Published on 07 July 2013 by Eurovicious - Read more from this author

Lukas Ploechl GymWhen not currently shitting a track, Lukas Plöchl enjoys
working out in his local gym and sharing the results.

I am 30. I don't really get Tumblr. (Not enough words.) I used Twitter adeptly and increasingly prolifically for four and a half years until I recently burnt out on it. (I don't know if I'll be back, though I probably will be when the season starts again with JESC. Hell, I'll probably be back by the time this article is published so I can tweet it out to everyone.) And I've never used Instagram and don't own an iPhone. (Actually, that's a lie: I have a second-hand jailbroken iPhone 3GS with no SIM card in that I use for internet radio only. Ever since it got wet one time when I tried to listen to Woman's Hour in the shower - don't ask - it's also been beset by the infamous iPhone "No volume" error, the official fix for which is to seal it in a tupperware container full of rice for 24 hours to draw the moisture out of the electronics. Again, don't ask. My real phone is an HTC.) 

All of these sites are new phenomena. And artists, including Eurovision artists, are increasingly using them to interact with fans in new ways. Twitter and its stablemates allow celebrities to engage directly with their fans and the wider public - not through press releases, heavily censored interviews or stage-managed photoshoots, as was until recently the case, but one-on-one, on their own terms, from their own phone or computer - for better or worse. In just a decade, this has gone from being a record executive's worst nightmare to the norm. How well this turns out in practice and the effect it has on the public image of the celebrity in question depends entirely on their personality. For every Gaga, Demi Moore or Ashton Kutcher who makes adroit use of social media, there's a walking PR disaster like 50 Cent or Charlie Sheen.

Robin SquatWHAT ARE YOU DOING

Both mainstream celebrities and Eurovision and even national final artists are taking endless crude pictures of themselves ("selfies" - like "pubes", a word I hate) and posting them online. On Twitter. On Instagram. On Facebook. On Tumblr. On other sites with daft names that I'm not even aware of or have made up, like ShitBriquet, Wazz and Twonkr. Everywhere. Anywhere. All the time. In every free moment. Backstage. In the gym. In front of the mirror. In black and white. In bed. With floppy hair.  With Didrik Thingy-Tango. In the bath. In their underpants. In fuzzy low resolution for added pseudo-authenticity. With a corgi. With Danny Saucedo.

Anton Ewald SelfieI preferred him when he was in a mask under Velvet's dress

While in the world of mainstream celebrity, it's women who get most of the attention, in Eurovision, it's the men who are increasingly subject to particular focus, on account of gay men and straight women and girls making up the overwhelming bulk of Eurovision fans (hej straight guys and gay gals, please don't feel I'm excluding you, I'm just telling it how it is). I welcome this. Mainstream media and advertising bombard us with images of Seksi Laydeez on a daily if not hourly basis and have done so for decades, to the extent that those of us not aroused by these images more or less just accept it as our society's wallpaper. Men are still presented as sex objects much less often than women, though the gap is narrowing, and in the UK at least, all kinds of male celebs are now happy to strip down to a pair of snugly fitting briefs for the leading fag rags. But on the whole, things still aren't equal. Just look at the pop world. Female pop megastars are constantly objectified - they're expected to pout and pose in minimal clothing (of the "two strings and a cork" variety), dress up in all kinds of S&M shit, spray cream out of their breasts, drape themselves in snakes and partake in questionable prison chic and "sexy victim" shtick. With the exception of Robbie Williams, who has made a point of regularly whipping his clothes off on television since his 90s heyday (admirably but perhaps regrettably), this doesn't apply to male singers, who are rarely physically objectified to any remotely comparable degree. Or can you imagine Justin Timberlake and Bruno Mars snogging mechanically and passionlessly on stage during an awards ceremony just to generate titillation and tabloid sensation, Jason Derulo writhing in a ball gag in a music video (at least it'd stop him singing his name), or Olly Murs spraying cream out of a giant cock eclair while performing his latest single on The X Factor? (Don't answer that.)

The closest we get in the Eurovision world is this:

Erik Mattias Another KissMuški ljubav.

What's also important in the Eurovision fan world, where we focus on the gents rather than the ladies, is that we don't have a double standard. If straight male or gay female fans want to talk about how gorgeous Karolina Goceva looked in 2007, how radiant and dignified yet absolutely milftastic Anouk is, or how Zlata Oglebits gives them such a raging boner they could smash 10 concrete slabs in half without taking their trousers off (there's one idea for a potential You Bet revival), we should embrace this. (The sentiment, not the boner.)

