Eurovision 2022: Ukraine Wins, Thanks to the Popular Vote

Fun fact: Sam is from the town of Maldon, home of the famous sea salt, and one which was once sacked by Vikings — which may explain why he looks like Leif Erikson in a jumpsuit. Seriously, he looks like someone from Sweden made him in a lab and then decided to go with another model, and released him into the wild. I do applaud that his space jumpsuit is heavily beaded, but considering his massive surge in the pre-finals oddsmaking, I expected this to be a bit more impressive?

I mean, it’s FINE. Here’s what I think got me: The song is about being lonely and marooned and pensive up in space, and he seemed too HAPPY the whole time. He was BOPPING. It was so discordant. He seems like a jolly dude, so maybe he has Resting Pleasant Erik the Red Face and can’t help it. He also, at times, had trouble being louder than the music. But the crowd seemed to love how easy it was to sing along to, and that’s not nothing, I suppose, though in the end the televote put him fifth and it was the national juries that had him on top.

Sincerely, though, we need to have a discussion about production value. This man is SINGING about SPACE. So, fine, maybe we can’t have fire in space. But a jumpsuit and a cage is not enough. Where are the sad spacemen floating around behind him? Where is morose interpretive dance on WIRES? Where is the weird set where he starts in an actual rocket and then it breaks apart? Where is the super cheesy view of Earth from way up there? At LEAST buy the rights to Space Camp and screen it behind you. Maybe Jinx put Max in space again and can’t get Max back this time. Surely we could have cracked this?!?

Spain went with sexy dance pop, complete with a leotard and chaps. She’s like a super glam matador. (Yes, this guy rips off her jacket — we had a fair bit of Things Being Quickly Removed this year.) Chanel turned out to be pretty charismatic. But the trick is, I remember HER more than I remember what she sang. Still, Chanel was third in both votes; I’m sure people are hot for the idea of partying in Spain next year, and the audience had a good time, although some of that might be that she performed tenth and there were not many before her that were as slick. She kicked things up several Emeril Lagasse notches.

She worked hard for the points, too. She did a LOT of dancing:

And a fair bit of stage writhing:

Honestly, her choreography was pretty involved, more so than most. She was moving basically the entire time, which may be why it felt more like being at a full-on Chanel concert, or a Grammy performance. That’s not necessarily a bad thing; she made the stage feel like it belonged to her.

And she did it all in, essentially, a thong:

And in case you’re wondering, YES, it rained sparks:

JUST THE WAY GOD INTENDED.

I didn’t love this song at first, but it did warm up toward the end; the produced version is probably pretty good. It’s a song about one last night together, knowing it’s over at sunrise, and her voice is good but wasn’t always on key at the finals. Mostly, the staging was dull, and I don’t know why she had a giant green bubble behind her.

In a campier year, there’d be a bed, possibly with actors in it. And she could LIGHT THE BED ON FIRE. (Listen, I am not into arson, except at Eurovision.) Someone more talented than I could do some green-screen magic with that thing to make her staging come alive.

Serbia came in a close third with the at-home voters, entirely because her performance and song were delightfully, wonderfully, unforgettably batshit. And that’s WITHOUT knowing what the lyrics are. First, twelve points to Serbia for singing in both Serbian AND, for the first time at Eurovision, Latin. Second, twelve points to Serbia for committing to a vision:

You might look at Serbian Miriam Shor sitting in front of a wash basin, and think it’s about Covid-era hand-washing. But it’s really a satire of the importance of physical beauty, and a criticism of Serbia’s healthcare system, which invokes both Meghan Markle’s hair and your spleen and includes a mention of not having health insurance. This is the one song where I am not going to screech at you about why there are not enough pyrotechnics, because she brought so much else. Like giant hands clapping:

And her own personal hand-drying expert:

Sometimes, she even had TWO. One for each hand:

My friend texted me that it was like if Marina Abramovic went to Eurovision, and then like two minutes later the New York Times live-blog said the same thing. It’s stunning. Here is the English translation of the opening:

What could be the secret of Meghan Markle‘s healthy hair? What could it be?
I think it‘s all about the deep hydration
They say our skin and hair show it all
For example –
Deep under-eye circles could signal liver troubles
The pesky spots around the lips point to an enlarged spleen
That‘s not a good spleen, not a very pretty spleen
And the artist ought to be healthy.

I believe at the end, she concludes that striving for a healthy body but not a healthy mind leaves you nowhere, and she is right. Wash your hands and take care of your spleen, everyone. Do not cross Konstrakta.

