London-based ‘tranny with a fanny’ and self-confessed Eurovision mega fan Holestar hosts her annual Eurovision party at Camden fun den Her Upstairs this Saturday. Here she imagines what her performance would be like were she to grace the coveted stage. And it’s bona, obvs.
It’s May, which means one thing for anyone who likes a bit of camp: Eurovision! I’m a bit of a music snob (try requesting EDM or tropical house when I’m DJing and you’ll be told exactly where to go) but I adore fun pop. Trashy songs combined with awkward routines, sexual innuendos, the odd novelty act and you’ve got the grand European festival of high camp.
Showing my age here, but since screaming and jumping on a friend’s bed watching Bucks Fizz winning Eurovision in 1981, I’ve wanted to perform at it. Making Your Mind Up is a wonderful ditty but it was all about the reveal. I longed to be Cheryl Baker (not Jay Aston – too sexy). I wanted my skirt ripped off while doing a hand jive.
I’ve always said that if I performed at Eurovision, I’d happily hang my wig up and be a full time dominatrix (currently part time) but it’s looking unlikely. That’s not me being Buzz Killington, but realistic. Can you see the BBC sending a daft queer woman who fannys around as a drag queen? Nah. They tend to stick to former stars of popular music and talent show alumni. It’s as if the UK doesn’t want to win the competition by continually sending comfortably safe options as it’s so expensive to host. Yet the UK spends on Eurovision and is one of the big five, alongside France, Germany, Spain and Italy. Since 2000, these five countries are automatically in the final due to being the largest sponsors of the European Broadcasting Union. Much like buying a peerage.
For me to grace the Eurovision stage, it’d have to be for a dinky country with a small music scene, wanting to take a risk. I’m thinking Cyprus, San Marino, Monaco, Malta or Luxembourg. The performer doesn’t need to come from the country they represent. Hot dog munching Canadian superstar Celine Dion won the competition for Switzerland in ‘88.
Now what would I perform? I could sing my number one hit single in Azerbaijan, Queen of Fucking Everything (still available on iTunes), but would prefer a classic disco belter. I want strings, old school production, a rousing chorus, earworm hooks and a dramatic middle eight.
It’d open with a gradual intro (like many disco classics, slow start), catwalking out from dry ice wearing a couture outfit by Thierry Mugler (plus size edition). The beat kicks in (played by Winny Puhh’s Estonia upside down, hanging from the ceiling drummer). These days there’s a six-person maximum allowed, so a mere four dancers would appear. A member of Finland’s rock beasts Lordi, a pouting churning milkmaid from Poland’s 2014 entry, drag superstar Verka from Ukraine and our very own Lulu.
There’s a big outfit reveal, some pyrotechnics, surreal quasi political visuals and the dancers do a routine that becomes an instant classic in holiday resorts, working men’s clubs and homosexual discotheques.
I’d like to think it’d make top 10. Now I just need the contacts. And Lulu’s number.
While I might not be in Kiev this Saturday, I’ll be doing the second best thing: hosting a screening at London’s newest and progressive queer space, Her Upstairs. Afterwards, we’ll head below to Them Downstairs for a trash pop boogie and performance by one of my favourite young fruit cakes, Herr. It’ll be camp. Dear.