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worldoffangs · 1 year ago

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Pieces

My return to Lancashire had been long overdue. Last time I visited the area, Frankie Vaughan’s ‘The Garden of Eden’ played in the background while I drained a young woman named Cheryl just outside a pub in Blackburn.

Existential crisis in a vampire’s life happens mostly when we discover new facts from the time before our transformation; and the same goes for heretics. The same goes for me. When I met my great-great-grandson Adrian, in New Orleans of all places, I learned that the love that defined my entire life as a human resulted in the birth of a child. My child. Leaving behind my father and everything I’d ever known, I swore to myself that I would never look back. Of course back then I didn’t expect I would be alive for over a hundred years. But learning that Felicity had given birth to my son and my father chose to raise him as his own, whether it was to ensure he had an heir to carry the Montgomery name and follow in his footsteps, or because he felt like he owed it to us, Felicity and me, to correct a mistake he had made; it changed my perspective on never.

Adrian couldn’t answer my questions. Understandably so; it all had happened long before he was born, before even his father was born. But for the first time in over a century I wanted to know what had become of my family. Something he said about his mother’s passion for family history left an idea in my head that led me to come up with an excuse to browse through the archives of Preston. I grew up in Longridge, our house was just outside of town, near Longridge Fell where Felicity and I had spent most of our childhood and would get in trouble for it, but when it came to official business, we belonged to the town of Preston where they hopefully preserved everything I needed to learn more about my son.

I called ahead, just to be sure. Old documents came with a handle with care warning. Compelling my way into the archives was an option of course, but I knew I would be exhausted after such a long flight and, anyway, there is a certain charm to doing things the old-fashioned way sometimes. My cover was simple: a college student doing research for a thesis paper on Agricultural Developments in a given period of time. I looked the right age and they certainly wouldn’t bother to double-check my story. It was also very boring, who would care?

“Good morning, I’m James Parker. I called about the late 19th century thesis?”

The lady behind the front desk looked up from the magazine she was reading and pushed her glasses back from the tip of her nose. Classic librarian look. Her eyes lit up seeing me and greeted me with the kind of smile that’s contagious.

“Oh, yes! Good morning, we’ve been expecting you! One of our former colleagues offered to be your guide in the archives and find everything you're looking for. It’s quite the labyrinth. Even I would get lost in there. She should be here soon, please, have a seat.”

Before I could, she approached me so I thought it best to stay where I was. Boots, jeans, a hoodie, backpack, typical tourist look. The best way to blend in is to stand out.

“How do you like it here so far?”

“Sorry?”

“The weather is something to get used to.”

“Actually, the weather I am used to. We, umm, have a similar climate in Lexington.”

“I see. Yes, that makes it easier on you, doesn’t it?” she chuckled and glanced over my shoulder. “Oh, there she is! James, this is our lovely volunteer, Alene. She will be the one to assist you.”

Overwhelmed by the cheery welcome, libraries being quiet and depressing places usually, for a moment I was confused why she would call me James. When I turned around, I saw another friendly librarian walking up to me. She had to be in her late fifties, I could tell by the wrinkles left behind by all the smiles she had smiled, but her appearance was youthful and she seemed very comfortable showing me around.

“Hi, thank you so much for coming” I offered my hand and she accepted the handshake. With her other hand she gestured towards the door on my left.

“Shall we?”

“Of course, after you.”

Walking through the door leading us into the less popular parts of the library, it felt like I was about to uncover some secret of the past that would revolutionize the world. It would change my mindset for sure; maybe help me forgive my father, but it was hardly anything that really mattered anymore. Even I couldn’t go back in time.

“I was surprised when they called me. It’s not everyday somebody wants to do research on the Montgomeries. How do you know about them anyway?”

How would James Parker know about them again? That wasn’t a question I was prepared to answer. But it made sense of course, why would I fly twelve hours and sit on a train for a thirteenth just to look up information on this specific family. I’d had my fair share of fake identities to figure it out before the suspiciously awkward silence would set in.

“My, uh, my grandfather used to work for one, back in the day. They were practically family, very close, and his grandfather lived here, originally? I think?”

“Henry, yes. He moved to the United States after marrying an American girl.”

“Loretta” I blurted out without even thinking. Or realizing how little sense it would make for college student James Parker to know that. To me, she was Aunt Loretta. She was something else.

“Yes, you’re correct” from her tone and facial expression I could tell she found it odd that I knew the name but didn’t question it. “So what are we looking for, exactly?”

“Umm… anything related to the cotton mills around here? As far as I know, Henry and his brother came from a wealthy family and they owned a couple of those, and did business with others once the railroads were laid?”

“I’m impressed, you’ve done some reading beforehand.”

“Of course. I wanted to narrow it down, you know, to one chapter if possible. Nothing too detailed.”

“What is the title of your thesis?”

“Still in progress. But it’s mostly about… how industrial innovations changed agriculture at the turn of the century. And since my grandfather was so close to someone whose family was sort of in the middle of it, I thought I’d pay tribute, you know, honor their bond.”

“That’s very sweet of you” she added before moving a cardboard box from the shelf just above her head.

As soon as I noticed, I wanted to help, but she managed on her own. There was a routine in her movements and I could tell she was enjoying this task more than I would have expected. All these books, boxes, binders, dust, poor lighting. She seemed to fit right in, somehow.

“Here, these are some of the now public records from those years and in that box,” she pointed at the one above my head, “you will find some more. Transportation logs, financial records, orders and quotes… They should help you create graphs and diagrams for your paper.”

“Thank you, it’s all very helpful. Uh, do you, are there any documents about the family?”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know, umm, last wills?”

“Why?”

She was beginning to suspect I wasn’t who I said I was. It gave me two choices: slow down and focus on questions that wouldn’t blow my cover or compel her to go with it. For now I decided to stay in character.

“Oh just, how the mills were passed down the generations. What happened to the businesses, that sort of thing?”

“I see. Sure. They are over there, anything we could find.”

“I’m sorry, we?”

“Yeah, it’s my husband’s family. They didn’t tell you?”

There were a lot of things I hadn’t been told, but compulsion was now definitely out of the question. I could have tried to compel her but if Adrian, her son, knew about vampires, chances were so did she, or at the very least, she was full of vervain without even knowing it.

“No, actually, but that’s cool. So you were the one who sorted these out? Must have been a lot of work” and I wondered if she’d found the few photographs my parents had of me. If so, I had to get out of there before she’d recognize me.

“Most of them. It’s kind of my hobby. I love libraries. Archives. Genealogy, family trees.”

“So you know everything about them?” “As much as possible, I guess?”

“Mind if I ask you a few questions? Probably faster than reading all of these, but I will, of course, browse them.”

“Sure,” she said with a smile.

An American kid wouldn’t bother with documents if he can ask for the CliffsNotes. Right back on track.

“What happened to the mills after Henry left?”

“Well, his brother Joseph continued the business, although he had to sell one of the two mills they owned because it was too much work alone. Then his wife became ill and he had a hard time dealing with that. There was a time when he partnered up with someone from Preston who would do all the traveling for him because he didn’t want to leave her side.”