It’s my understanding that these two are, individually, very popular in Italy, so the combination of the two for Eurovision met with little to no competition from anyone else in the country. The song is a yearning love ballad, and while I don’t know if it’s specifically a duet — it sounds like they’ve each sung it on their own in the last year — the point of having them do it together was to promote inclusivity, and the two of them had a lot of chemistry. What I’m saying is, it FELT like two men singing a love song at each other, even if it might not have been written that way originally, and I dug it.

I also appreciated that Mahmood matched Blanco’s glittering suit with some seriously BeDazzled earpieces.

The more I listen to the song, the more I like it, but I thought some of the harmonies were a bit sketchy on the day — mostly on Blanco’s part, though Mahmood might’ve been flat on a couple of the high notes? And I appreciated the surprise rap interlude. Unfortunately, other than this one brief moment where Blanco stood on a piano, they mostly just wandered around the stage. I can stand on a piano, guys! I want more from Eurovision than something I could do if I got hammered at a country club.

Moldova came in second in the televote, and that’s because the people know what they want, and what they want is EVERYTHING. My notes sincerely read, “OH MY GOD AN ACCORDION, YES, THANK YOU MOLDOVA.” And a fiddler! And a rapping dude who looks like Bob Odenkirk going incognito! It was, in a word, rad.

Oh, and the guitarist went full Marty McFly for a minute on the floor. The song is literally about a train ride between Romania and Moldova — it was used to promote the reopening of the line — but apparently that’s a loaded issue for a lot of reasons that are complicated and involve Russia, so the band claims it’s mostly symbolic of the “crazy train ride” of life as a musician. All I know is, these guys have repped Moldova three times and it’s always a bop, and I enjoyed the hell out of it. They were a welcome reminder of why I watch this thing every year, and why it’s so much more than a talent show.

I did not understand the fascination with this one. Also, I mistyped that as “dud” and it’s an apt mistake. The dramatic opening on her face reminded me a bit of Lorde, but her sound at times made me think more of Imogen Heap, except without the quirk that might have made this memorable. My attention wandered, and I was surprised to see her do as well as she did in the national jury vote (the televotes tapered off).

I mean, she was just… sitting on a chair in a nightgown:

A see-through iridescent nightgown, in fact:

The song is a real dirge about a doomed relationship, and how if they die together right then, they’ll be together forever — an extremely fucked up moral, so that’s another pass from me. Also, may we discuss why the set is a bunch of overturned chairs?

Are they a metaphor? Did they throw chairs at each other in their doomed relationship? That’s not great, Bob.
“This will score low,” I wrote confidently in my notes. Shows how much I know.

ANOTHER melancholic ballad in the top ten! This one puts it right there in the title: “Saudade” as a concept has its own Wikipedia page (and in Brazil, its own day, January 30), and essentially means a deep longing for something you know you may never experience again. It’s a lovely concept, but the staging was just Maro sitting in a circle with five others singing backup, and languid staging plus a so-so song did not add up to success. Third in the running order is WAY too early for a nap for me.

“I’m not sure I told you, but I really like your teeth,” this began. “That hairy coat of yours with nothing underneath. Not sure you have a name, so I will call you Keith.” Let’s be real, I was in as soon as I saw the costumes — to which they WHOLLY committed; no one took off those heads on-camera all night — but the lyrics delivered on the promise, as did their creepy creeping wolf dance with bonus celestial astronaut:

It’s like Daft Punk meets The Bad Guys. Could they have loaned that guy to UK’s Sam Ryder? Imagine the difference it would have made.

I am shocked this didn’t do better, because again, it checks every box. Would I have been HAPPIER with a grandma in a cage? Or a giant banana coming down from the sky? Or a giant banana coming down from the sky with a wolf astride it, and possibly shooting fire? Yes. OF COURSE. I am here to help, Norway. Call me. But these guys did at least provide choreography, and smoke:

They had, for the folks at home, on-screen lyrics that made me chortle:

I was not expecting to see the word GRANDMA pop up on my screen, but I suppose it does rhyme with “banana,” and wolves have a long history of eating people’s grandmothers before assuming their identity. Truly, giving a wolf a banana before it eats your grandmother is not bad advice. Perhaps the banana will fill it up, or at least occupy it enough that your grandmother can steal a horse and ride off into the sunset. It’s worth a try. At its heart, this song might just be about sensible advice.

I thought the singer was better than the song in this particular instance, but by the end, I did write, “I COULD imagine this on the radio?” It turns out “De diepte” is pretty personal: S10 spent some time in a youth psychiatric hospital as a kid, and I gather this particular song is about “the deep,” or depth or abyss, and a person’s relationship to themself and a desire not to lose themself. She was crying by the end of the song. Safe to say this performance built, for me. And if more of the other stagings had not also been Dark Room, Bright Light, it might have stood out more.

