Involution Labs

Tag: eurovision

  • What Do the World Cup and Eurovision Have in Common?

    They are both global storytelling festivals.

    The competition is the stage; the real drama is the people watching it.

    The World Cup and Eurovision create temporary maps of affection and resentment. For a few weeks, people rediscover who they feel close to, who they instinctively oppose, and which old stories are still alive.

    The arguments around Eurovision can be more revealing than the winning song. They show what a country cares about, what irritates it, and how it sees its place in the wider world. The fascinating part is watching a country say, in effect: “This is how we want the world to see us this year.”

    The World Cup does something similar on a global scale.

    When people talk about Eurovision, they often talk about the songs. When people talk about the World Cup, they talk about the football. What fascinates me is what happens before either competition begins.

    Long before a ball is kicked or a song is sung, countries start telling stories about themselves.

    Every Eurovision act is, in some way, a national introduction. Some countries present themselves as modern and sophisticated. Others embrace humour, eccentricity, tradition, rebellion or nostalgia. The songs matter, but so does the message behind them.

    The same thing happens at the World Cup.

    This year, Norway told a story.

    Before the tournament had even properly begun, the Norwegian team posed dressed as Vikings. Some people immediately saw colonisers and raiders. Yet that is not how much of the world sees the Vikings. For many people, the Vikings represent curiosity, courage and the willingness to leave the familiar behind.

    The people who sailed west from Scandinavia were not living in a land of endless abundance. They survived in a harsh climate with short growing seasons. They looked beyond the horizon and wondered what else was out there.

    That image still resonates today.

    Norway took that story and turned it into a simple act: rowing.

    Suddenly people everywhere were rowing for Norway. They dropped to the floor in offices, schools, gyms and living rooms. Nursing home residents turned their exercises into rowing sessions. People who had never met a Norwegian in their lives found themselves taking part in a small national ritual.

    The rowing was not really about football.

    It was a story about a small country setting out into the unknown and inviting others to come along for the journey.

    The image was simple and irresistible: a small nation climbing into the boat together and rowing out to take on the world.

    Norway was rowing for gold.

    I don’t even watch the matches, but it was almost impossible to miss. My social media feeds filled with Erling Haaland videos. There were clips of his goals, his interviews, his larger-than-life presence and his peculiar sense of humour. I even found myself watching videos of his sister affectionately mimicking him. Her impressions were funny precisely because they were so warm. She seemed to know exactly which details made him recognisably himself.

    That’s how these tournaments escape the boundaries of sport. The players become characters, their families become part of the narrative, and the supporters create rituals that travel far beyond the stadium.

    You don’t need to watch ninety minutes of football to become aware that something is happening.

    The same thing happened at Eurovision.

    Bulgaria did not simply send a song. It sent an idea.

    Before Eurovision, Bangaranga was a catchy pop song. On stage it became something else. The choreography, movement and visual storytelling brought the song fully to life. I found myself completely hypnotised by it.

    The word itself is unusual, but DARA used it to express something universal: finding your inner strength, letting go of fear and having the courage to be yourself. The performance transformed that message into something you could feel rather than merely hear.

    Bulgaria went on to win Eurovision for the first time, but by then the story had already connected with people.

    That is what these competitions are really about.

    Countries do not simply send football teams and songs. They send stories about themselves.

    This year, Norway’s story was rowing towards the horizon. Bulgaria’s story was finding the courage to become yourself.

    One invited people to pick up an oar. The other invited people to let go of fear.

    The competition gave them a stage. The stories are what people will remember.

    Years from now, most people will not remember every result. What they will remember are the stories.

    This year, Norway’s story got people rowing.

    A small country told a story about itself, and the world decided it liked the story.

  • What Story Does Eurovision Tell About Europe?

    Eurovision is often described as a song contest, but people rarely speak about it as if that is all it is. Many claim not to care. They laugh at it, criticise it, dismiss it as political, strange, over-produced, or irrelevant, and then they watch anyway. Sometimes openly. Sometimes from another room while insisting they are only watching because someone else put it on. Often while already knowing who should win and who should not.

    This says something.

    Perhaps Eurovision continues because it is not really about music, or not only about music. Every year, countries step onto a stage and perform a version of themselves. Not always who they are, but sometimes who they hope to be. Sometimes who they think Europe expects them to be. Sometimes who they once were, or who they refuse to stop being.

    For a few minutes, a song becomes something larger. It becomes identity.

    Some countries arrive with confidence. Others seem to ask for recognition. Some bring humour, folklore, absurdity, pain, rebellion, nostalgia, or longing. The performance ends, but the story does not. Votes are given, votes are withheld, patterns are noticed, and people argue. Beneath all of this sits a larger question:

    What is Europe?

    The word is used easily. European values. European identity. European culture. Yet no clear definition exists. Europe contains histories that do not fully agree with each other: empires and occupations, wars and reconciliations, languages and loyalties, countries that remember the same events differently.

    There is no single Europe. Eurovision complicates the idea further. Countries outside geographical Europe participate, while others sit at its edges—connected through history, politics, migration, or culture. Europe begins to look less like a place with clear borders and more like an ongoing negotiation about belonging. Who is included, who feels included, and who remains outside changes over time.

    There are many Europes. Nordic Europe. Balkan Europe. Post-Soviet Europe. Rural Europe. Urban Europe. The Europe of migration, memory, and inherited stories. The Europe imagined from outside, and the Europe people carry with them long after leaving.

    And still, once a year, countries gather and vote.

    Not because agreement exists, but perhaps because disagreement does.

    Eurovision survives, perhaps, because it allows contradiction. Countries insist: this is who we are. The contest quietly replies: you are also part of something larger. Neither statement disappears.

    This year’s winner sang:

    Welcome to the riot.

    And then came a made-up word:

    Bangaranga.

    Meaningless, perhaps. Or perhaps not.

    People create new words when existing ones no longer feel large enough. Maybe Bangaranga means: become yourself. Remember yourself. Resist disappearing into everyone else. But do not become so individual that connection is lost.

    Maybe this is true for countries too.

    No one country is Europe. All contribute to it. None define it.

    Perhaps Europe is not an identity at all. Perhaps it is an unfinished conversation—a place where histories meet without fully merging, where blame survives, memory survives, difference survives.

    And despite everything, people continue showing up.

    Singing.

    Voting.

    Wanting to be understood.

    Because beneath performance, competition, and politics, there may be something simpler: the desire for recognition.

    To say:

    See us.
    Remember us.
    Understand us.

    And perhaps Europe itself is asking for the same thing.