Except he did, repeatedly, to spend hours at the pubs in town because he couldn’t bring himself to watch her die. The sudden realization that I did the exact same thing when Cassandra died hit me like a truck. Apples and trees. But that wasn’t why I was interviewing Alene. That load of guilt had crippled me for a decade already; it was time to find new reasons to hate myself a little more.

“Did they have any children? Who did the mill go to?”

“They had a son. Nathaniel, according to his last will.”

He included me in his will? Possibly a footnote. But... what if he left me something of my mother’s and it was now forever lost to me? My heart forgot to beat for a moment. Odd sensation, I don’t recommend.

“What happened to him?”

“Nobody knows. One day he left and… never returned.”

“That’s… weird.” What else could I say to that quick summary of how it went down?

“Then there was his other son, James, from his second marriage. He inherited the mill at the age of twenty when his father died. He didn’t really have his neck for business, but he tried. For a few years anyway. Then he sold the mill and there ends the Montgomeries’ connection to your thesis, I’m afraid.”

James. He really wanted a son named James, didn’t he?

“From a second marriage? Wasn’t Joseph, like, fifty years old at the time?”

“He was. Why?”

“No reason, he’s just lucky he had another son before he passed. You know, to inherit his business.”

“Well… He wasn’t really his son.”

“He adopted an heir?”

“Not officially. There wasn’t a legal way to adopt him until after Joseph died. He was born to one of his maids, in fact, but Joseph raised him as his own.”

“Why?”

Why indeed. Was it guilt? Remorse? The sudden inclination of a father to do right by the daughter he had kept a secret? To do right by the son he’d ignored? Did he become sentimental as he got older? Or was it purely a business decision, to keep the mill in the family?

“You’re asking a lot of personal questions.”

“I’m sorry, I got a little invested. You see, my father and I, we never really got along too well. We never really had that father-son relationship, you know? So I think it’s great that Joseph would adopt a son and actually love him.”

“He married the maid’s mother a few years after the child was born. He treated them both like his own family.”

A decent move. Nora deserved better than to be someone’s dirty little secret. The shame she must have felt when she found out she was pregnant with my father’s daughter. She was a good person, from what I gathered as a child, and later, growing up. She had become the mother I’d lost, and I had no idea how close that was to the truth.

“What happened to James after leaving the cotton industry?”

“He found love and had a family in Blackburn. Then they moved to Lancaster for work and we have lived there ever since.”

That would’ve been enough for me but James Parker had to pretend he was interested in the documents he was carrying to a desk in the dusty cardboard boxes he asked for. So I spent the next two hours taking notes and making photocopies to play the part and convince everyone I was but an ordinary kid doing homework. My father used to tell me I should show more interest in the industry that put food on my table. It only took me a hundred and twenty years, but here I was, learning everything about cotton mills… There weren’t many photos and the ones I did find were of the mill, the workers, or shipments. Any pictures of family members would be collected in a very organized, properly labeled album, sorted by decades, courtesy of Adrian’s mother. An album I wouldn't mind getting my hands on.

The fact that she didn’t recognize me suggested that my father disposed of the few photographs he had of me before he died, or she simply never bothered to memorize my face since they probably assumed I died soon after leaving. Not lost, not undead, just dead. The prodigal son, who never returned. Still, part of me wondered if my father had tried to find me, if he’d expected me to come home eventually, tail between my legs, admitting I’d been wrong to leave. And I should have. When the coven locked away the heretics, I should have returned. Four years apart might have softened my father’s heart, we could have reconciled. I could have watched my son grow up. And I would’ve come home, knowing he existed. I would have found it in me to forgive my father for betraying my mother and letting me down when I needed him the most, but the problem with should’ve, could’ve and would’ve is by the time they occur to us, it’s already too late.

Having learned everything there was to find, I wanted to treat Alene to lunch and thank her for helping me with my research, but she refused. Said she was running late. Too bad, I replied. Too bad; I could have used the distraction. Because now that I stood there, alone, in the middle of Preston, I felt lost. Not physically; I still knew my way around town, but emotionally. Completely clueless as to how I should process what I’d heard. And there was so much still that I wanted to know. About my son, Felicity, hell, even my father. But the records ended there like a cliffhanger: he moved away and lived happily ever after, or maybe he didn’t, but anyway, the end, sequel teased, announced, then abruptly canceled.

Now what?

First and foremost, I needed a cigarette, so I found myself a lonely bench where it wouldn’t bother anyone else. Nasty habit, I know, I know, but it was either nicotine or narcotics, and my head already felt like somebody had removed my brain and thrown it into a blender, only to pour it back into my skull. There was nothing I could change about the past, and dwelling on the things I never had would have been pointless. My girl got pregnant and my son was raised by my father. His descendants, my descendants, had no idea I was still around and that was for the best. Well, except Adrian now, I realized. He would hear about my visit to Preston for sure, his mother would tell him about this “peculiar young man from the United States who chose our family for his thesis, can you believe it?” and he would not. He would not believe that I’d gone to see his mother and risked being found out and revealing the existence of vampires to her. To dig deeper, I knew I’d have to contact his family, my family, for god’s sake, or ask around in Lancaster, but that would be suspicious. I’d already risked too much with Alene.

But there was something I had to do before returning to the States, even if it was risky. And my feet carried me back to the bus station without making me work for it.

“One ticket to Longridge, please.”

A hundred and twenty years had passed but the time finally arrived and I returned to the green plains and hills I used to call home. Not much had changed; at least that was my first impression. Renovations had been made of course, new buildings had been built in place of the old, but it barely looked different from my memories. New shops, new benches, roads, cars, and unfamiliar faces. Other than that, the only thing that was strikingly different was the size of the cemetery. It had grown twice as big over the decades, so I had to ask for directions to find my mother’s resting place after buying her favorite orchids near the main entrance. The guard gave me a strange look of course, asking about hundred-year-old graves on such a beautifully raincloudy April afternoon, but it wasn’t anything a bit of compulsion couldn’t fix. Once I spotted a familiar sculpture, I remembered the path. Last time I was there, I was still human. The realization made me feel uneasy and ashamed, stopping in front of my mother’s headstone. Drafts are common in open spaces but one of them gave me a shudder, as if my mother’s cold hand had brushed over my spine. Who knows; when one’s half witch and half vampire, nothing seems too absurd or impossible. If it was supposed to prompt me to say something that would eventually make me choke on my emotions, I had to disappoint.

I wanted to keep it together, for her sake and my own, out of pride, because my father was buried right next to her as if they’d lived together happily ever after, and died holding hands in their eighties. It had to be in his will, the will I hadn’t read back at the library but photocopied for later when I would be alone in my hotel room, otherwise he would have been buried next to Nora. The thought of that bothered me for a reason I couldn’t wrap my head around. They got married so my son would grow up in a semi-functional family with a heritage and to protect Felicity from public humiliation and shame. All because of me.