This felt like being at a funeral, which was my reaction even before he crooned, “Bury me in my skin.” (I wonder if this song counts as a legally binding end-of-life plan.) While his voice is lovely, the song was bland, and it took the presence of The Dancing River Sprites of Doom to make it spicy:

I am going to invite them to my funeral. In advance, obviously.

He tried, but in a move that would upset his SNL namesake, this performance did NOT have everything. It did not even really have anything. It was the last song of the day, and an upbeat note on which to end, and I have to think that’s what carried it this far. I choose to believe that someone pitched a computer wall montage of Hope Williams Brady’s best moments on Days of our Lives and that it was vetoed for being too American.

This had a kicky retro lounge-act vibe to it, and she sang it in her native tongue, so obviously that gives it points. She held the camera really well, which is a lucky thing because the staging was nothing whatsoever. She was it. (I wrote, “She won’t win, but she’s enjoying herself.”) And she was gorgeous, as is her slinky dress, but it’s not great when the chief piece of interest is a thing only the people at home can see:

And frankly, her hair did throw me a bit.

She carries that as well as anyone can, but I am confident you can guess what ran through my head the entire time:

It was so NICE of Sweden to let him sing with her shirt over his face!

In seriousness: The national juries loved this, but in the televote it only got two. Two. And it was so much better than some of what finished ahead of it! With 25 acts, you’re always going to get a bunch in the middle that you think should have been higher up… which, inevitably, pushes some of them back down because that’s just how math works.

Near the end, the stairs re-formed so that Sheldon could climb to the top of them, and then, right there, HE RIPPED OFF HIS WIG:

By which I mean mask. (Sorry, I couldn’t resist the Melrose Place reference. Anytime anyone rips off anything, to me, it’s RIPS OFF A WIG.)

Clearly, several of these songs had personal meaning to the singers, but the way this one was staged and performed made that really clear. Per Wikipedia, he wrote it “from the memories of a child who at age 6 was diagnosed with Asperger’s syndrome. Growing up in public housing, moving from home to home, unaware of my sexuality, among a deeply religious family. A path already laid that I would never be able to properly understand or interact with other people.” That last line really resonates. I may not have gotten the specifics from what he did on-stage, but I got the emotional gist — of being seen, at last — and I’m sorry it didn’t finish better. But he’s talented, he’s done a few singing contests in Australia, and now he’s nailed this massive event. He’s going to continue to be great.

Well. He’s very sad in his sweatshirt. I would be sad too.

Given that he’s sitting on bleachers, and wearing knickers and leg bandages, I really wanted this to be a song about a football game that went very badly, or a long-ago romp under the bleachers. But no, it’s just standard general heartbreak blues.

He kind of lost me before the bleachers swiveled. Sorry, sir! I did appreciate the weepy noises, but let’s flesh out the plot next time.

I picked a photo where the light is obscuring his face because that’s about as special as this felt. It was fine, he was cute enough, but he needed staging. I wrote, “This feels like the kind of ballad that will finish sixth or seventh.” Wrong again! But it’s also interchangeable to me with some of the ones that did finish higher, which may be a sign that none of them particularly stood out and it was more an act of randomness, or the draw, that affected the outcome. For example, this one came after Finland, which was super lively, and the mood turn didn’t help its chances.

Romania performed second, and my notes were like, “Okay! I can hang with this!” While there was minimal lyrical effort, it was easy for the crowd to latch onto the refrain; they knew their audience, and played to it, and gave everyone in the arena a rollicking time, and then everyone forgot about it when better stuff came along. And that’s what happens; that’s Eurovision. But I give them points for a lively staging. Although it’s unclear to me why Romania picked a song with a Spanish-language refrain, nor why they leaned into that as an aesthetic. But hey, if a bunch of these nations sing in English, then why not other languages? Mix it up, I say. I don’t know if I would mix it so hard that the buttock panels fall off my pants, but to each their own.

I also need you to know that these dancers are so oiled up that there were times I couldn’t tell if that was flesh, or some kind of weird plastic panel. Surely there can be no oil of any ilk left in Italy, even for cooking.

Oh, and yes, he RIPPED OFF HIS WIG. Just kidding, again. It was his shirt:

Revealing ANOTHER shirt. Just a fancier one. But what do we call his dancers’ shirts? Are they bibs? Glorified dickies? Torsonecks? Enquiring minds need to know.

