For a very long time, Eurovision hasn’t really been a song contest. It’s been a yearly spectacle of glitter, drama, and over-the-top performance art. The one time of year when Europe collectively agrees to arse around in the name of music, spectacle, and shared absurdity. And as someone who thrives on maximalism, I wouldn’t have it any other way.
But this year? Things hit differently.
Because Eurovision just turned 69.
That number alone is enough to raise eyebrows (and expectations), especially in Eurovision terms. But beyond the cheeky timing, it also marks a generational milestone. The first Eurovision aired in 1956 – before the EU, before the fall of the Berlin Wall, before color television. Many of the kids who once gathered around bulky radios and black-and-white TVs to watch the earliest contests are no longer with us. The Europe they knew has changed – politically, socially, and culturally. And today’s Eurovision? It reflects that. It’s bolder, more expressive, and unapologetically theatrical. What began as a modest broadcast experiment is now a cultural barometer for what this continent dares to put on stage: the spectacle, the symbolism, and the silent statements hiding in plain sight.
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And in 2025, Europe gave its answer.
Enter “Ich Komme.” A cheeky, unapologetic, and perfectly timed entry that’s already stealing the spotlight. Sure, Sweden’s topping the odds with KAJ and a sauna on stage, but make no mistake: there’s still room for the queen. Moans, disco beats, and a title that literally translates to “I’m Coming” – this isn’t just a song. It’s an event.
On paper, the lyrics sound poetic.
It’s less Rise Like a Phoenix and more Rise… and keep rising.
Night falls, heart beats, they fall in love
Erika Vikman, Ich Komme
Moon rises, earth arches, my gates are open (Hey)
Mysterious? Maybe. Innocent? Not even close.
Let’s be honest—“my gates are open” isn’t exactly subtle. Add in breathy vocals and a beat designed for both the dance floor and the group chat, and Eurovision’s 69th edition becomes a full sensory experience.
And that’s the point.
Eurovision has never been about playing it safe.
Basic is the enemy. Excess is the event.
Wind machines? Yes.
Fashion unfiltered? Required.
Key changes that feel like emotional blackmail? Bring them on.
From a man in a hamster wheel (Ukraine, 2014) to a masked metal band screaming about bananas (Norway, 2022), this isn’t a stage for subtlety. And don’t forget Windows95man in 2024 – arriving from a giant denim egg in golden underwear. Was it necessary? Absolutely not. Was it perfect? Completely.
How about Moldova’s Epic Sax guy from 2010, how COOL is this? Very!
But the real shift? Language.
Music is supposed to be universal – an art form that transcends language, borders, and politics. But what happens when a song isn’t just a song? When lyrics, performance, and identity become tools of cultural expression that challenge what we’re comfortable with?
English used to dominate Eurovision like a radio-friendly default. But now, language is becoming the statement. In 2025, nearly half the entries ditched English altogethe, We will be hearing songs (or partially in): Albanian, Italian, Finnish, French, Georgian, German, Greek, Icelandic, Hebrew, Latvian, Lithuanian, Montenegrin, Polish, Portuguese, Serbian, Spanish, Swedish and Ukrainian.
As Eurovision moves further from its English-pop formula, it’s clear – language isn’t just a tool, it’s a statement.
Even Verka, my forever favorite, sang in five languages—plus some Mongolian slang for spice.
The performance was chaos in the best possible way—sung in English, Ukrainian, German, Russian, and sprinkled with Mongolian slang for good measure.
Because Eurovision isn’t just about music anymore. It’s a stage for identity and performance – all wrapped in glitter
And minority representation in Eurovision? It’s more common than you’d think:
- Gipsy.cz (Czech Republic, 2009) – A Romani hip-hop group performed Aven Romale.
- Patrick Fiori (France, 1993) – His song Mama Corsica was sung partly in Corsican.
- Anabel Conde (Spain, 1995) – A Basque artist representing Spain.
- Jamala (Ukraine, 2016) – Brought Crimean Tatar history into the spotlight and won.
Croatia’s 2023 Eurovision entry, Mama ŠČ! by Let 3, was a chaotic, theatrical, and deeply satirical anthem that uses absurdity to critique authoritarianism.
Final thoughts: What Eurovision ’69 really showed us
This wasn’t just another year of outrageous outfits or turbo ballads with smoke machines on cue. This year’s Eurovision felt like a mirror; one angled toward a louder, more expressive, and more self-aware Europe.
Because while “Ich Komme” moaned its way into headlines and Sweden built a sauna on stage, something bigger was happening. Countries reclaimed their languages. Artists reclaimed their edge. And audiences everywhere were reminded that Eurovision has never been just about the song – it’s about what the song dares to say.
Some entries become iconic for their spectacle. Others for their controversy. But sometimes, a song becomes iconic because of what it reveals about us – our discomforts, our double standards, our hidden thresholds of “too much.”
Eurovision 69 asked:
What are we willing to put on stage?
What are we willing to celebrate?
And who gets to define the line between art and excess?
If this year proved anything, it’s that playing it safe is still the fastest way to get forgotten. And that in a contest where subtlety goes to die, boldness will always have the final word.
So here’s to the 69th edition of Europe’s most gloriously unserious tradition – where nothing is sacred, everything is political, and every note, costume, and pelvic thrust means more than it lets on.
🔥 Long live glitter. Long live performance. Long live Europe and Eurovision. 🔥
Jackinna of all Trades 