Staring at my father’s name on his headstone, the years he had lived, privileged to watch my son grow up to be a young man, two words started forming in my head: thank you. I didn’t say them out loud. I couldn’t. Deep inside I still blamed him for everything, even if I knew how hard it hit him when my mother died. It changed him to the point where we became strangers. He always kept himself busy with work to take his mind off his grief but it only resulted in him being absent most of my life. I lost both my parents: one to the inevitable, and one to business trips. I couldn’t help wondering if he’d tried to make up for his mistakes by raising my son the way he should have raised me. I also wondered if I could’ve been a good father myself. Would I have matured enough to be a good husband?

With a heavy sigh I pulled an orchid from the bouquet meant for my mother and lay it on his grave.

“Thank you,” I said eventually, but my voice sounded like someone else’s. Had to be the lump in my throat, honestly. “Thank you for taking care of them for me.”

Forgiveness is a strange thing: one semi-selfless act can erase decades of disappointment or make it easier to see past the mistakes someone had made. And, as heavy as those words felt on my soul, I felt relieved. The rest of the flowers I placed on my mother’s side. It was time to go. I had one more stop to make.

The guard I compelled to help me find my parents also helped me look into old funeral records. We found four Montgomeries. My mother, my father, Nora and Felicity. She took my family name, after all, just not the way we’d imagined. Come to think of it, it was her family name too, from the start. Could've been. Everytime I thought of her I remembered her young and beautiful, her eyes large and blue as the sea, her hair dark blonde, almost brown, with red tones that came out best in the summer. Never had I imagined her married to somebody else, raising children of her own, or surrounded by grandchildren later. But I always hoped she had a good life and ever since I’d found out we had a son, I hoped he had a happy life as well; despite growing up without his father. As curious as I was to find out what kind of lies he’d been told about the circumstances of his birth or whereabouts of his real father, I didn’t want to know.

One last time, Felicity took me on a walk. She wasn’t buried in town, but on Longridge Fell, a hill where we used to spend a lot of time together as children, then teenagers. We fell in love there. The oak tree she loved was already large back then and it’d only grown larger since, one of the few trees I still recognized. There were younger trees, pines and larches, lots of them, but the paths leading up to the old oak were still good to walk.

The swing I’d hung up on one of the branches for her as a welcome home surprise when she returned from boarding school was gone and I wondered if she’d shared our spot with our son when he was little. If she’d pushed him on that very swing before it was removed. But the oak was still there, keeping her company, and I greeted my old friend with a gentle pat on its trunk. Her headstone was facing west, not far from where we used to lie in the grass and watch the clouds and sunsets together. Whoever buried her there must have known her well. Coming up behind it was hard enough, but when I walked around it, my feet felt rooted to the ground.

A picture of her was attached to the headstone, and it wasn’t something I was prepared for. There was a thick layer of dirt on the glass and I could have left it there to save myself the heartache, but, after some hesitation, I wiped it clean. And there she was. Staring into my soul from an oval cameo. A hundred and twenty years later it still affected me. I’d picked some wild flowers on my way up, so I placed them in front of the headstone and sat down on the ground to face her.

The picture didn’t do her justice but she was still breathtakingly beautiful. Graceful and respectable. Felicity Montgomery... She had to be in her late thirties in the photo, although she only died two decades later. Ideally I would have had the guts to talk to her, to tell her about all the wonderful and incredible things in the world she was missing out on, but I couldn’t find my voice. Perhaps it was better that way. Otherwise I would have told her I still loved her, deep inside, and missed her, how sorry I was about leaving her, but then I wouldn’t have been able to walk away. For hours I’d sat there, staring into her eyes. I could recall their color, even though the picture was in black and white; I remembered them staring into mine when I first kissed her. The oak was our only witness.

When the sun was about to set, I moved to sit next to the headstone so she could watch the sunset with me, like we used to, and I imagined her sitting next to me, her head resting on my shoulder while we would hold hands, her fingers between mine. I hoped she knew I was there, all these years later. I hoped she knew she still mattered to me, and I would never forget her, even if I moved on. But the sky was soon turning from orange and pink to gray, and I knew it was time to go. One last glance at her picture and a kiss on her headstone, then I got back up on my feet.

As for my father’s will: I never read it.

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definitely-not-iorveth · 2 years ago

Note

ALL OF THEM

HCDSGDHFJGDSH

i knew it 😂💚 thank you ily 😘

1:A song you like with a color in the title

The Red by Chevelle

was so tempted to put I'm Blue in there, barely resisted 😂

2:A song you like with a number in the title

96 Quite Bitter Beings by CKY

3:A song that reminds you of summertime

Summertime Sadness by Lana del Ray 😂

it's not cheating if it has summer in the title ofc it makes me think of summertime ok

4:A song that reminds you of someone you would rather forget about

Sabre Dance by Khachaturian

5:A song that needs to be played LOUD

Killswitch by Krynos

6:A song that makes you want to dance

Stenka Na Stenku by ARKONA

(yes a moshpit counts as dancing you can't change my mind)

7:A song to drive to

.........i don't drive........ 💀

but if i did i'd imagine i'd do so to songs like Needled 24 / 7 by Children of Bodom

8:A song about drugs or alcohol

Girl With Golden Eyes by Sixx:A.M.

it's about heroin apparently

9:A song that makes you happy

Something in the Water by Brooke Fraser

10:A song that makes you sad

Teen Idle by MARINA

11:A song that you never get tired of

Horpa by Gåte

12:A song from your preteen years

Hallelujah by Leonard Cohen

13:One of your favorite 80’s songs

i had to look up which songs are from the 80s for this 😂

but of course it has to be I Love Rock ’n’ Roll by Joan Jett & the Blackhearts

14:A song that you would love played at your wedding

my what

well if i do end up getting married (doubtful) i think i'd like Battletoads by Gilead, because why the fuck not it would be funny

15:A song that is a cover by another artist

Ding by FEUERSCHWANZ ft. Melissa Bonny

16:One of your favorite classical songs

Canon in D by Pachelbel

17:A song that would sing a duet with on karaoke

frantically trying to remember any duet songs i might know 😂

OH OK GOT ONE Kto powie mi jak by Kwiat Jabłoni

18:A song from the year that you were born

Enjoy The Silence by Depeche Mode apparently

19:A song that makes you think about life

The Riddle by Gigi D'Agostino

yes really

20:A song that has many meanings to you

hmm... generally speaking i am rather a one association per song person 😂

oh but there is one, there is one!

Unbesiegt by Equilibrium

breakup song & battle anthem 👍

21:A favorite song with a person’s name in the title

Letter To Dana by Sonata Arctica

22:A song that moves you forward

in what sense 💀

let's say Phantom Limb by The Messenger Birds

lately i've been going through a rough patch, and this song helps bring me back/keep it together when i need it

23:A song that you think everybody should listen to

ah i don't think songs everybody should listen to exist to be honest. everyone's got their own tastes.

24:A song by a band you wish were still together

i don't tend to keep up with bands i have no idea who is still together and who is not 😂

25:A song by an artist no longer living

FUCK i already used hallelujah 😂 hmm who else is dead.

