ESC Luxembourg City 1966 — “Merci, Chérie”

Eurovision 1966

full show

Date: 5 March 1966
Venue: Villa Louvigny, Luxembourg City
Winning country: Austria (1^st win)
Winning entry: Udo Jürgens, “Merci, Chérie”

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1966: an annus mirabilis for popular music, both in Europe and abroad. “Eight Miles High”. “Try a Little Tenderness”. “You Keep Me Hangin’ On”. “Tomorrow Never Knows”. All these and more, in twelve short, psychedelic months. In Europe, cultural exchange abounds: Yugoslavia starts up the first rock and roll magazine in a Soviet country, and the Moscow Radio Symphony Orchestra manages to make its debut at the prestigious BBC Proms. And how did Eurovision face up to this brave new world?

The answer is, well, they didn’t. For the past three pieces I’ve been talking about the various flirtations that Eurovision had with the sixties: how it was confused by the decade, rejected its innovations, and occasionally used it to make interesting art. But as we enter the Contest’s second decade, it’s evident that the first response was still the predominant one: having been floored by Serge Gainsbourg’s macabre offering last year, the nations of Western Europe gathered in the Villa Louvigny not exactly sure how to respond to this bold new direction. There are some interesting songs this year, especially from Italy and the Nordic countries (of which more in the best songs section), but in large part the songs this year could mainly be classified into two categories: upbeat pop that joyously explores complex romantic feelings, and sombre, loudly declaimed ballads.

Guess which type won.

In a sense it’s not really surprising that “Merci, Chérie” turned out to be the triumphant song. This was Udo Jürgens’ third consecutive Contest after all, and in three years of participation his style hadn’t changed much: listeners of his 1964 offering will notice how much the basics for his later winner are already there. Melancholic piano-playing, check; ponderous lyrics about heartbreak, check; even more ponderous expression while performing, double check. If there’s one thing that Jürgens is good at, it’s finding a style and sticking to it; by the time he stepped onstage, half the audience could probably have predicted how the song would go. That’s not necessarily a bad thing, though — many songwriters have tried to twist their styles around so that their work can keep up with the times (looking at you, Ralph Siegel); Jürgens’ dedication to his set musical styles can be a demonstration of consistency and stability, and (more importantly) marks him as an artist that stuck to his guns. After all, no point fixing what ain’t broken.

I only wish there was more to “Merci, Chérie” than that. Nobody minds a formula so long as it’s interesting or you add enough variables, but it’s evident that Jürgens can’t really manage either after three consecutive years. Sure, repeating the foreign words three times is an interesting gimmick (as well as a nice self-referential wink), but he also tried something just like that in 1964 AND 1965 and hasn’t even bothered to hide it. “Your tears are so painful… so painful… so painful”, he gasps, while modern listeners waiting for whatever comes next check their watches impatiently, only to be greeted with the exact same trick in THE VERY NEXT LINE. And look, I get that he’s trying to replicate how breakups always leave people lost for words, and I’m fine with this kind of repetition; I’m the guy who listed “Warum nur, warum?” as my second-favourite song of the 1964 Contest. But third time round, that particular trick has lost any sense of novelty, and any lingering appreciation I had for it has subsided into a vague irritation.

And look, it’s not like Jürgens doesn’t know how to hit the right beats: observe the bridge of the song, slowly building up to his climatic, passionate howl that “no sea is as wild as Love!”. That moment is transcendent, a brilliantly calculated and fully-earned burst of emotion. There’s just one problem with this: this climax hits at the exact midpoint of the bridge. So no sooner has the singer let rip with his “LIEEEEEEEE” he feels obligated to follow it up with “…BE”, thoroughly gutting the magnificence of the moment and turning that triumph into a pathetic, uncertain punchline. That second syllable is like the sad trumpet squawk which follows a joke that’s fallen flat — it removes any gravitas that he might have accumulated. (Surely it’s no accident that almost all compilations of Eurovision winners I’ve seen A. choose this part to represent the song and B. cut him off just after he hits that top note.) It all goes downhill from there: the verse makes another appearance, he repeats himself some more, and the song just gradually grinds to a halt. Udo Jürgens can undoubtedly be a skilled performer, but what I get from “Merci, Chérie” is that he’s more vessel than creative designer.

