I hate those gruesome songs - and I'm in charge

SINCE I began running the British end of the Eurovision Song Contest five years ago, anoraks keep coming up to me, pumping my hand and thanking me profusely.

Apparently, I'm responsible for "saving Eurovision". But I have to be honest. No matter what people say to me, I hate the damn thing. "Outrageous!" you cry. "Licence fee payers give this man a fortune every year and he doesn't even like his own show."

Well, I'm afraid that's the truth. For me, Eurovision consists of dozens of perfectly awful tunes performed by utterly talentless punters, monotonous, amateur act following monotonous, amateur act. After the first five or 10 songs, each with less and less chance of ever selling a copy, a rictus begins to spread over my face. My appreciation glands start to freeze. I become bored and annoyed in equal part. For years, nothing in Eurovision (with the exception of two Johnny Logan hits) has warranted attention from any serious music lover. I became involved in the Song For Europe/Great British Song Contest only because I thought it a shame that a TV series bringing together 350 million viewers features such awful music. Why not utilise it for exposing great sounds? I took over for the 1995 contest, and our first entry was Love City Groove, an excellent rap/hip-hop sound which was the most played track on Kiss FM the week of Eurovision. That made me very proud. Young people of different tastes and skin colours - all the audience that had rightly spurned Eurovision - were now paying attention. We went to number seven in the charts, sold more than a million around the world - but came a pathetic 10th in the contest. Never mind, I reasoned. It had opened those doors; now I'd find a global smash as our entry. And I came up with the song I reckoned (and still believe) was the perfect Eurovision winner: Ooh, Aah, Just a Little Bit, by Gina G. It went to number one, became the first British Eurovision entry to be an American hit, and sold four million internationally. But it came eighth! At that point, I gave up and resigned. Clearly Eurovision and I had nothing in common. They didn't want real hits. But the BBC wouldn't let me go. The corporation asked me to give it one last try. So I set out to find a real Eurovision winner that would also be a hit. I found it with Love Shine a Light by Katrina and the Waves The pressure was off. The UK had won for the first time in 16 years. With the biggest vote total ever - 227 points. And last year, when we hosted it in Birmingham, Imaani came a healthy second. This year -- on Saturday -- our entry is Say It Again from Precious, five gorgeous girls with great voices who could be the next Spice Girls. Already it's a giant UK hit. But over the five years, a horrid observation has dawned on me. There are closet Eurovision fans everywhere. I interviewed Cabinet ministers and MPs during a recent stint presenting shows on Talk Radio. In commercial breaks, they would confide in me that they adore the competition. I've had politicians near to tears as they admitted this vice. They would never go public with such a shameful admission. They swore me to secrecy. I'm known for my discretion, but let me put it this way - the man I hope to vote for as Mayor of London might not be totally against watching the Eurovision Song Contest. On a regular basis. When I took over the British quest, I announced three changes I wanted in the Eurovision rules in order to bring the contest up to date. It took five years to get there. Backing tracks can now be used. The new technology has meant that insisting on a totally live orchestral performance killed great entries as it harmed Love City Groove. Telephone voting has replaced the ghastly, handpicked 12-man jury system. I'm convinced this will change the ludicrous "nationalist voting" problems - Greece never voting for Turkey, for example. I reckon hundreds of thousands of punters will simply vote for their preferred music not against an entire nation. This year countries no longer have to perform in their native language. (They had changed the rules after Abba sang in English.) Some things they haven't changed, and I hope they never will. I'm not against Eurovision's kitsch element. And I love Terry Wogan's tongue-in-cheek commentary (hated by Eurofans). I don't want Eurovision to become serious or to stop being fun. But for me, this doesn't prevent countries trying to seek out tremendous music. I love the thought of the next Madonna emerging bedraggled from a Croatian village and Eurovision is one of the few places where that could happen.

Copyright 1999
Provided by ProQuest Information and Learning Company. All rights Reserved.