He’s very cute, and this is another generic pop song that seemed destined to finish exactly where it did. Sidebar: Eurovision was very into the stage with water cascading off the sides (which I just realized is not in this photo, so I apologize), and I decided it was to try and make it safer for all the fire. But then WHERE IS THAT FIRE?

How do you follow Subwoolfer? With a WALL OF CHARMIN.

I am not sure WHY she is in a Cottonnelle Castle (yes, I know it’s actually cotton, but it LOOKS like squares of T.P.) , unless it’s a metaphor for wiping away a bad relationship.

She bounced around the room pulling off pieces to reveal dates, and lyrics, until she yanked away a big piece and opened up a portal to another dimension:

That being, the other half of the stage. At one point I though the discarded waste paper was moving but then realized her stage was rotating. Sentient Silk n’ Soft would have been tremendous.

Anyway, by the end of this song I was totally with her, and I’m sad it didn’t do better — I wrote, “I’ll put this on my playlist but it’ll probably end up 14th,” and I was too optimistic — but maybe everyone saw the Quilted Northern and got ideas about taking a bathroom break.

Pro tip: If you search an image site for “Rasmus Finland,” you’re going to get pictures of a lot of Scandinavian hockey players.

You have probably already seen this on the Internet — I cannot take credit for it — but the opening image of this song really does eerily evoke the movie It:

The lyric “PUT YOUR FACE ON” takes on a whole new meaning when you are evoking a psychotic killer clown.

Eventually he lets that balloon go, but do not worry, there are plenty more:

One of the songwriters is also credited with Bon Jovi’s “Livin’ On a Prayer,” and boy, can you tell when you hit the chorus. This absolutely feels like a 1980s Jon Bon ballad, complete with faintly sexist musings about a woman who is dangerous maneater (truly well trod ground, thanks, Hall & Oates). I feel that this woman is being maligned slightly and wished she would arrive by balloon to dispense justice, but ONCE AGAIN, nobody consulted me.

Oh, and off came his shirt. But you probably saw that coming.

We Are Domi opened things up, and the audience started clapping along before the beat kicked in, presumably because they knew it was coming. The woman, Dominika, is the daughter of NHL goalie Dominic Hasek, which I learned on Twitter. She resembles the actress Lake Bell to me. And her cohorts had matching wacky patterns:

It got people dancing eventually, which is what you need in an opening song, but the performance quality was not quite there and the song was a drag. The most interesting thing that happened was when her orb of light turned into lasers and a statue appeared:

Then they BLEW UP David. But only digitally. I understand, intellectually, why one cannot explode a statue on-stage, but truly it felt like a tease of more interesting and dramatic approaches they could have taken. Someone could have BURST OUT of a statue. A Trojan David. Work with me here.

Poor Iceland, so mighty last year, really fell here. Slot 23 must be tough. Everyone is ready for it to be over by then, and in this case they were stuck between the UK and Serbia, which meant everyone just came off a favorite (Sam Ryder) and knew that the Mayer of Bonkersville was coming up next (Serbia’s hand-washing). This was always going to be a blip in the middle, sadly. Which I hate saying about the Haim of Iceland, but there we are. Left Systur reminded me of Adele, facially. Middle Systur was a cross between Miranda Lambert and Juliette Lewis, and Right Systur has… maybe the faintest whiff of Princess Bea? That’s all I’ve got.

They DID serve up a glowing stage, at least, and as gentle folk-rock songs go, it was nice. A little sleepy. Not at all well-served by where it fell in the contest. Better than 23rd, but… I forgot most of it already, so maybe it wasn’t.

This French group is singing in the Breton language, the only Celtic tongue still in use in mainland Europe. It’s an endangered language, so it’s awesome that they are elevating a piece of the country’s history like that, but before I looked that up, I wrote in my notes, “This is real trippy and should score zero points.”

It looked and sounded like a number from a musical where your main character gets indoctrinated into a cult after taking peyote. In the Emerald City.

And, you are right to hope those flames lick higher:

See you at the orgy!

Oh, Germany. I’m sorry. Someone has to be Mr. Irrelevant in every NFL Draft, and someone has to finish last at Eurovision, and this year that’s you. Malik here reminded me of a cross between Pete Davidson and Evan Ross. His song has the whiff of a Bieber/Eminem collaboration that would be a mediocre track on either of their albums, and I do not understand the point of this:

He touched a couple of those, but for the most part, the instruments just… sat there. It’s like the world’s most depressing recording studio. Which I suppose is a fitting staging for what turned out to be Eurovision’s Mr. Irrelevant.