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A KIDS' SINGING CONTEST THAT'S A GEOPOLITICAL PROXY WAR FOR ADULTS
The Atlantic
Dec 5 2012
For the handlers of Junior Eurovision contestants, there's a lot more
at stake than music.
Nurturing aspiring pop stars requires a lot of patience, especially
when Hamas is firing rockets over your border. Daniella Gardosh
Santo of the Israeli Broadcasting Authority (IBA) learned that fact
firsthand in recent weeks as she worked with Kids.il, a sextet of
10- to 14-year-olds competing in Israel's name at the 2012 Junior
Eurovision Song Contest. The threat of pipe bombs and the roar
of sirens forced the group to adjust its rhythm on the eve of the
December 1 contest. "We missed a few rehearsals because I didn't want
to take responsibility for having the kids in the studio when the
alarms sounded," she says. "It's not like you're on the beach. The
shelter is very crowded."
Even as the missiles dropped, Gardosh Santo knew the show had to go
on. Her team continued to drum up publicity for the group throughout
the conflict, and, given the sensitive nature of taking children away
from their families during a war, arranged for all of their parents
to journey with them to the Netherlands for the week of rehearsals
and press conferences that began at the end of November. For Gardosh
Santo and the IBA, competing at Junior Eurovision holds significance
far beyond giving six kids their 15 minutes of fame. "We want to
cultivate and enhance international relationships," she says, "and
bring the beautiful face of Israel to the world."
Now in its 10th year, Junior Eurovision is a spinoff of Eurovision,
the wildly popular-and widely mocked-pan-European song contest whose
alumni include ABBA, Celine Dion, Jedward, and Olivia Newton-John.
Watched by more than 20 million people in Europe, the former Soviet
Union and Australia, it remains the world's biggest song contest for
children aged 10 to 15. For governments who fund the contestants-and
their choreographers, vocal coaches, producers, costume designers,
P.R. teams, and chaperones-it's also a massive exercise in soft
power, and an opportunity to foment goodwill with kiddy viewers and
their parents across the world. The resulting talent show mixes the
ambition of pageant moms with the studied reason of policy wonks
with the patriotism of the Olympic Games-albeit with far more wind
machines and sequins.
Israel's global charm offensive began with a nationwide audition in the
spring, which resulted in the selection of six children of Russian,
Yemenite, Indian, and Israeli descent. "We have all these colors,"
says Gardosh Santo triumphantly. "But they are all Jews." The original,
three-minute song that the Israelis wrote for the competition-an ode
to peace called "Let the Music Win"-took on renewed significance in
light of recent events. Speaking ahead of the final, and without
a translator, 13-year old Daniel Pruzansky understood the brief:
"The music united people, and the music united us."
Not all countries grasp that message, and some wage a proxy battle
through the Eurovision franchises. Armenia and Azerbaijan, bitter
enemies who fought a bloody war over the disputed Nagorno-Karabakh
region in the early 1990s, have taken their political stalemate to the
adult and junior contests for years. Armenia withdrew from Eurovision
last year because it was being held in Baku, the Azerbaijani capital.
And in 2009 Azeri security officials detained Azerbaijani citizens
who had voted for Armenia's contestant. The junior contest isn't
immune from the squabbling. In 2010 Azerbaijan's state broadcaster,
which aired Junior Eurovision but did not field a contestant, cut
the live transmission once it became apparent that a 12-year old
Armenian boy had won. His song had no political message: He merely
crooned about a schoolyard crush gone wrong.
Given the significance they place on the contest, it's not surprising
that Azerbaijan, which debuted at Junior Eurovision this year, went
big. Rather than allowing its contestants to write their own song,
the oil-rich nation outsourced the task to British songwriters and
producers behind acts like the Sugababes and Britney Spears. They
also hired Maksim Nedolechko, one of Russia's most famous pop
choreographers, and paid a Russian production company that specializes
in children's programming to sort out their costumes and staging. In
the official program, the biography of Azerbaijan's lead singer said
her "greatest wish is to be able to represent Azerbaijan worthily."
Adults may have been using them as pawns in their geopolitical
posturing, but the kids remained blissfully unaware of it all. During
the dress rehearsals, the Armenian and Azerbaijani contestants clapped
for one another-even though their coaches did not. And as an Azeri hype
girl jumped up and down on a DJ platform spinning a faux turntable,
she seemed to believe in her sweet, if naïve, message of togetherness:
"Come and join us/ Let's sit on the Moon and smile/ Together enjoying
the stars."
Organizers want to preserve that innocence-and they may need to in
order to keep Junior Eurovision going. In 2005 French TV officials
called Junior Eurovision "vulgar" and withdrew after one year of
participation. In subsequent years a steady stream of nations-including
Denmark, Norway, and the U.K.-have followed suit.