Beat It by Michael Jackson

26:A song that makes you want to fall in love

Feker Libi by Eden Alene

27:A song that breaks your heart

Alegria by Cirque du Soleil

mostly bc it's a song about happiness that i used to sing during very unhappy moments

28:A song by an artist with a voice that you love

life waster by CORPSE

listen. listen.

this is not my type of music. but. that voice. that fucking voice.

deep voices of this kind do things to me in general but this one in particular is just.

IT'S JUST SO.

if a man with that voice came up to me and told me he'd like to murder me in the most gruesome manner while narrating it the whole time i'd agree and say thank you.

29:A song that you remember from your childhood

Kolorowy wiatr by Edyta Górniak

30:A song that reminds you of yourself

O.K. Fine by Clover The Girl

#ask game #why does tumblr always mess up line breaks lmao

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fearofheights9 · 2 years ago

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With Eurovision season nearly upon us it’s time to bring back my fave Eurovision th1nspo: Eden Alene

#tw ana shit #look at her armssss #ednotsheeran #anarex1a #anarecja #anarekcia #ed but not sheeran #i want to be skinni #i want to be weightless #anor3xi4 #th1nnspo #i want to be thinner #thinspø #th1gh gap #th1nsp1r4t10n

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straazdas · 2 years ago

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Thread of my 50 most listened songs on Spotify in March!

🗓️ February.

50. 🇦🇲 Shirkhani Par - Garik & Sona

49. 🇦🇲 Im Anune Hayastan E - Inga & Anush

48. 🇭🇷 Nevera (Lei lei) - Harmonija Disonance

47. 🇫🇮 Aava - Edea

46. 🇨🇿 ghosting - Pam Rabbit

45. 🇺🇦 Зозуля - Anastasiya Prykhodko

44. 🇺🇦 1944 - Jamala

43. 🇺🇦🇩🇪 KUPALA - Jerry Heil, alyona alyona, ela.

42. 🇸🇪 Tattoo - Loreen

41. 🇮🇱 Yachilvi Veyachali - Ofra Haza

40. 🇬🇷 Thalassaki - Andromache, DuoViolins

39. 🇱🇹 Stay - Monika Linkytė

38. 🇦🇲 Na Na Na - Srbuk

37. 🇨🇿🇳🇴 Lights Off - We Are Domi

36. 🇵🇱 new home - Alicja

35. 🇸🇪 Statements - Loreen

34. 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁥󠁮󠁧󠁿 I Wrote A Song - Mae Muller

33. 🇵🇹 Antes do adeus - Célia Lawson

32. 🇦🇹 Who the Hell Is Edgar? - Teya & Salena

31. 🇧🇷 Waist - ELLA A

30. 🇹🇳 C'est le dernier qui a parlé qui a raison - Amina Annabi

29. 🇲🇰 Pred da Se Razdeni - Lozano, Esma Redžepova

28. 🇮🇱 Rakata - Eden Alene

27. 🇦🇲 Harsanekan - Inga & Anush

26. 🇲🇰 Autumn Leaves - Daniel Kajmakoski

25. 🇦🇲 Future Lover - Brunette

24. 🇬🇪 Echo - Iru Khechanovi

23. 🇦🇲 Narin - Inga & Anush

22. 🇮🇹 MARE DI GUAI - ARIETE

21. 🇦🇺 Promise - Voyager

20. 🇲🇩 Du-mă - Aliona Moon

19. 🇳🇱 Burning Daylight - Mia Nicolai, Dion Cooper

18. 🇮🇸 Hear Them Calling - Greta Salóme

17. 🇮🇪 Come Back To Stay - Dickie Rock

16. 🇦🇲 Der Zor - Sirusho

15. 🇦🇲 Joukhtak Mom - Inga & Anush

14. 🇺🇦 Sevdim Seni - Jamala

13. 🇱🇻 Aijā - Sudden Lights

12. 🇦🇲 Tchanaparh - Inga & Anush

11. 🇸🇮 Prisluhni mi - Darja Švajger

10. 🇪🇸 Niña De Fuego - Blanca Paloma

09. 🇦🇲 Aysor Ton E - Inga & Anush

08. 🇦🇲 Yete Karogh Es - Srbuk

07. 🇬🇪 იდეა - Iru Khechanovi

06. 🇮🇱 The Fire In Your Eyes - Boaz

05. 🇫🇷🇹🇳 Lève-toi - Barbara Pravi, Emel Mathlouthi

04. 🇨🇭 Midnight in Paris - Gjon’s Tears

03. 🇲🇩 Soarele şi Luna - Pasha Parfeni

02. 🇮🇱 Tzur Mentati/Se'i Yona/Sapri Tama - Ofra Haza

01. 🇦🇲 En Dizan - Inga & Anush

🌐 Countries:

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#eurovision #spotify #my post

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rexwarriordj · 2 years ago

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#Spotify

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seslimeram · 2 years ago

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Bir Felaketin Meramı

“Yas tutma yalnızca başından geçenleri anlatmakla oluyorsa, işkenceye maruz kalanların çelişkisi, işkence deneyimi ve bunun öykülenmesi arasındaki kıyaslanamazlıkta yatıyor demektir: geçmişteki canavarlığın “diegesis” biçiminde düzenlenmesi ya acıları daha da körükleme ya da öznenin deneyimine ihanet olarak algılanır - veya daha da kötüsü başkasının deneyimine ihanet olarak. Ve hayatta kalan kişi kendini sembolik bir felcin ortasında bulur.” Marc Nichanian - Edebiyat ve Felaket - Çevirmen Ayşegül Sönmezay - İletişim / 2011

Nüanslar, nüanslar, nüanslar! Kim kime ne demiş, kim kimden ne kadar uzağa düşmüş bir tirattır gidiyor. Sürekli, süreğen kılınan hengame içerisinde yaralar bir türlü fark edilmeye çalışılmasın isteniyor. Onca harap viran bir menzil hakikati söz konusuyken, yaraların her nasıl bünyeyi sardığı / sarstığı mesel kılınmasın isteniyor. Baştaki temsilin aralıksız kinle, kindarlığı önceleyen bir nefret edimiyle kurumsallaştırdığı ülke gerçekliği mevzu / mesele edilmesin isteniyor. Nefret, korku ve linç pazarlıyor muktedir. Yirmi bir koca yıllık olan o garabet düzenin binasına devamlılık adına yinelenen her eylem / taahhüt edilen her hamle bitimsiz bir nefreti biçimlendiriyor. Kesintisiz bir korkuyu öne sürüyor. Daimi bir halde o linç mefhumunu yükseltiyor. Yaşatan bir ev imgesinin / vatan diye sunulagelen o yapının nasıl kırılgan, yok eden, her nasıl bir biçimde kapana dönüştürüldüğü konuşturulmamaya çabalanıyor. Bugün vardığımız raddede ya bu toprağın özünden sayılı şanslı temsiliyetten seçilmişlersiniz yahut da hasbelkader bir gün icabına bakılacak şu, bu, osunuz. Kesintisiz bir devinim, mütemadiyen bir devamlılık hali ki ne nefes alma hakkı bırakıyor, ne de tek bir doğruyu izah ettirme, gidilen yolun karanlığına dair bahis açtırabilmek mümkün, olası.