If I were a straight guy (cue Topol), I've a strong feeling my tastes in the opposite sex would be the same as they are in the same sex - namely towards the older, more dignified end of the spectrum. Which is to say, I totally get men fancying Anouk, just as I totally get women (and myself) fancying Giorgos Alkaios, but I fail to understand straight adult men who fancy Lena (and I've met them) as much as I struggle to comprehend adult women and gay men who have the hots for eurotwinks like Robin (who I love, just not like that), Alexander Ryvita, Dima Binbag or whoever the latest absurdly-named, vapid, floppy-haired mannequin to have rolled off the crap-pop production line is. (Let them mature, for christ's sake. Like a wine, or in Lena's case, a whine.) When people fancy Sean Banan, I think "You can do better! Aim higher!". I am judgemental.

Byealex Daniel Kovago Selfie

Back to selfies, and the eroticisation of male Eurovision artists: the Eurovision Boys tumblr and HotESCBoys Twitter feed collate these pictures of male Eurovision stars (many posted by the artists themselves on Facebook, Twitter and Instagram) for our viewing pleasure. This I welcome too, unreservedly and gleefully. But some eurocelebs are arguably taking the "selfies" trend a little too far. The Scandis in particular have gone Instagram-happy. We've recently been "treated" to Robin in the bath, Tim Schou and Erik Segerstedt shirtless in bed (not with each other), and umpteen shots of Alexei Vorobyov in just his undercrackers. Not to mention Sean Banan in the gym with a bulge the shape of a normal distribution curve, and Alexander Rybak and the Solli-Wazzocks (I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHO OR WHY THEY ARE) constantly snapping themselves in every possible situation, with duckface pouts or self-satisfied smiles stretched across their oh-so-pieable faces. (Preferably a pie made of bricks.)

Solli Tangens

Is this genuine, authentic, one-to-one fan communication in a way never before possible? Or is it cynical, narcissistic self-commoditisation - the self as a deity, presented for erotic worship as a gurning, sepia-filtered member of the pop pantheon, frantically immortalising their youth and beauty before both inevitably fade? ("Gurning member" is certainly an apt description of many of these wannabes.)

Robin Public ToiletRobin Stjernberg in typically glamorous surroundings

Anyway. Whatevs. It's when I get to the interview section of the Eurovision Boys Tumblr that I reach my limits. Eight male Eurovision artists have now completed one of the site's naughty questionnaires, as well as a smattering of lesser-known figures (including gay Israeli singer Judah Gavra, who is allowed to skip the questions about girls but - unfairly - is not asked any about guys instead). Among other such gems, we learn that:

- Omar Naber likes "sexy bottox" in a woman (Buttocks? Botox? A paralysed arse?)
- the first thing Andrius Pojavis notices in a girl is "shoes" (natch)
- if Kurt Calleja were invisible, he would "walk into the changing rooms at fashion shows" (I was going to call this creepy, but then I realised if I were invisible, I'd be in Koza Mostra's changing room faster than you can say "fur and frolics".)
- Vukasin Brajic's ultimate fantasy is having sex with a woman on stage during one of his concerts, and his nipples are his main erogenous zone, so much so that he had an ON/OFF switch tattooed on the left one (WTF I DON'T EVEN)
- Vasilis the woofy trumpeter from Koza Mostra describes his ideal date as "food, sex, ice-cream" (OMG, mine too! IT'S A DATE - let's combine all three at once! Bet he's never had "vanilla sex" like that before. He will not like the cone of shame.)
- notorious internet wanker David Bryan enjoys a good oil massage, and his oddly specific ultimate fantasy is "having sex with 6 women", (Not 5 or 7, 6. I would say "call the Babushki", but I think they're too classy for him.)
 - Kurt Calleja, David Bryan and Marko Skugor (the wee bald fella from Klapa s Mora) all shave their pubes, but Andrius's, Vukasin's and Vasilis's are only trimmed. (Why do I need to know this? And what's the betting Pojavis saves the trimmings? I don't know why I think that, he just seems like he might.)
- if Omar Naber were invisible, he says he'd "go to a room of a girl that I really like and see what she does before she goes to sleep". (He's going to be disappointed when the answer turns out to be "listen to the Shipping Forecast and put her dentures in a glass of water".)

(Amusingly, instead of ending the interview by plugging his new music or his Facebook page like all the others do, Naber signs off with a not-at-all desperate-sounding "Thank you so much for still remembering me after 8 years." Omar, you don't need to fantasise about being invisible. You already are.)

