Eurovision? Believe me, it will be the longest night of Bonnie’s life
As Bonnie Tyler prepares for the big night, a warning from Engelbert
GOING out on the Eurovision stage and performing your song in front of 200 million viewers — and knowing your country is pinning its hopes on you — is nerveracking enough. But, as Bonnie Tyler will undoubtedly discover tomorrow night when she represents the UK in the world’s biggest song contest, that’s nothing compared to what happens after you’ve sung and you wait for the votes to come in. If you have three hours to kill, as my father Engelbert Humperdinck had last year, after being first on — waiting while the other 25 contestants sang, then waiting for the votes to come in — then it can be the longest night of your life.
I should know. I was at his side that night and for the exhilarating week we spent preparing for the show in Baku, capital of the host country, Azerbaijan. He’d been mobbed by fans and given a police motorcycle escort. His odds narrowed from 10-1 to 2-1 second favourite.
He’d already sung his ballad, Love Will Set You Free, on TV and radio shows in Britain and Europe, and the feedback had been encouraging. It was looking good.
Even though he’s been performing for more than 50 years, Dad still gets nervous before every show, and that night was no exception.
He’s superstitious. He won’t allow whistling in his dressing room and he wore a pendant given to him by Elvis Presley — he calls it his TCB (taking care of business) necklace — for luck. Going on first didn’t augur well, according to some seasoned Eurovision experts. As commentator Graham Norton observed this week: ‘Everyone has forgotten you by the time it comes to vote. If Engelbert had gone on later, maybe he would have done better.’
But we were Eurovision virgins. We’d hoped starting the show would give us an advantage. Because of the time difference between Baku and the rest of Europe, the show wasn’t starting until midnight. Dad would still feel fresh.
A later slot might have taken its toll on him through tiredness. That was our theory, anyway.
He went on, sang his song and got a standing ovation. So far, so brilliant. Then we went to the Green Room to sip champagne and watch the rest of the show, while receiving congratulatory texts from friends and family all over the world.
Dad, as usual, had more stamina than the rest of us, and he stayed on his feet for the rest of the show.
He remained cheerful and positive — even when t he bread-baking Russian Grannies came on and it was clear they were going to make a big impact.
They’d get the sympathy vote, but he hoped the points would go to the best song, not the most striking production or staging.
We would only have had cause to worry if it had been the Eurovision Bread-making Contest!
When voting began, we waited expectantly for points to come our way, but there was an ominous silence. After the first three countries, Dad turned to me and said: ‘Haven’t I got any votes yet?’
I’m not just his loving son; I’m his dutiful manager, too: it’s my job to keep things upbeat. ‘ No, but don’t worry because there are still many other countries to vote,’ I told him. After eight countries we still hadn’t made our mark on the Eurovision scoreboard — it was clear we were in trouble.
By the time all the results were in, Dad, who had stoically kept his cool, finished second from last — just ahead of Norway — with only 12 votes in total. He took it philosophically. ‘Oh well . . . I gave it my best shot, and I hope no one in the UK feels I let them down,’ he said. ‘The voting was out of my hands.’
With his head held high, gracious in defeat, he did the rounds backstage, congratulating the winner, Sweden’ s Loreen, who sang Euphoria; the Russian Grannies, who came second with Party For Everyone; and every participant on their performance.
Back at the hotel, Dad changed out of his tux into jeans and a T-shirt, and — for a man who had just had a major disappointment — he was totally relaxed, though still worrying that people might feel he hadn’t done his best.
There were plenty of laughs, but no recriminations, no what-ifs, no buck-passing. Dad was still as proud at being asked to represent the UK as he had been three months earlier, when I told him the BBC wanted him to do it.
‘I’ve got no regrets,’ he told me that night after the show. ‘I’d do it all over again if I was asked.’
We didn’t get to bed until 6am, and after a few hours’ sleep we went to a great barbecue on the beach, organised by the BBC.
Wine flowed, there was lots more laughter and Dad even sang songs karaoke-style. Everyone agreed there was no better voice around.
When we flew home, the airport was full of well-wishers — they seemed more upset than Dad by the result.
He’d given it his all. After all, we consoled ourselves, it was a song contest, not a General Election.
Dad has since recorded a CD of duets with Elton John, Willie Nelson, Kenny Rogers, Neil Sedaka and Charles Aznavour, and he has performed i n 60 countries around the world. Not once has he l ooked back — his motto is ‘Onwards and Upwards’.
Now he’s sent a letter of good wishes to Bonnie: we’ve got our fingers crossed for her.
And Dad hopes there isn’t a bunch of bread-baking Russian Grannies to ‘totally eclipse’ her.