In the end, it was a power ballad by Sweden that won this year’s Eurovision song contest, a musical extravaganza beloved by millions in Europe and beyond.
This year’s contest was hosted by last year’s runner-up, Britain, on behalf of last year’s winner, Ukraine. There were plenty of wartime tributes to Ukraine that jostled against kitsch and extreme silliness, but it wasn’t all that jarring in the context of one of the biggest, strangest live music events in the world.
Saturday’s final — streaming in the United States on Peacock and expected to be watched by more than 160 million people around the world — featured soulful ballads, along with bonkers pop tunes, madcap costume changes, and outrageous set designs.
There were also lots and lots of sequins. And hot pants. And sparkling onesies.
In a prerecorded video, Catherine, the Princess of Wales, made a surprise cameo with the folk-rap ensemble Kalush Orchestra, last year’s winner from Ukraine. The newly crowned King Charles III and Queen Camilla also popped up in a video, alongside men in wolf masks walking by because, well, Eurovision.
Contestants representing 26 countries advanced to the final, including Ukraine’s electronic music duo Tvorchi, who were selected from an underground bomb shelter. They performed “Heart of Steel,” written about the siege of the Mariupol steel plant a year ago.
The one to beat, the bookies long said, was Sweden’s Loreen, a previous Eurovision winner, who delighted with her power ballad “Tattoo.” Her staging involved writhing on a platform beneath a suspended panel, as if she was in the middle of a sandwich press.
Another top performer was Finnish rapper Käärijä, who sang his upbeat, highly clappable “Cha Cha Cha” while dressed in neon green bubble sleeves reminiscent of “The Very Hungry Caterpillar.”
Käärijä was one of many artists singing in his native language. The chorus of his song, translated, reads: “I hold the drink with both hands like that, cha cha cha …”
In an interview on Saturday, before the finale, he explained that his some was about “freedom” and that he wanted to sing in his own language, even though “Finnish people don’t believe a song in Finnish can win.” He added that it was “crazy” that people back home were painting their nails green and knitting green bolero jackets for their dogs to match his attire.
The competition between Sweden and Finland reflected a broader tension in the contest. Voting is split between national juries of industry professionals, who tend to like powerful singing and songwriting, and the public, who want wind machines and pyrotechnics. Many of the songs are (whisper it) quite good, but without a powerful stage show, they can fall flat.
In a change to the rules this year, people in nonparticipating countries, including the United States, could join in online voting.
There were epic costumes and lyrics. Norway’s Alessandra looked like an intergalactic war princess. Austrian duo Teya & Salena reminded us the world needs more Edgar Allan Poe songs. Their catchy chorus repeated the word “Poe” 30 times.
But that didn’t rank particularly high on the weird meter.
One of the standout performances from the night was not from a contestant, but rather from co-host Hannah Waddingham. The “Ted Lasso” star has won praise on social media for her presenting skills, which included showing off her own singing.
Eurovision was begun in the late 1950s by a handful of countries as a way to bring together war-torn Europe. Underscoring how much the contest has grown — in participants and popularity — more than 1,000 journalists from 50 countries were accredited to cover this year’s event in Liverpool. Many were from dedicated fan websites, and they whooped and hollered and sang along as they are filed their stories from the media center.
The news conferences in the buildup to the final were memorable.
The lead singer for Germany’s Lord of the Lost, who was dressed in a red bodysuit with one pant leg cut off, was asked by a reporter what kind of shoes he was planning to wear onstage. He responded “heels,” and plunked his feet onto the table for the assembled reporters to see.
Some people think Eurovision is a joke — too camp, too trashy, too shmaltzy. Others take it very seriously indeed.
“Slovenia crushed it,” shouted a Slovenian reporter at a dress rehearsal.
Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky asked to address the competition — a request the organizers denied, saying that it was a nonpolitical event while stressing that “Ukraine, its music, its culture, and its creativity would feature strongly throughout” the competition.
Many Ukrainians were nonetheless excited, and for many, it’s about uniting through music, the theme of this year’s competition. Halyna Sladz, 35, a Ukrainian refugee based in the United Kingdom, said the contest is “a party, a chance to celebrate.” She was walking in a “discover Ukraine” area along Liverpool’s vibrant waterfront. “I hope one day you will all be able to come to Ukraine to celebrate,” she added.
Liverpool is decked out in yellow-and-blue flags. Vendors sell borscht soup and dumplings. Giant illuminated bird installations throughout the city represent different regions of Ukraine.
Conchita Wurst, the bearded Austrian drag queen who won Eurovision in 2014, offered a theory of Eurovision’s popularity.
Speaking to The Washington Post in a makeshift room with a leopard-print sofa and golden bathtub filled with plastic bubbles, Wurst said: “In Europe, we have so many different little countries. There are so many different approaches to music, culture, art, fashion, so everyone brings their best game to the table.”
Asked if Eurovision hopefuls seek her advice, she said: “They do sometimes. There’s no recipe. It comes down to authenticity, as it does with anything in life. You have to make it your own.”