I have long been an Anglophile. I love British music with a passion. I can't get enough British TV. English comedians are the funniest, UK radio is the bee's knees, and I'll take a BBC newscast over CNN anytime. If a girl with a British accent tries to speak to me, I can barely keep from squealing. I once worked with a reporter from Ireland (which isn't even part of the UK) and I still wanted to be his very best friend just because he'd at least heard of some of my favorite bands.
On the very weekend we celebrate our independence from British rule, it's probably poor taste to write about how much British culture rules. But here's the thing -- England has launched an all-out assault on my brain this week, and this is a war they just might be winning.
It started with an innocent movie. This week, Netflix debuted a new Will Ferrell flick that I enjoyed very much. It's the kind of film that critics are bound to hate, but I was all in. Not just because it's full of heart and optimism and silly laughs, but because it's about a topic near and dear to my heart: The annual Eurovision Song Contest.
Truly, there is no greater annual trainwreck, and it's a shame more Americans don't know about it. Every year, the nations of Europe compete in a continentally-televised sing-off to determine which country has written the best song of the year. Songs are judged by representatives of each country along with the viewing public. It is the world's longest-running annual televised contest and draws up to 600 million viewers every year.
And it's terrible.
Not just a LITTLE terrible, either. It's a whole new level of terrible. Every once in a while, Eurovision can find a star. ABBA got their break representing Sweden back in 1974. Celine Dion catapaulted to superstardom when she was hired to perform Switzerland's Eurovision entry in 1988. But for the most part, Eurovision is a nightmare factory of garish costumes, over-the-top antics, and truly terrible music. It's a wonderland of bad taste and poor choices.
Since winning requires the overall consensus of 47 completely different cultures, Eurovision entries tend to be watered-down, homogenized, bubblegum pop trash written for mass appeal. Since the songs are cheeseballs, the performers try to differentiate themselves with zany stunts, cringe-worthy gimmicks, and some of the weirdest attempts at sex appeal you'll ever see. Don't believe me? Google Iceland's Silvia Night or the awesomely named Serbian singer Rambo Amadeus and strap in.
In Ferrell's "Eurovision" movie, he and Rachel McAdams portray earnest Icelandic singer-songwriters trying to advance to the finals. You might laugh when you see Ferrell in silver makeup and a winged helmet singing an ode to volcano gods, but that's honestly not too far off from the real thing. There's a scene in the movie where Ferrell joins in a crazy medley of ABBA, Madonna, and Cher songs at an afterparty. What Americans might not realize is that the performers in that medley are all actual Eurovision winners. It's a magical mess.
Watching the movie put me in the mood to see the real deal, so I immediately went on Youtube looking for past Eurovision highlights. That's when Britain got its revenge on me for our indepedence.
In 1981, England won Eurovision with their own version of ABBA -- four vocalists assembled for the contest who went by the name Buck's Fizz. Well, technically they still GO by Buck's Fizz. Kind of. More on that later.
Buck's Fizz may have looked like ABBA, but their sound was straight Brady Bunch. They won Eurovision '81 with a song called "Making Your Mind Up" that might be the worst pop song of all poptime. If you were to combine the DNA of My Little Pony, Shirley Temple, and Hello Kitty, the resulting cuteness monstrosity STILL wouldn't be half as insipidly sugar-sweet as "Making Your Mind Up." It even comes with hand-jive choreography and a "scandalous" bit where the two guys rip off the skirts of the two girls -- only to reveal matching mini-skirts underneath.
Here's where I'd normally tell you to go listen for yourself. Trust me, don't. For the past 72 hours, "Making Your Mind Up" has been on auto-repeat in my head. It won't leave no matter what I do. Buck's Fizz is the devil's earworm. Somewhere in my brain, there's a radio station that now only plays ONE request. "Making Your Mind Up" has bored its way into my soul and now there's no other music. It's so obnoxiously catchy that I fear it'll be a part of me forever. Maybe this means it's the best song ever written. Am I the world's #1 Bucks Fizz fan now?
The BEST part? The singers HATE each other. There's a Buck's Fizz documentary on the BBC (and Youtube) that's one of the closest things to real-life Spinal Tap you'll ever see. The foursome turned their win into modest fame -- until a horrible bus crash left one member near death. Then the remaining guy convinced the singer of another terrible band to join, and this new guy tried to take over Bucks Fizz for himself! They fired him, but he formed his OWN Bucks Fizz with the original bus-crash guy! Now there's TWO warring Bucks Fizzes touring the cabaret circuits of England while they fight in court over the right to the name. The other band has to go by "The Fizz," and their career is clearly on the rise since they're booked to play October 4th at Pizza Express Live in Holburn.
Well played, England. You've destroyed my Anglophile dreams and turned me into a Fizzhead. Maybe one day the DJ in my brain will stop requesting "Making Your Mind Up." Until then, if you see me out on the street, wear a mask and stay six feet away, but SING SOMETHING TO ME. ANYTHING. GET THIS SONG OUT OF MY HEAD. Curse you, England. I'm glad we revolted.
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