Spain - nil points
On Saturday evening, much to the chagrin of my long-suffering husband, I watched a show on TVE1 intriguingly entitled ´Salvemos Eurovisión´ (Let´s save the Eurovision Song Contest). The programme was scheduled to begin at 10:30 PM and in true Spanish fashion, started about fifteen minutes late. Well, what a show – I am only just getting over what I saw and heard. Even if you have no interest in the Eurovision song contest whatsoever, please do read on. I am sure you won´t regret it.
The show´s aim was to select, from 10 hopefuls, the winner to represent Spain at this year´s Eurovision Song Contest which will be staged in Belgrade this May. An ageing bottle-blonde Italian singer was given the dubious honour of compèring the programme. After just a few minutes into the show, she remarked on how quiet the live audience was, only to reveal throughout the programme that she simply could not cope with any audience participation, shushing the crowd as soon as they made any sound. Very strange. She wasn´t too familiar with the script of the show either, as she had already said bye bye to the first artiste (a very pretty girl with a very ugly voice), when she seemed to remember that she was supposed to chat to the singer after the performance and ask the expert jury for their comments. So pretty girl was dragged back on stage. Now then, the ´expert´ jury! This was a mixed bunch of alleged professionals from the music industry which consisted of the following: an extremely camp chap who kept referring to his husband, an 8 foot singer/actress with very big hands, an even bigger mouth and a deep voice (looked like Pete Burns before the 23rd cosmetic surgery operation), a singer who had obviously had an accident with her bottle of body glitter as she was absolutely caked in the stuff and … hhmmm, don´t remember the others, so they must have been pretty unspectacular. Unlike ´say-it-like-it-is´ Simon Cowell (“This was probably the worst song I have ever heard in my entire life.”) this jury was invariably flattering and even if there wasn´t anything positive to be said about the song, they would comment on how wonderful people´s outfits were – how civilised.
Most performances were pretty diabolical really and left me sniggering, staring at the television screen with my mouth wide open, shaking my head in disbelief and bursting into tears - of laughter. If these were indeed the 10 best songs, I´d hate to hear the ones which didn´t make it to the final. Most of the so-called singers performed their songs in a mish mash of Spanish and English. The problem was, though, that I could not understand very much at all of the so-called English lyrics. Surely if somebody is singing: “Do you wanna garden? Do you wanna chair? Do you wanna table?”, I must be hearing something wrong, no? Maybe not. Halfway through the performances, a skinny chap with a beard, wearing big fake glasses and an Elvis wig came onto the stage, a toy guitar dangling from his neck. He was flanked by two very strange-looking women. I got up to put the kettle on, as I thought it was a little comedy break but - alas, no - specky Elvis was one of the performers. The song was called ´Baila el chiki chiki´ (Dance the chiki chiki) and included a rather strange little dance routine, including amongst others el Breikindance (breakdance) and el Maiquelyason which, believe it or not, actually means ´the Michael Jackson´ and obviously refers to his moon dance. The audience went mad and I had a strange presentiment as to what was going to happen.
My personal favourite was sung by a guy, by the name of Guille Milkyway (?!), who appeared on stage wearing what looked like a huge astronaut´s helmet with a dark visor which he kept on (visor down) throughout the performance. When he joined the presenter and jury to chew the fat, he took the helmet off – big mistake. The only other song I liked was performed by a 20-year old youth who I suppose was quite cute if you´re into that ´spiky, greasy hair and pierced facial bits´ look. His song was a catchy little number called ´Un Olé´, possibly not the most profound song lyrics ever written but it had me humming along to the melody after only a few seconds (I´m easily pleased.).
The last performer was a classically voice-trained beauty who sang as if she had a hot potato stuck in her throat which she was desperately trying to dislodge by belting out her song. The presenter, obviously at a loss for something kind to say afterwards, reassured her that she was certain she had a great career ahead of her (yeah, as a town crier, maybe).
After all ten songs were endured, our presenter treated the audience to a little song and dance of her own during which she made very strange jerky head movements (looked painful) which at the end of the performance left her with a very messy head of tangled blond locks.
Only in Spain can a programme like this be dragged out for over three hours – madre mía. The moment of truth finally arrived and the presenter (by now sporting a nicely straightened blond mane yet again) read the results and hey, guess what … the guy with the Elvis wig, who calls himself Rodolfo Chikilicuatre, won. This has caused quite a stir within the country, apparently, as many people say that, having voted for this song, Spain proves to have a sense of humour but others think it´ll make Spain look ridiculous in the eyes of Europe. I have had lengthy discussions with some of my neighbours, with the guy who runs one of the local supermarkets and even with our elderly landlady about this song. (I guess there isn´t that much to do at night time in sleepy Bérchules; everybody seems to have watched the programme and nobody had a problem admitting it.) It tickled me when our landlady went on about how Rodolfo wasn´t even a singer but a comedian and, not originating from Spain, how he couldn´t really speak Spanish properly. Ian actually had to translate her rantings for me because I really struggle to understand her strong Alpujarran accent. (The words pot, kettle and black spring to mind here.) I don´t know what to think. I find the whole thing embarrassing more than anything and not really that funny. The song is tedious and plain daft but judge for yourself, why don´t you?; and watch the video. (You´ll find it on You Tube or myspace.com for example). I think it´s only fair if I send an email to Sir Terry Wogan warning him of the things that´ll be coming his way soon. He´ll need a fair amount of strong hooch to sit through the chiki chiki song without asking himself what the buffalo he´s doing still bothering with the Eurovision.
There is one good thing about the song though – it only lasts 1 minute and 20 seconds.
What with a fake Elvis singing for Spain and a turkey (how appropriate) performing for Ireland, it looks as if we´re in for an interesting Eurovision Song Contest this year. I think I might be busy washing my hair that evening.
¡Hasta pronto!
Rodolfo Chikilicuatre