No matter: the important thing was that you knew what to expect with Jürgens. His music was emotional, traditional, and above all safe, so his similar-sounding compositions would have felt like the perfect antidote to Gainsbourg & Gall and the mayhem they’d unleashed. The vindication of quiet platitudes over weirder offerings has been a running feature of the last few contests, but it’s especially pertinent for the 1966 edition, as it’s the first one where there’s a whole smorgasbord of songstyles: after last year’s shock to the system, a disoriented Europe served up novelty jazz, operatic tunes, and even psychedelic pop. It all feels like a response to “Poupée de cire, poupée de son”, and more specifically an attempt to strike out on their own by “out-weirding” it. All of these more novel approaches to Eurovision ended up cancelling each other out, and this meant that “Merci, Chérie” — a song whose style everybody at least recognised — was able to slip through and take the crown.

And look, not all of the experiments done this year worked — the Dutch entry, a ghastly parody of Latin American ethnomusic, is perhaps the most grotesque thing to have ever appeared in Eurovision — but at least they tried. They went for something new, which is a welcome breath of fresh air after a whole decade’s worth of ballads and faux-upbeat pop tunes. But the juries did not pick any of them. In the face of numerous unknowable changes happening both in and out of the contest, they went for the safest bet. And I can’t begrudge “Merci, Chérie” for its well-crafted stab at popularity — after all, that’s how pop music works. But how I wish it wasn’t just a case of Udo Jürgens warming up his leftovers, and feeding us the same old boring crap once more.

Rating: 4/10

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Best song

After many years of trying to grab the public’s attention with melancholic pop, Sweden finally broke through with a jazzy novelty song about a saucepan-banging princess. I don’t find “Nygammal vals” as endearing as so many commentators have — it lurches all over the place sonically — but there’s no doubt that Lill Lindfors and Svante Thuresson have excellent chemistry. Of course, Lindfors’ main claim to fame in the Eurovision world is her stint hosting the 1985 Contest, and coincidentally her successor as Eurovision presenter, Åse Kleveland, got third in ’66 for Norway. Her song, “Intet er nytt under solen”, is a sombre self-played folk ballad that represents a sharp turn from normal Eurovision fare — even if I connect to it even less than the Swedish entry, it’s still a well-played and fascinating song with excellent lyrical storytelling.

As mentioned before, this year FINALLY saw the arrival of all-new songstyles, and this made for probably the most interesting contest we’ve seen in a decade (give or take a 1958). I quite liked the Nordic entries, and there’s also a certain charm to the UK’s return to opera (perhaps they were fans of Sweden last year). I’ve said a lot about the abundance of new styles, but the ones I enjoyed most were the ones that blended old and new: Switzerland’s “Ne vois-tu pas?” may have an old-school tune, but Madeleine Pascal imbues her character with warmth and some slightly more progressive tendencies, so this bouncy tune got my third. Above her we have Italy and our old friend Domenico Modugno, this time gazing dreamily into space with “Dio, come ti amo”; yes it’s really just a Hammond organ making all the otherworldly sounds, but there’s something so psychedelic and dramatic about the way it’s deployed that I’m mesmerised nonetheless. But when it comes to choosing my favourite song, I’ll take romantic bliss over technical perfection any day — and surprise, surprise, only Luxembourg was once again capable of delivering this year. It might not have the most outstanding lyrics or melody, but none of this matters when you hear Michèle Torr sing “Ce soir je t’attendais” with such excitement and anticipation — you just want to rush over into her arms, and give her the warmest of hugs. “Good morning, Luxembourg” indeed.

And if you think this song was cool, wait till you see Luxembourg NEXT year.

PLACE	ACTUAL RESULTS	MY PICKS
1st	Austria, “Merci, Chérie”	Luxembourg, “Ce soir je t’attendais”
2nd	Sweden, “Nygammal vals“	Italy, “Dio, come ti amo“
3rd	Norway, “Intet er nytt under solen“	Switzerland, “Ne vois-tu pas?“

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Next time

Eurovision finally catches up with modernity, but not modern love.