Cerahatin bu menzilde her nereden var edildiği, dahası yüzleşmekten kaçınıldığı hallerle her gün yeniden nasıl bina olunduğuna dair tek bir tarihsel kırım / soykırım meselinden bahis açsak yeterlidir. 1915 Nisan ayının 24’ünde ağırlıkla aydınlar, entelektüeller, bilim insanları, politikacı ve gazeteci / edebiyatçılarla, ruhban üyelerinden seçilmiş bir kitlenin iki yüz elli kadar insanın apar topar tehciri ile görünürlük kazanan Medz Yeghern’in hali, hikayesi ve onca yaşatılmış olan hazin şey birbirinin tamamlayıcısıdır. Bu kadar çoraklık ile imtihan edilen, yaşatmaktan bunca çekinen, kendisinden saymadığını her defasında ya kapı dışarı, ya oyun dışı ya da hayattan men etme diskurunun nasıl biçimlendirildiğinin her nasıl var edildiği o günlerden bugünlere belirgin değil midir? Talat Efendi’nin var ettiği kurmayı olagelen Enver ve Cemal efendilerin de istikballeri, onlarsız, müreffeh bir ülkeye varılabilir diye gizli / açık onadıkları Ermenilerin imhasından daha kalıcı / daha açık hangi sınav bu cerahatle donatılmış yeri anlatabilir ki? İnkarın bugün ikrara, bariz bir kıvanç nesnelliğine dönüştürüldüğü yerde, Nichanian’ın aksettirdiği tarihsel gerçekliği bir kere daha yıkımdan sağ kurtulanların tanıklıklarının neden / ne şekilde bütünüyle yıkımla bütünleşik kalıcı bir felci var ettiği anlaşılır mıdır?

Sepastiya’nın ortasından bir gecede katara dizilen ailemin bir yanı, Gesarya’da kurtuluşun ölüme çıktığı bir serüvende hasbelkader yaşamda kalabilen bir yarımın bulunduğu zemin, yer gerçekliği söz konusuyken bugün yaşatılanların yekundaki biriktirdiği irinin / cürümle olan teşviki mesainin halen güncellenebilirliğinin derdi ne olacaktır ki? Misal sadece işte şu satırları yazanın değil, milletvekili Garo, aktivist Norayr, gazeteci Minas, avukat Alen, sadekar Grigor, yazılımcı Arden, kumaşçı Setrag, kuaför Verkine, terzi Anjel, profesör Anna, tiyatro sanatçısı Zabel nice kadın, nice erkek, nice nice nice insanın sırtlandığı hayat mefhumunun tam da ortasında çıkagelen o elemin / yasın / yüzleşilmekten kaçınılıp her dem sınava dönüştürülmüş olagelen Nisan 24 gerçekliğinin yarası nasıl okunmalıdır. Kim farkındadır sahi, yok edilmiş olanın! Kim görüyordur, uçurumun kıyısından gerisin geriye dönebilenlerin bıraktığı izlerin / mirasın, bugün halen nasıl bir yarayı var ettiğinin, sahi ama sahiden?

Tümüyle eksiltilmiş olanın yarasına dair ne zaman bahis açılsa hep bir duvarla karşılaşılıp bir kere daha gümbürtü ile kuşatılıyor Ermeni. Yalnızca aile hikayelerimizin temellerinde çıkagelen yaranın üstünün dahi “sözde”, “yalan”, “önce siz başlattınız”, “kaşındınız” gibi nicesiyle karşılandığı bir zeminde öyle laf olsun diye bir halk yüz sekiz yıldır yas tutabilir mi? Her şeyiyle ayakta kalma mücadelesi verirken, her Nisan 24 anmasının bir başka hattı kırmızı çizgiyi belirginleştirdiği bir zeminde, sokaklardan, mekanlardan, iş yerlerinden de çekilip gidilirken sahiden hicap eden olur mu, yaranın nasıl da benliği esir aldığından biri ya da birileri bahis açabilir mi? Sepastiya ve Gesarya’nın geçmişinden çıkagelen, ne terör, ne silahlı çete, ne de kalkışma bahislerinin mevzu olunmadığı bir zeminde sadece İttihatçı zihniyet talep ettiği, ekonomik anlamda çökertmenin kendi bekaları için uygun görülmüş şansız güruhtan olup sürgün / tehcir edilmenin ne olduğunu anlarlar mı sahi? Ankara’dan, Bardizag’a, Trapezun’dan, Tigranakert’e, Meleti’den, Hajin’e, Musa Ler’den, Hayots Dzor’dan, Yevtogia’ya, Sassun’dan, Sis’e nicesine nicesine bir hayat imecesinin kökünün toptan kazılmasının hazin failliği ne yana düşer, sahiden hiç mi hesabı verilmez, mevzusu dahi edilmez nedir?

Medz Yeghern’i yaşayıp kurtulanların ardından dördüncü / beşinci kuşağın hayatının orta yeri halen “soykırım” oldu / olmadı sınavlarıyla donanırken, yerle bir edilmiş yerlerden ol kalanların üstünde yükseltilen kentlerin sessiz tanıklıkları ne yana konulabilir! Kimisinde bir mabede dönüştürülüp, Müslüman malı kılınan yapılardan, daha yeni yeni konuşulmuş olagelen bir gazetecinin dedesinden kalmış Kilise kalıtı / yapısına, arazisine bir çöküşün o halen devamlılığı da mı, beyaz soykırım mefhumuna dahil değildir. Gezi Parkı sathının her bir köşesinden, memleketin medarı iftiharı denilegelen sömürücü, hırsız takımının en sivrilmiş temsili koçların hüküm sürdüğü divan oteli arazisi altında kalakalan Ermenilere ait mezarlık da mı bir şeyleri görünür kılmaz misal? Deprem bölgesinden çıkagelen tarihi yapıların, en çok da asırdan uzunca bir süredir verilen mücadeleyle muhafazası sağlama alınmaya, her türlü ötekileştirmenin, Ankara’dan çıkagelen uyarılara rağmen Hataylıların engin birliktelik çabası / müşterek bir hayat için olmazsanız olmaz direnciyle korunabilen Vakıflıköy gerçekliğine hani belgen diye sual edenlere kafi gelmez mi, anlaşılmaz mıdır hala el oğluna / kızına yaşatılmış insan elli cehennem! Kim sorgusuna düşecektir sahiden!

