" before the contest, at which point they'll presumably reconsider the wisdom of calling themselves Trackshittaz. Montenegro's equally amazingly named Rambo Amadeus has a video for his entry whichthat defies all rational belief, culminating in a scene in which he surprises two topless women with a donkey. You watch it and think: what price Leicester's King Of Romance and his chanson-influenced ballad now?