Last year we went to Estonia for their national final. Clearly, we chose the wrong year and missed this:
Not that any year is a bad over there. Somehow, in a country smaller than Amsterdam’s metropolitan area, they manage to pile up quite a few artists every year and it’s not even a couple of families stuck on resirc like in certain other small countries a little further south. In a country where national finals are best kept secret, we’re highly impressed, of course, and would apply for a citizenship immediately if they could also cook up a little bit more global warming in winter.
That brings us to this years winner, who tries to summon the slightly warmer south by using their language. Singing in Italian is never wrong, of course. There’s nothing like the mother tongue of Juliet Capulet and Romeo Montague when you have to work with bland lyrics about flying on the wings of love and pray that no one notices. We approve, of course. There can never be too much Italian in Eurovision, and there’s always too much of Donald Trump’s mother tongue.
Also, we have to say we LOVE THAT DRESS. We mean, in an age of recycling and conscious living, what better than to use the entire stage floor as your dress? It has got to be the best idea since a since a certain bearded lady. We bet the lighting techs of Lisbon begged for this winner, as it allows them to play with all their new equipment up and down a woman’s body and who doesn’t want that as their job? #metoo for you too.
Then there’s the song itself. Here we are stuck between feeling the horror of this lady’s high notes and loving her unapologetic take on popera. We both close our ears and dream she is Maria Callas and close our eyes and praise her fearless screaming for more fervency in a competition so passionate we sometimes have to hand out chill pills for free.
Checking in with the betting companies, it seems more people than just Estonia themselves are convinced of a victory for the Tallin popera. Currently Estonia is betted as the second most likely winner of Eurovision 2018. While we’ve seen a lot of unlikely winners the last couple of years, we have some trouble picturing that. Either the Estonians also have such severe gambling problems they managed to trick the system and manipulate the odds or the gambling companies keep forgetting that kids vote and kids hate opera.
We’ll gladly go to Tallinn for an international final anytime, but we might just have to settle for a national one in 2019. Because as much as we crave that dress, this dream might be over when the skinny lady screams.