Sunday 30 January 2022

Let's all dance the tongo...

(En español abajo) 

I woke up this morning to a peculiarly Spanish scandal engulfing the press and social media. Now before I go on to write about what everybody here is calling a 'tongo', a fix, I should for the sake of transparency explain how and why I am not neutral in this affair. And why I care about it when it's about the Eurovision Song Contest(!)

A bit of background for the non-Spaniards reading this. Spain makes its choice similarly to Britain, if it hasn't changed back home since I last watched it (which was, admittedly, while Wogan was still around). There's a series of qualifying rounds that I don't bother with, followed by a televised event at which a jury and/or the public vote for which song will be sent to represent the country at this year's festival of terrible Europop.

This year, one of the entries is not only singing in Gallego, lending them an air of authenticity that any poppy or reggaeton effort would lack, but the costumes were designed by a son of Viana do Bolo, a chap called Jorge, who holds fashion shows of his own designs here in the village, runs a' hairdressing salon and generally seems to have a keen eye for the beautiful, to my entirely ignorant eyes.

So, for Jorge, I of course wanted the group, the Tanxugeiras, to win. But the song itself was an anthemic, rousing proclamation against borders, sung powerfully in a minority language that struck a chord with a lot of people. It's not what I'd call a typical Eurovision song - and maybe that's what doomed it. 

A disparity between what the public wanted and what the jury wanted appeared immediately in the semi-final that preceded the final show. The voting was weighted heavily in the jury's favour, with five so-called experts carrying 50% of the vote, the general public 25% and a representative group of more culturally diverse people, numbering around 350, the other 25%. Both sets of public votes placed Tanxugeiras in the top two, while the jury had them second-last of their group.

The public votes were enough to get them to the final, where they came out on top of both of the public votes, but fifth of eight in the jury's. Here's the page with the actual results and where you can see the performances, and Jorge's work (oh, and an interesting little poll on who 'should have won'). I didn't watch the event but apparently it didn't take long for public displeasure to manifest itself, with boos and cries of 'tongo' – 'fix', in the auditorium itself when the winner was announced, and social media has been awash with indignation today. 

I read one piece that said the winner seemed to be chosen because of how she moved her hips, and because she was who RTVE, the Spanish national TV and radio network, seemed to want to send to Turin – I'll come back to that in a minute. It certainly wasn't because of the lyrics, an archetype of the current Spanglish dance-oriented crap that dominates pop here at the moment:

Lets go! Llego a mama

La reina, la dura, una Bugatti

El mondo está loco con está party

Si tengo un problema, no es monetary

Yo vuelvo loquito a todos los daddies

Yo siempre primera, nunca secondary

Apenas hago doom, doom

Con me boom, boom

Yo le tengo dando zoom, zoom

Por Miami

Pulitzer-quality it ain't. Against the rules of the very competition it's won, it is. Some poor soul has gone through the entire lot and counted the English words in this thing, and 44% of it is English against a maximum permitted 35%, apparently. Nationally known musicians, Galician politicians and public alike have lined up to condemn what they regard as a sham, pointing out the apparent disconnection between jury and public, but also the apparent professional connections two of the jurors had with the winning act...

Anyway - from the point of view of exposure, and in some eyes professional credibility, what's happened could be regarded as the best possible outcome for the Galician group - the publicity they're getting has certainly done wonders for their profile. But how great it would have been to see Jorge's designs feature in what is now undoubtedly a global television event, regardless of the 'Euro' bit in its name. My congratulations go to him for such recognition of his talent anyway.

My partner had been trying to encourage friends to watch the thing, and teach them the Eurovision drinking game, because in Spain it doesn't quite carry the kitsch nationwide appeal that holds Brits in its spell despite our huge unpopularity in the voting nowadays. Now it seems there may be plenty of Spaniards, and certainly plenty of Galicians, who will boycott the thing altogether.