Geçtiğimiz günlerde Van’da bir inşaat çalışması sırasında bulunan Ermeni mezarlığının tam da günyüzü bulduğu bir zeminde, birkaç gün sonra üstünün betonla kaplanmasına izin verilen bir ülkede kime neyi anlatabilirsiniz, sahiden? Yaranın ne olduğunun idrakine her nasıl vardırabiliriz ülkeyi, aklı, zikri! Geçtiğimiz Ocak ayının sonunda 24’ünde Surp Pırgiç Ermeni Katolik Kilisesi lojmanında çıkagelen yangında kaybedilmiş, Fehmi Atsup, Josefin Ekmekçioğlu bir şeyleri izah ettirmez mealen bile olsa? Bir meçhulden çıkagelen yangın neticesinde yok olan hayatların dahi hesabının verilmediği, üstünün alelacele kapatıldığı bir yerde yarayı kim ne zaman fark edecektir ki, sahiden! Acı neydi ki, felce yol veren mesel neydi, düşünür müydünüz?

“Bir toplumun müştereklerinden olagelen bir halkın, topyekun önce tehdit unsuru, sonra mihrak, daha sonra hain, hemen ol peşi sıra imhası mübah addedilenler olarak sınıflandırılmasının türevleri ve birlikteliğinde bir katran karanlığı var edilmiştir ne eksik, ne fazla. Bugün o eksiltme hallerinin her neye dönüştüğü, Artsakh savaşı sırasındakiler kadar, devletlinin var ettiği Varlık Vergisi’nden, Tehcir hamlelerinden, Aşkale sürgünlerinden, 20 Dolar 20 Kilo deportizasyonlarında hiç ama hiçbir surette bitmeyen, arkası ha keza sorulmamış “muhteşem bir organizasyon” olarak görülmüş 6-7 Eylül 1955’ten, Affedersiniz Ermeni’ye, 100 bin Ermeni’yi sınır dışı ederiz esip gürlemesinden okunabilir. Kültürel kayıtların izlerinin silinmesinden, mabet ya da yerleşim yerlerinin tahrip edilmesinden, otopark, kişiye özel mülk, yıkıntılarından bina edilmiş yeni evlerden, üstünden geçilmiş mezarlıklardan talan edilmiş Gezi Parkı’nın temellerinden, Ani Harabelerinin birden Anı garabetliğine dönüştürülmesinden nicesinden anlam bulur! Acı bizatihi ortaklaştırılmasın diye, hiç sorgulanmasın diye yıllar yılıdır sündürüle gelen, aralıksız yerilen, “sözde” tanımına sıkıştırılmış bir yok sayma haline rehin edilmiş bir meseledir. Bütün bunların tekzibi hep yaşatılanlardır. Şu sahada onca zaman sonra kalma hakkını savunmaya!, yaşamda yer almaya çalışırken, sırtlandığı yükünü paylaşmaya hep ama her dem hazır ve nazır birkaç on binin üstüne düşürülen gölgelerin yekunudur tekzip, hani belgen sorusunun yanıtı.”

2010 yılından bu yana anmalar gerçekleştiren “24 Nisan Anma Platformunun” buluşma, yasa ortak olma çağrısı geçtiğimiz yıl olduğu gibi bir kere daha “düzenlenmesi uygun görülmemiştir” ibaresiyle engellenir. Meclis çatısı altında kendi ailesinden çıkagelen bir gerçekliği sorgulayıp, meram eyleyen, sekiz koca yıldır dillendiren vekil Garo Paylan’ın sesi kestirilir, yıllardır olduğu gibi son vedasında da dile getirdiği gibi özgürlüğün ancak yüzleşmekten geçtiğini bildirirken yalnızlaştırılır. (bkz. Ermenilerin Yarasını Fark Etmek) Kalıtlar silinirken, bellek dönüşüme tabi tutulurken, çekingen, alttan alta var edilen inkarı çoktan altüst eden bir ikrarla, asarız, keseriz, yeniden yaparız hallerini sahiplenen “isimsiz” yalnız kurtlar türer. Sokaklarından Talat, Enver, Cemal paşaların, o nefretle anılan Ermeni’yi yok edenlerin temsillerine göndermeleri bulunduran, yüzleşmeyi kağıt üstünde ortak acı, sosyal medya ve sokakta onlar da canımızı sıkmasaydılar, şuna ve buna kanıp gaza gelmeseydiler diye geçiştirebilen bir cühela cüretinin ortasında hangi yaradan, hangi ezadan, hangi hazandan mevzu açılabilir ki, değil mi?

Son kertede, yüz sekiz yıldır sırtlanmış bir acının giderek bir çığlığa evrimi sabit olundu. Dört duvar arasında, mezarlıklarda, cenaze taziyelerinde, kitlesel değil kişisel buluşmalar sırasında anılan / yad edilen / hayatlarımızın tam da ortasında duru veren bir geçmiş, şimdi sınavına dönüştürüldü. Acı, takvim yapraklarından taşa dururken, 1915’in karanlığından bu yana şu menzilin her günü apayrı kırılmalara çıkartıldı. Medz Yegehrn, Sayfo’ya, Küçük Anadolu Kırımına, İzmir’in yok edilmesine, Dersim Tertelesine, Trakya Pogromuna, Varlık Vergisi ve Aşkale Sürgünlerine, 20 Dolar 20 Kiloya, Sürgünlere, bambaşka acılara evrildi. Sepastiya’da var edilmiş olan felaket Artsakh’ta ölümlerin bir başka temsiline dönüştü. Kim olduklarının, neden yaşadıklarının derdi, yıllar yılıdır evleri burası olan insanlara bu ülkede ne işiniz var, nereden geldiniz bahislerinde sorgulamalara dönüştürüldü. Bugün Ermeni temsiliyetsiz, bugün Ermeni “sözde” diye anılan “yaranın” yasında bir başına. Sulhunu başkalarının hayatlarını yok ederek, acılarının üstüne basarak, ezerek, hiç sayarak var edebilen, dahası bu şerefli ülkede tek bir karış toprak hakları yoktur, bu toprak ilelebet Türkündür bahsinin kurucu liderden bu yana hep kafamıza çakıldığı bir düzlemde, sahiden emin misiniz, yas böyle yapınca sonlanır mı, yüzsüzlük bir sonucu var eder mi? Ermeni hep anlatıyor, gel gelelim, yirmi dört saatlik küfür seansları, cins, soy, sop, şecere hakaretlerine meze kılınmaktan ötede bir saniye onların da acısı vardır kısmı anlamlı bulunmuyor. 108 yıldır hepimizi, tanığıyla, sonraki nesilleriyle felç eden, utandıran, hala anlatmak mecburiyetinde bıraktıran bir iklimde “sizlerin” kökü de kazılmasın, sizler de sınanmayın diye bu imdat çığlıkları, sayıklamalar, isyana meram halleri. Yanı başınızda yüzleşilmediği için başlayamayan yasın farkında mısınız, acının neresindeyiz sorgular mısınız, oralarda mısınız, anlıyor musunuz?

Misak TUNÇBOYACI – İstan’2023

Görsel: Yasin AKGÜL – AFP / Getty Images

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zweedsanimatiepoppetje1 · 4 years ago

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*sees the title of Israel's song*

O O F

#set me free #eurovision #esc 2021 #israel #eden alene #oof #this post is not meant to spread hatred. I like this song and admire Eden.

