The Sisters' Second Act:
'The Sisters' transvestite singing group continues to generate controversy in Slovenia
'Sisters' Are Doing It for Themselves: The surprise victory of a transvestite group in the domestic Eurosong contest is causing consternation in Slovenia
A Band of Merry Men: Latvian band BrainStorm charms the critics — and the ladies — with their positive attitude and perky performances
Wishful thinking. Anyway, it's more fun to vote for friends and against enemies. You only have to look at the voting patterns to see that this is precisely what happens. Eurovision is as much about flag-waving national pride as it is about pop songs. Each participating country has points to divvy up in the finals, and, once upon a time, each had a jury assigned to this task. (A country's top choice gets 12 points, the second gets 10, the third eight, the fourth seven, and so on down to No. 10, which gets one. The song that racks up the most points wins.) But when, say, Greece got lots of points from Cyprus and vice versa, and when Turkey got few from either, it was pretty clear that juries cared about criteria other than song quality.
The organizers decided to democratize. In most countries, audiences now vote by phone on how to dole out points. Surprise, surprise: similar results! The Baltics vote for each other. So do the Balkans. Nobody votes for the U.K. — the price of euroskepticism? — unless its song is unignorably good. This "is the continuation of European wars by peaceful means," says Jürgen Meier-Beer of Germany, who is on the committee overseeing the show. "We sing against each other, but we are far from singing the same song."
If it's all a game of musical alliances, who cares? Small countries do. Estonians met secretly during the Soviet era to watch Eurovision on Finnish TV, which they got via specially rigged antennas. Pop meant freedom; what liberty that would allow such a spectacle! Now, with its win and the accompanying honor of hosting this year's gig, Estonia is bursting with pride. "People can't tell the Baltics from a hole-in-the-ground," says Michael Tarm, editor of Tallinn's City Paper magazine. "Estonians see the contest — and certainly winning and hosting it — as a way of making a splash."
The French don't care to get wet. Of Europe's big countries, France, its cultural calendar full of events where one neither hoots nor hollers, is usually the most dismissive. "I'm sure that if they documented the audience that watches Eurovision, they'd discover that it was generally the least educated, the less financially successful sector of the population," says Gilles Renault, music critic for Libération. "It's more of a joke than anything else." Britain, at least, knows to laugh. In fact, people throw parties to enjoy what Terry Wogan calls "sublime awfulness." Says Wogan, who has done Eurovision play-by-play since 1971: "Everybody knows it's terrible. It has always been terrible. That's why people watch it."
Sometimes the side-shows — the dramas, controversies, certain losers — are as compelling as the main event. One in 1998 — Israeli transsexual Dana International — became the main event with an upset win. Tottering in her stilettoed footsteps this year are Sestre (Sisters), three transvestites in red air-hostess outfits. In Slovenia's finals, phone voters overwhelmingly chose pop star Karmen Stavec, but a system weighted in favor of two juries gave Sestre the win. At first, Slovenia erupted with outrage at being represented by sisters who obviously weren't. Now, "when people recognize us on the street, they scream, they sing our song, they ask for a kiss," says singer Miss Marlena. Slovenia came on side, but not before Dutch M.E.P. Lousewies van der Laan hinted that if the country wasn't ready for Sestre, it wasn't ready for the E.U. either. Told to mind her own Bruxellois business, Van der Laan says Slovenes "are the ones politicizing this, not me." Besides, "I'm not interested in the Eurovision Song Contest. I've never even heard the song."
Yes, yes, the songs. They matter, but for most of us, only as a soundtrack to the real spectacle. What the organizers created in 1956 has become a rarity: a European institution that isn't eye-glazingly dull like the Commission, has real grassroots involvement and maintains voter interest. And how this baby has grown — more than 100 million people will watch this year's show live on TV. Whether you love it or love to hate it, "todo va creciendo: la fuerza y la ilusión," as this year's Spanish rep Rosa sings in Europe's Living a Celebration: "Everything is growing: the strength and the illusion."
With reporting by LEO CENDROWICZ/Brussels, JOSHUA KUCERA/Ljubljana, ANGELA LEUKER/Vienna, DELPHINE SCHRANK/Paris, JANE WALKER/Madrid and REGINE WOSNITZA/Berlin