They frequently voice concern the contest puts too much pressure
on the children and encourages them to grow up too quickly. Jaws
dropped this year when the 11-year old Albanian contestant turned up
to her dress rehearsal in a see-through lace dress-approved by her
coaches-that failed to cover her legs, chest, or shoulders. Event
supervisors deemed the frock "too mature," and quickly found the
contestant a Dutch stylist, who redesigned her provocative top.
Competing countries also shoulder the responsibility of protecting
their kids from pushy parents who make American pageant moms look
tame. In the Netherlands, which airs a 13-episode national selection,
officials interview the families of contestants to make sure the
kids have appropriate support before starting their journey. "There
are parents who want their children to be a star, and they hope for
the record deals," says Nicole Dirksen, an editor at AVRO, the Dutch
public broadcaster. "We sometimes have to have serious talks with
them and tell them to back off."
To a large extent, though, the kids who make it to Junior Eurovision
are steering their own train. Speaking with me outside of the Heineken
Music Hall ahead of the contest, Anastasiya Petryk, a 10-year old
winner from the Ukraine, insisted on stopping the interview briefly
so she could retrieve bubble gum from a member of her entourage.
Throughout the week, she marched around the rehearsals and parties
with utter confidence and self-belief, proudly showing off her massive
D-Squared belt, and a velour tracksuit with rhinestones. Her adult
chaperone trailed behind with her coat.
In the end, her talent justified the diva-like behavior. Petryk,
who hails from the village of Nerubayskoye, near Odessa, dropped
guttural growls Christina Aguilera-style and seemingly channeled an
exorcist through her swaying dance moves and facial expressions. She
won the contest by the largest margin in its history. "This song is
an appeal to the audience to do only good things and to act only in
a good manner," she explained through a translator at the winner's
press conference afterwards. "I hope that the whole country will feel
proud for me."
She's far too young to understand just how proud they are. The
following morning Ukraine's president Viktor Yanukovych phoned with
his congratulations, and issued an official statement praising "her
bright performance" that "has contributed to the rise of Ukrainian
international authority."
Israel finished eighth out of the 12 finalists. Azerbaijan came
next-to-last-or, as Baku probably sees it, eight places below Armenia.
http://www.theatlantic.com/entertainment/archive/2012/12/a-kids-singing-contest-thats-a-geopolitical-proxy-war-for-adults/265823/
From: Baghdasarian
The Atlantic
Dec 5 2012
For the handlers of Junior Eurovision contestants, there's a lot more
at stake than music.
Nurturing aspiring pop stars requires a lot of patience, especially
when Hamas is firing rockets over your border. Daniella Gardosh
Santo of the Israeli Broadcasting Authority (IBA) learned that fact
firsthand in recent weeks as she worked with Kids.il, a sextet of
10- to 14-year-olds competing in Israel's name at the 2012 Junior
Eurovision Song Contest. The threat of pipe bombs and the roar
of sirens forced the group to adjust its rhythm on the eve of the
December 1 contest. "We missed a few rehearsals because I didn't want
to take responsibility for having the kids in the studio when the
alarms sounded," she says. "It's not like you're on the beach. The
shelter is very crowded."
Even as the missiles dropped, Gardosh Santo knew the show had to go
on. Her team continued to drum up publicity for the group throughout
the conflict, and, given the sensitive nature of taking children away
from their families during a war, arranged for all of their parents
to journey with them to the Netherlands for the week of rehearsals
and press conferences that began at the end of November. For Gardosh
Santo and the IBA, competing at Junior Eurovision holds significance
far beyond giving six kids their 15 minutes of fame. "We want to
cultivate and enhance international relationships," she says, "and
bring the beautiful face of Israel to the world."
Now in its 10th year, Junior Eurovision is a spinoff of Eurovision,
the wildly popular-and widely mocked-pan-European song contest whose
alumni include ABBA, Celine Dion, Jedward, and Olivia Newton-John.
Watched by more than 20 million people in Europe, the former Soviet
Union and Australia, it remains the world's biggest song contest for
children aged 10 to 15. For governments who fund the contestants-and
their choreographers, vocal coaches, producers, costume designers,
P.R. teams, and chaperones-it's also a massive exercise in soft
power, and an opportunity to foment goodwill with kiddy viewers and
their parents across the world. The resulting talent show mixes the
ambition of pageant moms with the studied reason of policy wonks
with the patriotism of the Olympic Games-albeit with far more wind
machines and sequins.