Me despierto esta mañana con un escándalo "typical Spanish" que envuelve la prensa y las redes sociales. Ahora bien, antes de pasar a escribir sobre lo que aquí todo el mundo llama un tongo, un apaño, debería, para que quede claro, explicar cómo y por qué no soy neutral en este asunto. Y por qué me importa cuando se trata del Festival de Eurovisión(!)

Un poco de historia para los no españoles que lean esto. España hace su elección de forma similar a Gran Bretaña, si es que no ha cambiado en casa desde la última vez que lo vi (que fue, hay que reconocerlo, por el tiempo de "La Rosa de España"). Hay una serie de rondas clasificatorias que no suelo ver, seguidas de un evento televisado en el que un jurado y/o el público votan qué canción será enviada a representar al país en el festival de europop.

Este año, uno de los grupos no sólo cantan en gallego, lo que le da un aire de autenticidad del que carecería cualquier esfuerzo de pop o reggaetón, sino que el vestuario ha sido diseñado por un vecino de Viana do Bolo, un joven llamado Jorge de Álvarez, que celebra desfiles de moda con sus propios diseños aquí en el pueblo, tiene una peluquería y, en general, parece tener un buen ojo para lo bello, según mi limitada opinión. 

Así que, por Jorge, por supuesto que quería que ganara el grupo, las Tanxugeiras. Pero la canción en sí era un himno, una proclamación enérgica contra las fronteras, cantada con fuerza en una lengua regional, o galego, que tocó la fibra sensible de mucha gente. No es lo que yo llamaría una canción típica de Eurovisión, y quizás eso es lo que la condenó. 

La disparidad entre lo que quería el público y lo que quería el jurado apareció inmediatamente en la semifinal que precedió a la final. La votación se inclinó fuertemente a favor del jurado: cinco de los llamados expertos se llevaron el 50% de los votos, el público en general el 25% y un grupo representativo de personas de mayor diversidad cultural, que sumaban alrededor de 350, el otro 25%. Ambas votaciones del público situaron a Tanxugeiras entre los dos primeros puestos, mientras que el jurado las situó en el penúltimo lugar de su grupo.

Los votos del público fueron suficientes para llevarlas a la final, donde quedaron en primer lugar en las dos votaciones del público, pero en quinto lugar de ocho en las del jurado. Aquí está la página con los resultados reales y donde puedes ver las actuaciones, y el trabajo de Jorge (ah, y una interesante encuesta sobre quién "debería haber ganado"). No vi el evento, pero al parecer no tardó en manifestarse el descontento del público, con abucheos y gritos de "tongo", "robo", en el propio auditorio cuando se anunció el ganador, y las redes sociales desde entonces están inundadas de indignación. 

Leí un artículo que decía que la ganadora parecía haber sido elegida por cómo movía las caderas, y porque era a quien RTVE, la cadena nacional de televisión y radio española, parecía querer enviar a Turín -volveré sobre esto en un minuto-. Desde luego, no fue por la letra, un arquetipo de la basura actual orientada al baile en spanglish que domina el pop en España en este momento:

Let's go! Llego a mama

La reina, la dura, una Bugatti

El mondo está loco con está party

Si tengo un problema, no es monetary

Yo vuelvo loquito a todos los daddies

Yo siempre primera, nunca secondary

Apenas hago doom, doom

Con me boom, boom

Yo le tengo dando zoom, zoom

Por Miami

No tiene mucha calidad de Pulitzer, no. De hecho, está en contra de las reglas del propio concurso. Alguien, con mucho tiempo en sus manos, ha revisado toda la canción y ha contado las palabras en inglés en este engendro, y resulta que el 44% es inglés, cuando las reglas establecen que el máximo permitido es 35%, aparentemente. Músicos de renombre nacional, políticos gallegos y público se han alineado para condenar lo que consideran una farsa, señalando la aparente desconexión entre el jurado y el público, pero también las aparentes conexiones laborales que dos de los miembros del jurado tenían con el acto ganador...

