God save the McDonald

While one of our deepest wishes is for UK to get their ass out of Europe and shut about it soon, we still want the Brits to succeed in Eurovision. But they keep making even that hard for themselves by sending outdated, retired musicians there to die. Good thing working class has come to the rescue:

Michael Rice grew up working at McDonalds, but he always dreamed of becoming a singer. Or, as he says himself in his most exquisite dialect: “Iusetawacka’MacDanals. AndenIthou’Idtakememusiccareertothenextlevel ‘njusseewha’Icouddo”. And then he started playing in the bus and then he entered up in BBC’s entertainment show “All together now”. And then Ginger Spice and all the others loved him. And he won and spent all the money he won on taking his family to Disneyland and setting up a shop selling ice cream and waffles, which apparently was what he could do with his talent. That, and being selected as Britain’s contestant for Eurovision with a song made by the Swedish contestant. And he still don’t know how to make himself understood outside of Hartleepool. And now let’t take a breath.

Apparently McDonalds is not as bad for your talent as it is for your health, because Michael Rice sure knows how to sing. Just listen to his Beyoncé cover, his version of the ever so tiresome Proud Mary and the “Hallelujah” that finally scored him a spot in BBC heaven. Have to say we get why the Brits want to send him to Eurovision after a series of rather embarrassing years, and we do hope they know how to make use of him in the wee hours of EuroClub as well.

There’s something so honest and decent about Michael Rice. We want him to succeed only to see those twinkling eyes and big smile that the botox class of Russia, Sweden and Netherlands seem to have forgotten about. Only wish he didn’t ask Sweden for help. While his song sure is a banger of a schlager, and while Michael certainly makes the most of what he’s got, it still feels a bit early 2000, and we’re not sure that will work too well now that we’ve gotten used to the Jamalas and Salvadors and Nettas of the world. There’s too much of that old formula, too little of the new and exciting and quirky. And you can’t really tell your life story before you start to sing. Also: The lyrics. Why, oh why, are some of the worst lyrics in this competition delivered by the only contestant that actually has English as his mother tongue?

Still. People will love that UK has a song that they can listen to without wanting to cry for help. That’ll secure Michael enough votes to make UK history. Which, come to think of it, doesn’t take too much.

Oh, honey. Don’t promise more than you can keep.

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