Watched the Eurovision Song Contest, three hours of unadulterated awesomely spectacular crap; very little to do with music, very much to do with presentation. Norway was the runaway winner, mainly I think because the infant prodigy was so cute; if he’s not careful he could die of it as the old saying goes. One of the female presenters gave the game away when she said she had fallen in love, hence Norway’s twelve points! Some of the presenters themselves acted so cute they were even more embarrassing than some of the songs, the French for example and, if these were the best, god alone knows what the rejects were like. Of the twenty-five songs I picked five, one of which came up tops, Iceland, the other four all around the thirty/forty votes mark. I picked Sweden, melodious, which makes a pleasant change from bang bang bang, Moldova (folksy), Malta, also tuneful and, as that old colonel type on a radio programme many years ago said, “Tunes, my boy, tunes, that’s what it’s all about, tunes.” My last choice was Spain which was pleasingly upbeat without being bang bang bang. And, although Iceland came second (I seem to remember) and it’s on my list of five, I’m buggered if I can remember anything about it now, not even the presentation. Cheap music might be potent but it’s also ephemeral. Android Lord Webster’s number for the United Kingdom was boring although the girl, a very beautiful girl I must say, gave it all she’d got which was a lot. I was led to believe the voting system had been changed but as far as I could see it was exactly the same, countries were still voting for friends and neighbours, surprise surprise.
This week has been Vamos Arts Week, ex-pats putting their talents together in a variety of ways. Saturday was a poetry reading in the Arts Cafe which worked out better than it sounds as much of it was humorous and, Sunday, yet another play (fairly short) on the judgment of Paris; to be quite frank, not so hot, presented in the amphitheatre in the park. The script was very good but they made so little of it which was a shame and they all know they weren’t up to much. Of course friends and relations were on the “you were marvellous, darling” wagon so it came as a little bit of shock when Douglas said quite frankly, no, he didn’t enjoy it and when I, who find it impossible to praise when praise isn’t due, agreed. The costumes were good and praise went for those but it really is a pity that “well, we’re only amateurs” was trotted out as soon as criticism was in the air. Anyway, after much humming and ahing on my part, I have agreed to an initial meeting with the group to decide whether or not I will act as a coach so that, perhaps, their next production will be a tad better, maybe even more than a tad. The questions that immediately arise with “well we’re only amateurs” are will they be prepared to discard that comfort blanket and be committed enough and will they take constructive criticism without egos being bruised and left bleeding? Well, we can only wait and see.
.