Last year, I decided that I was going to judge Eurovision entries on the criterion of "do I care?" As if to punish me cosmically for making this choice, the otherwise good (from a SONG QUALITY standpoint not an experience standpoint, obviously) Eurovision 2024 was chock full of Jendrik Sigwart wannabes that I cared about a good deal. I grew to hate Europapa, I hated Rim Tim Tagi Dim, I grew to hate No Rules, I hated (Nendest) narkootikumidest ei tea me (küll) midagi, and I hate the many variants that are popping up in national finals this year like a bad case of herpes*, including this one. As it turns out, there are worse things than feeling nothing. Like feeling something. And oh boy, does this make me feel something.
*Loath to say this lest some man** with a stupid haircut submits a song to an NF about a bad case of herpes complete with dancing warts--when it inevitably jumps to top 5 in the odds, just make sure I get a writing credit.
**And these songs do help me get my Gianluca on, as the one time in the last few Eurovisions that women were allowed to be irreverent,
I did end up really liking that.