by Sally McGrane
The New Yorker
May 12, 2014
In the wee hours of Sunday morning, this year’s Eurovision Song Contest—a pop extravaganza founded in 1956 with the purpose of fostering good relations between neighbors after the violence of the Second World War—drew to a close.
Many have called it the most political Eurovision ever: over the course of the evening, which was watched by a hundred and twenty million people, the blonde, teen-aged twins representing Russia, where they are widely touted as virgins, were booed—a first in the history of the contest. Televotes from Crimea had been counted, according to Eurovision decree, as Ukrainian. (They went to Sweden). The Russians had, as usual, awarded high points to Belarus, whose song was about cheesecake. Read more
The New Yorker
May 12, 2014
In the wee hours of Sunday morning, this year’s Eurovision Song Contest—a pop extravaganza founded in 1956 with the purpose of fostering good relations between neighbors after the violence of the Second World War—drew to a close.
Many have called it the most political Eurovision ever: over the course of the evening, which was watched by a hundred and twenty million people, the blonde, teen-aged twins representing Russia, where they are widely touted as virgins, were booed—a first in the history of the contest. Televotes from Crimea had been counted, according to Eurovision decree, as Ukrainian. (They went to Sweden). The Russians had, as usual, awarded high points to Belarus, whose song was about cheesecake. Read more