Israel's global charm offensive began with a nationwide audition in the
spring, which resulted in the selection of six children of Russian,
Yemenite, Indian, and Israeli descent. "We have all these colors,"
says Gardosh Santo triumphantly. "But they are all Jews." The original,
three-minute song that the Israelis wrote for the competition-an ode
to peace called "Let the Music Win"-took on renewed significance in
light of recent events. Speaking ahead of the final, and without
a translator, 13-year old Daniel Pruzansky understood the brief:
"The music united people, and the music united us."
Not all countries grasp that message, and some wage a proxy battle
through the Eurovision franchises. Armenia and Azerbaijan, bitter
enemies who fought a bloody war over the disputed Nagorno-Karabakh
region in the early 1990s, have taken their political stalemate to the
adult and junior contests for years. Armenia withdrew from Eurovision
last year because it was being held in Baku, the Azerbaijani capital.
And in 2009 Azeri security officials detained Azerbaijani citizens
who had voted for Armenia's contestant. The junior contest isn't
immune from the squabbling. In 2010 Azerbaijan's state broadcaster,
which aired Junior Eurovision but did not field a contestant, cut
the live transmission once it became apparent that a 12-year old
Armenian boy had won. His song had no political message: He merely
crooned about a schoolyard crush gone wrong.
Given the significance they place on the contest, it's not surprising
that Azerbaijan, which debuted at Junior Eurovision this year, went
big. Rather than allowing its contestants to write their own song,
the oil-rich nation outsourced the task to British songwriters and
producers behind acts like the Sugababes and Britney Spears. They
also hired Maksim Nedolechko, one of Russia's most famous pop
choreographers, and paid a Russian production company that specializes
in children's programming to sort out their costumes and staging. In
the official program, the biography of Azerbaijan's lead singer said
her "greatest wish is to be able to represent Azerbaijan worthily."
Adults may have been using them as pawns in their geopolitical
posturing, but the kids remained blissfully unaware of it all. During
the dress rehearsals, the Armenian and Azerbaijani contestants clapped
for one another-even though their coaches did not. And as an Azeri hype
girl jumped up and down on a DJ platform spinning a faux turntable,
she seemed to believe in her sweet, if naïve, message of togetherness:
"Come and join us/ Let's sit on the Moon and smile/ Together enjoying
the stars."
Organizers want to preserve that innocence-and they may need to in
order to keep Junior Eurovision going. In 2005 French TV officials
called Junior Eurovision "vulgar" and withdrew after one year of
participation. In subsequent years a steady stream of nations-including
Denmark, Norway, and the U.K.-have followed suit.
They frequently voice concern the contest puts too much pressure
on the children and encourages them to grow up too quickly. Jaws
dropped this year when the 11-year old Albanian contestant turned up
to her dress rehearsal in a see-through lace dress-approved by her
coaches-that failed to cover her legs, chest, or shoulders. Event
supervisors deemed the frock "too mature," and quickly found the
contestant a Dutch stylist, who redesigned her provocative top.
Competing countries also shoulder the responsibility of protecting
their kids from pushy parents who make American pageant moms look
tame. In the Netherlands, which airs a 13-episode national selection,
officials interview the families of contestants to make sure the
kids have appropriate support before starting their journey. "There
are parents who want their children to be a star, and they hope for
the record deals," says Nicole Dirksen, an editor at AVRO, the Dutch
public broadcaster. "We sometimes have to have serious talks with
them and tell them to back off."
To a large extent, though, the kids who make it to Junior Eurovision
are steering their own train. Speaking with me outside of the Heineken
Music Hall ahead of the contest, Anastasiya Petryk, a 10-year old
winner from the Ukraine, insisted on stopping the interview briefly
so she could retrieve bubble gum from a member of her entourage.
Throughout the week, she marched around the rehearsals and parties
with utter confidence and self-belief, proudly showing off her massive
D-Squared belt, and a velour tracksuit with rhinestones. Her adult
chaperone trailed behind with her coat.
In the end, her talent justified the diva-like behavior. Petryk,
who hails from the village of Nerubayskoye, near Odessa, dropped
guttural growls Christina Aguilera-style and seemingly channeled an
exorcist through her swaying dance moves and facial expressions. She
won the contest by the largest margin in its history. "This song is
an appeal to the audience to do only good things and to act only in
a good manner," she explained through a translator at the winner's
press conference afterwards. "I hope that the whole country will feel
proud for me."
She's far too young to understand just how proud they are. The
following morning Ukraine's president Viktor Yanukovych phoned with
his congratulations, and issued an official statement praising "her
bright performance" that "has contributed to the rise of Ukrainian
international authority."
Israel finished eighth out of the 12 finalists. Azerbaijan came
next-to-last-or, as Baku probably sees it, eight places below Armenia.
http://www.theatlantic.com/entertainment/archive/2012/12/a-kids-singing-contest-thats-a-geopolitical-proxy-war-for-adults/265823/
From: Baghdasarian