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julesbranddt · 4 years ago

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Thank you Eurovision 2021

#eurovision #my gifs #I had to match san marino and sweden with something and I mean italy winning is good #måneskin #gjon's tears #Barbara pravi #senhit #tusse #stefania #the roop #hurricane #I can't remember #destiny #manizha #eden alene #anxhela peristeri #the black mamba #eleni tsagrinou #blind channel

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borisbubbles · 3 years ago

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Eurovision 2021 - #20-#16

20. ISRAEL Eden Alene - “Set me free” 17th place

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I have a confession to make: Eden Alene holds a very special place in my heart because she’s the first (and so far only) Eurovision alum I’ve had a one-on-one conversation with. 😲 Upon finding out we were born exactly one day and ten years apart (she was born on 7 May 2000, I was born on 8 May 1990), she looked at me with bulging eyes and squealed. Then she told me I looked ~*AMAZING*~ for my age. Needless to say, I’m fucking pissed she didn’t win. 😠

Personal biases aside, I think 20th exactly is the perfect spot for Little Eden. Yeah she likes me but she also has regular brunch seshes with Jack Lawson so I’m led to believe she’s one of those people who instinctively likes anyone she meets. As a contestant, she delivered exactly what I hoped she would: a sassy and energetic performance that made her charming personality stand out some more.

With a little bit of Entertaining Mess thrown into the mix, courtesy of a frantic choreo and mild Lucieface. Israel took the MoroccanOil sponsorship at heart because not only were the hair extensions all over the place, they also made up the bulk of Eden’s second outfit. 😍 And people thought TIX had the worst outfit. He WISHES:

“Set me free” does suffer from the same issues previously discussed however - “Feker libi” was a lot better, and as a girlbanger in a year rife with them, I find several of them to be better. “Set me free” is serviceable , but the only thing that truly sets it apart from the rest of the crop is Eden’s flawless impersonation of a stove top kettle.

Eden told us the composers were looking for a USP for “Set me free” and couldn’t come up with anything until she chimed in with “well, I guess I can whistle really high? 😅”. What a fucking bizarre flex <3 but it got her in the finals over Albina and in the Eurovision Record Book over Maja Blagdan, at least. WILL THIS CROATIA ERASURE EVER CEASE??

ps: yes, she’s repped Israel with a song called “Set me free”. No, it’s not hypocritical. Leave Eden the fuck ALEEEEEEEEEEEEENE.

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19. ALBANIA Anxhela Peristeri - “Karma” 21st place

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It may seem like smallfry compared to what Albania have in store for us in 2022, but when I first saw Anxhela’s staging I remember being impressed by how brave it was. FiK *always* trend towards the matronly and prude, so to see a FiK winner serve cat eyed realness and legs for days in her final forme was nothing short of uproarious. Anxhela Peristeri is GLAMOUR personified.

(Reportedly, Anxhela herself was IMMENSELY nervous during rehearsals because she was worred she’d be slut-shamed :(. Bonus points for finding the confidence when it mattered because this is NEVER easy.)

Strangely, where to exactly to rank Anxhela is a very tough call. I always forget how much I like “Karma” when I relisten... and yet,it’s so easy to forget it even exists. WHY DO YOU DO THIS TO ME? WHY CAN’T YOU JUST BE GOOD *AND* MEMORABLE?? ugh.

On one hand, “Karma” is structured like a dramatic powerballad, with Anxhela doling out the “GOD WILL NEVER FORGIVE ME FOR THIS”-es in true biblical passion, which is great. Well-acted drama is always entertaining to behold, especially when backed up by a narrative of reformed hedonist consumed the by regrets of her past debauchery, which have, in karmic fate, left her alone and unloved.

On the other hands, the staging. I know some think the act elevated “Karma” but I’d argue the opposite. The act undermines it. Some of Sacha’s baseline ideas, such as the smoke were good. Just because Anxhela sings about desolation doesn’t mean it has be literally visualized in it that way.

The true reason why “Karma” fails to stick is because it’s riddled with wideshots. If you’re going the dramatic route musically, WHY focus away from Anxhela’s face while she’s going through the gamut of regret-fueled self-torture and biblical suffering?

Like, at a certain point (roughly around the 7th wideshot focusing on the CGI smoke in the background) you know that the gimmick has been played out, and that it’s up to the performer and her song to carry it herself. The fact that Albania and Sabotage Baptiste, for some reason, did not allow Anxhela to do this is why she ranks a lot lower than where she could have been.

Oh well. On to better times.

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18. CYPRUS Elena Tsagrinou - “El Diablo” 16th place

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MORPH! I like “El Diablo” now, sorry to say! But not without reservations. For instance, the vocals aren’t all that. None of Elena’s performances were there, but the Semi one is passable. Since I rate each song by my favourite performance of it, that will have to do.

Also, I haven’t forgotten about the problematic lyrics - What the Chanel, is that Latinx slang, Laurell? First you make Raylee sing in AAVE and now this? Why is this Greek-Cypriot lady singing about “Mamacita’s” and “tacos” and “tamales”? (not to mention illiterate drivel such as “all this spicy melts my icy” O__O) Is it because “Well if we made it sound Latina that would make it sexier” IT IS because you were trying to emulate the “Spicy Sexy Latina” cliché archetype (with a non-Latinx person.) isn’t it?! 🤢 The only bigger “Kick Me” sign Laurell could pin on herself now is by starting to sell NFTs. (I joke, but that’s a terrifyingly realistic possibility. Please don’t do NFTS, they’re bad for the environment - the social environment as your relatives will disown and/or murder you.)

However, despite these negative points, I’m willing to overlook most of it because Elena NAILED the (non-sonic components of) the performance :TEEHEE:. Yeah, "El Diablo” was the usual textbook Cypriot debacle but with the added flavour that Elena had to endure actual persecution by religious nuts who argued her song was blasphemous (I’d laugh if they weren’t so dead serious O_O). There were protests on the streets against “This Affront Against Us Christians!” To go through all that, and then NAIL all of her performances like nothing happened takes nerves of steel and that deserves *r*e*s*p*e*i*t*o*!

Also, turns out that “El Diablo” didn’t even need the stupid lyrics to nail its seductive vibe, as Elena’s staging did all of it the work for her. In a contest teeming with sexual tension (”Sugar” is literally about cum and orgasms <3), “El Diablo” effortlessy takes the crown as being the most debaucherous, which made me like it... even more. 😍

I love it when people fight fire with more fire. Zealots accuse Elena of being a demon whore, she retaliates by transforming into a succubus relishing in the primal, deadly sin of Lust, spreading sinful thoughts around some more. Flailing her body everywhere to make *every* gay man *and* woman in the press centre want to be her and bang her <3 In spite of its flaws, “El Diablo” was kind of a SLAY!

But only kind of, lol.