En cualquier caso, desde el punto de vista de la exposición, y en algunos ojos de la credibilidad profesional, lo que ha sucedido podría considerarse como el mejor resultado posible para el grupo gallego - la publicidad que están recibiendo ha hecho ciertamente maravillas para su perfil. Pero qué bueno hubiera sido ver los diseños de Jorge de Álvarez en lo que ahora es, sin duda, un evento televisivo mundial, independientemente de la palabra "Euro" en su nombre. En cualquier caso, le felicito por el reconocimiento de su talento.

Mi pareja había intentado animar a sus amigos a ver el evento, y enseñarles el juego de beber de Eurovisión, porque en España no tiene tanto el atractivo nacional kitsch que mantiene a los británicos en su hechizo a pesar de nuestra enorme impopularidad en las votaciones hoy en día. El resultado, parece que hay muchos españoles, y ciertamente muchos gallegos, que boicotearán el evento. 


Tuesday 4 January 2022

UK calling, UK calling. Question - have we become as thick as whale omelettes since I left?

So I'm home for the holidays, due to fly back to Spain – the outcome of a PCR test permitting – on Thursday 6th. I've been able to spend a lot of time at home with my mother, which has meant watching a fair bit of daytime TV.

Now back home in Viana, the TV basically only goes on to watch Brighton games on DAZN. I pretty much don't watch it at all now - partly because, as I've said before on here, Spanish TV is crap, and partly because I've just lost the habit of watching it and now, like a lot of others, pick and choose what I want to watch from YouTube or over my partner's shoulder on Netflix.

My mum's favourite programmes include Tipping Point, a quiz show which, if you haven't seen it, features a giant coin-pusher machine like those penny arcade things, whereby you get a token to put in the thing every time you get a question right, and getting them out brings home the bacon. Watching so many episodes of this, while a bit repetitive, has also been quite illuminating. Now I've never been on a TV quiz show (obviously – cameras!) so I don't know what the pressure of the cameras, heat, lights and time limit do to cognition. I also know that with all general knowledge questions, they're only easy if you know it. What's easy for some people is unknown to others - fair enough. 

However, I just watched three contestants on this game get three questions right between them out of 18 asked, and some of the responses got me howling. (And don't get me started on the 'before my time' response so typical from young mouths on these shows - do people only know about things that happened during their own adulthood now? Does the past not exist to them?)

Anyway - I was so appalled by five of their answers in particular that I wrote them down and present them here - what do you think? Am I being unduly harsh on people trying to answer under conditions I've never experienced, or is this just abject?

What egg-laying mammal's name is derived from the Greek for 'flat-footed'?

"Bear... no, dog!"

What two-word term describes the point at which liquids turn into vapour?

"Gas."

Which illuminated junction in central London turned off its famous advertising signs to... etc etc.

"Westminster."

In a football match, which position is often described as requiring a 'safe pair of hands'?

"Defender."

Which sportswear firm has a high-street outlet in London's Oxford Street called NikeTown?

"Pass."

Now I'm not going to apologise for being dismayed by such responses. I realise, of course, that not everybody knows that the platypus is an egg-laying mammal, for example. But when was the last time you saw a bear, or a dog, lay eggs? The second question quite clearly says the answer is two words, and then gives you one of them. And so on. 

I'm afraid I have to ask the great Ellen Ripley's question when she was awakened after a 57-year hibernation in Aliens. Did IQs just drop suddenly while I was away? I also lost count of how many times one of the contestants said that "xxx isn't my strong point" - he used this for history, politics, geography, sport and entertainment. What the hell is your strong point, then? And what are you doing on a nationally televised general knowledge quiz if you don't know anything... about anything?

So, dear reader - which is it? Am I being harsh or is that just dumb-arsery of the first order?

(Edit. Can now add the following to the Hall of Shame:

In a non-leap year, how many weeks does the month of February have?

"51.")


No voy a traducir esta entrada - no tendrá mucha sentido en España. Pero si quieres... www.deepl.com