Regally Blonde

Author: Astri von Arbin Ahlander

This season's "American Idol" is in full swing. The show has gained a whole new level of legitimacy since Jennifer Hudson took home the Academy Award for Best Supporting Actress, proving that it can indeed be regarded as a factory for fame. But "American Idol," a remake of the British "Pop Idol," does little to compete with the musical event at the heart of every Union-loving European: The Eurovision Song Contest.

I bet the name sounds vaguely familiar to you. Middlebury is, after all, an international place, and this time of year the air is full not only of vague hints of warmer breezes, but of heated discussion between international students placing dibs on who they think will win the near-sacred event. Though the show isn't until May, each country is now frantically picking its entering song, which makes the hype for Eurovision as premature as my proclamations of an approaching spring. But so it goes.

I recall a sunny afternoon in the spring of my own Middlebury career when a Turkish friend of mine and I huddled in front of his computer to watch a fuzzy stream of the show in a three-by-five inch frame for a good three hours. My friend was unusually excited because Turkey which, though not yet permitted to join the EU, is a proud member of the Eurovision team - had won the previous year and was the host country for the musical extravaganza.

My dear American reader, you must understand the gravity of the situation. Hosting The Eurovision Song Contest is like hosting the Olympics, except you only get one year's notice. The previous year's winning country has to build a stadium, choreograph elaborate opening and closing ceremonies and polish up the faÁade of its city so as to look their best for music-loving tourists traveling from far and wide to witness the live, annual resuscitation of cheesy music.

Eurovision was created in Switzerland in the early 1950s with the goal of uniting Europe's war-torn nations through entertainment, giving each the chance to exhibit its cultural flavor in a peaceful and joyous forum. Each country contributes a song and the viewers in each country cast their votes, but you cannot vote for your own country. The votes are tallied up and each country represents one vote in the final tally-up. The final product may be zesty and fun - a guilty pleasure for anyone who pretends to have higher musical taste - but it certainly fosters a degree of nationalism comparable to say, soccer's World Cup. At least there are no blood-thirsty Eurovision hooligans singing their way through police barricades - that I know of that is.

It's funny how a musical contest can reinforce previously fostered national stereotypes. Take France, for example. For as long as anyone can remember, France's contribution has consisted of a slow ballad, sung strictly in French (even though most other nations perform their entries in English), by an emaciated, doe-like woman in a flowing gown. Typical, non?

Eurovision is also a great way to see deep allegiances between countries. Take Sweden and Britain, for example. They always, without fail, vote for one another, no matter how detestable the song. I credit this to the Brit's love for ABBA and neon spandex jumpsuits (fun Eurovision fact: ABBA won in 1974 with "Waterloo").

The contest is broadcast all over the world, even in non-contributing countries. Yet here we can see how the consumption of the contest reflects international tensions. For example, though Jordan broadcasts the show ever year, they only do so after having first edited out Israel's contribution. I wonder what they did the year Israel won? Bet that rang pretty off-key.