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17. NETHERLANDS Jeangu Macrooy - “Birth of a new age” 23rd place

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Now we get to an entry whose meagre result makes me very sad. ☹ That “Birth of a new age” was one of the four nilpointers in the year was unavoidable - but it still deserved a lot better.

A lot of my sympathies has to do the reception it got. The first live was very average yes, but did a NO point warrant this rapid, out of proportion, Charlottesvile-style response. You know what I’m talking about, the persistent comments about “this ain’t Afrovision” (O__O) and the spamming of broccoli emoji’s all over the internet, and that’s just the mild stuff. That a song is about black people breaking free from the tyrannical yoke of colonialism is not only mocked but insulted by callow white people is beyond tragic (lol I distinctly remember posting that a similar sentence on social media and some moron replied back with “HOW DO YOU KNOW THE PEOPLE DOING IT ARE WHITE?? ::offended::” which is like someone glueing a dunce hat on to their own scalp.)

However, controversially perhaps, I don’ believe ~*The Topic*~ is what did "Birth of a new age” in, in the end?

“Birth of a new age” had a tasteful, intelligent, very well-written message full of historical and cultural depth, one that radiated strength and optimism. Its lyrics would make Amanda Gorman proud. It was a proud representation of Surinamese culture and the Sranan Tongo language.

The “problem”, so to speak, was that the best parts about the song *were* its lyrics and its multicultural backstory. That’s a bad thing if you’re competing in a live performance song contest. Melody over message. Always. Staging and Music are the most important foci here, and both were a bit subpar.

Visually “Birth of a new age” was sprinkled with rich references - The krumping, the queer couture (Jeangu wore a leather harness underneath his blazer during rehearsals which is... a BOLD indicator of his sexuality, as I’m sure you’ll agree), the transition from grey to colour; Jeangu’s twin brother, all good on paper. However, these are the sort of intricacies that get lost at face value. The depth is there, but the immediacy is not. A good act needs a bit of spectacle to bind it together, and “Birth of a new age”‘s did not.

Unlike some, I thought the ethnic musical elements in “Birth of a new age” were great. The ending is powerful and the important catchphrases (”Your Rhythm Is Rebellion” and ofc, “Yu No Man Broko Mi”) are catchy and memorable. However, the non-ethnic instrumentation of the song is a wash. The verses especially are a disasterous cacaphony of honky electro and overpowering percussion (the ‘DING DING DING’ at the start is almost identical to the sounds the trams in Rotterdam make to alert the passers-by to get out of the way). In their fixation on showcasing Jeangu’s personal heritage, the Dutch forgot to make his song viable as, you know, a musical piece. Hence why it flopped.

Ultimately, I cherish “Birth of a new age” as a refreshing and truly unique experience that no one else will be able to properly replicate. Its only true “vice” is that was decades ahead of its time.

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16. BELGIUM Hooverphonic - “The wrong place” 19th place

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AUNTIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Lol yes, I know a lot of people resent Hooverphonic because they qualified over Albina (and because Alex is smug of the Earth), but I really like them and begrudge them nothing, DEAL WITH IT!!! Hooverphonic are one of my fave bands and “The Wrong Place” was a demonstration of their trademark trip hop power!

Also, it just feels ~appropriate~ to rank Belgium and the Netherlands side by side this year? The Netherlands had a great narrative gimped by underwhelming music. Belgium on the other hand, had a great song framed by a narrative so pedantic almost nobody got it <3 Something about Johnny Cash and organic tea?

And both had their fates handed down to them by flat staging, as flat a... pancake, if you will?.

Anyway, the idea of Hoover’s act (at least, I think?) was centered entirely around Geike drinking herself into a whiskey-fueled RAGE, so pardon me if I’m lowkey obsessed with her <3 The song was about a One Night Stand gone wrong and boy was she convincing as the spurned party in the affair. Slrrrrring that shade with barely concealed disgust while MIMING drunkness <33333 a LEGEND.

DON’T YOU DARE TO WEAR MY JOHNNY CASH TEE-SHIIIIIRT

Narratively, the referenced “wrong place” was Geike’s barely lucid mind, with the spinning camera emulating the metaphorical unspooling of her psyche into that of a praying mantis, ready to decapitate her mediocre lay for touching her things.🤩 I prefer Jury Geike though, as she was markedly more mellow and personable there, like a flaky, barely functional alcoholic aunt in the attic (which is what the *real* Geike is actually like as a person, so <3)

Geike Arnaert is the main reason why Hooverphonic rank this high, in spite of my issues with the staging. Ho boy do I have Issues with the staging though. It sucked. You see, [TRIGGER WARNING: the rest of this paragraph contains more smugness than the average Alesia Michelle tweet. Proceed with caution] *I* got the idea. It was clever. It was also too clever. When I went around the press centre probing the other fans what they thought about it (all of them smart people), they all missed it.

Uh-motherfucking-Oh.

“The wrong place” was yet ANOTHER example of Hans Pannecoucke being SO absorbed by his own smartassedness that barely anybody understood the idea at face value. It was Duncan’s piano and Waylon’s krumping all over again, and frankly: e-fucking-nough. Seeing the same journey unfold for a third time, this time concerning the band I’ve been wanting to rep my home country for YEARS, was more than enough to give me one prolonged anxiety attack that lasted all the way until Belgium’s qualification. Get this into the noggin’, Hans; Acting like you’re smarter than your audience (irregardless of whether you *actually* are or not) works approximately 0% of the time. Case in point: you got 3 televote points from the audience on your own home turf. I swear, if he inflicts the same shite on Season Ten in Turin, I hope he’s Geike’s next victim. 🙂

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The Ranking:

16. BELGIUM - Hooverphonic - “The wrong place” 17. NETHERLANDS - Jeangu Macrooy - “Birth of a new age” 18. CYPRUS - Elena Tsagrinou - “El diablo” 19. ALBANIA - Anxhela Peristeri - “Karma” 20. ISRAEL - Eden Alene - “Set me free” 21. DENMARK - Fyr og flamme - “Øve os på hinanden“ 22. SERBIA - Hurricane - “Loco loco” 23. SWEDEN - Tusse - “Voices” 24. LITHUANIA - The Roop - “Discoteque” 25. UNITED KINGDOM - James Newman - “Embers” 26. PORTUGAL - The Black Mamba - “Love is on my side” 27. FINLAND - Blind Channel - “Dark Side” 28. NORWAY - TIX - “Fallen angel” 29. ESTONIA - Uku Suviste - “The lucky one” 30. SPAIN - Blas Cantó - “Voy a quedarme” 31. SLOVENIA - Ana Soklič - “Amen” 32. GEORGIA - Tornike Kipiani - “You” 33. LATVIA - Samanta Tina - “The moon is rising” 34. CZECH REPUBLIC - Benny Cristo - “Omaga” 35. ROMANIA - ROXEN - “Amnesia” 36. AZERBAIJAN - Efendi - “Mata Hari” 37. NORTH MACEDONIA - Vasil - “Here I stand” 38. AUSTRIA - Vincent Bueno - “Amen” 39. GERMANY - Jendrik - “I don’t feel hate”

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