Is this all TMI? I'm not actually putting that out there as a question for your consideration - I'm answering it straight away: yes it is. Call me a prude, call me old-fashioned, call me Mary Whitehouse (or just call me maybe), but the first rule of hotness is: less is more. The finest example of this is Eurovision 2012's number-one pin-up Ott Lepland, who has to my knowledge never posted a daft Instagram shot of himself in a state of coy undress, and has only ever unwittingly hinted at the existence of what Roberto Meloni would term his "treasures". There is nothing more appealing - or more erotic - than an adorable, genuinely innocent man with no sense of vanity who is embarrassed and baffled by his own considerable allure and sexual capital, to some extent even unaware of it. And you know why? Because when women see pictures of male celebs, they may swoon over the muscles, the faces, the bulges, but they're not looking for the one-night stand. They're looking for the husband. Ott is the husband.

Ott Disco Stick 80 PercentAnd by the looks of it, he could certainly give you children.

By contrast, when Marko Skuger from Klapa s Mora performs at Eurovision with his lovely voice, strokable dome and charming song (yes, I know I gave it 2/10, just roll with me), I warm to him. When he appears in a small number of pictures and a couple of videos with the rest of the group and his personality shines through, I like him more. But when he tells the internet his biggest turn-on is a "tongue in the ear", his biggest fantasy is "watching [his] wife with another girl" and that he shaves his trouser forest, my already limited affection for him plummets faster than a fridge-freezer full of Ukrainian giants off Beachy Head. I DON'T WANT TO KNOW THAT. It's far too personal! How am I supposed to use the information? Am I supposed to file it away somewhere so that in the highly unlikely event I ever meet Marko Skugor, I know how to give him an immediate boner? If I did this non-consensually - just snook up on him at a convention (or perhaps in a Dalmatian fish market, emerging like Ursula Andress through a display of sole) and rammed my tongue in his lughole, likely provoking in him a confusing mix of alarm and arousal, terror and tumescence - would he experience it as a violation? (And would it taste nasty? Would I get a tongue full of wax and dead skin flakes? Would he taste of rakija and sea salt, or of sweaty Dalmatian?) Many years ago when I was young and desirable, a guy tried to get me in the mood once by licking my earlobes, and all I remember thinking is "Ew, I'd rather have a cat".

I reacted similarly recently when Danko Rabrenovic, who hosts the show Balkanizer on German radio and who I have long considered adorbs, appeared on late-night TV and was goaded by the female host into discussing a former girlfriend's blowjob technique on air. I was appalled at his lack of boundaries, disrespect, and disregard of privacy. Some things should stay in the bedroom. I know I've tweeted Rude Things in the past, but they're always for comic intent, more often than not twisted or exaggerated, never a matter-of-fact disclosure of a partner's bedroom techniques like this was. (Except for that sentence in the paragraph above where I mention the ear-licking guy. The point is, I don't tell you whether he was any good or not, just that it happened - suffice to say I am not a Ferengi.) It was like Homer telling his class about Marge's elbow thing. Whatever happened to common decency, to being a gentleman? Don't get me wrong, I'd rather live in a world where we discuss sex openly and freely than one where it's taboo to discuss it at all, but have we thrown the baby out with the bathwater? You certainly didn't get Ronnie Carroll telling the Radio Times he liked being rimmed, Teddy on the Light Programme speaking about how much he loved flicking Pearl's birdie while she fondled his Johnson, or Margot Hielscher extolling the virtues of telephone sex in the Frankfurter Rundschau (not least because you had to go through an operator in those days). Sex was off the menu at Eurovision until Paul Oscar and co. leathered up in 1998.

Alex Sparrow PantsLook into his thighs.

So, now that we've seen Alex Sparrow in briefs and know about the bedroom preferences and intimate grooming routines of half-a-dozen Eurovision acts, how far is this going to go? One you've twitpicced yourself in the bath, splashed your bulging underpants across the information superhighway for posterity, and told the world your turn-ons and even your actual cock's hairdo, where's there left to go? Like seals clapping for fish, the public always wants more. Next time Tone doesn't turn up to rehearse, will we be seeing Erik give Mattias a gob full of knob while a crowd of cheering children wave balloons in the background, the music perhaps punctuated by a sole "POP" as an adult audience member squeezes their ballong a little too tightly out of erotic tension? (There will now be a 5-minute break in this article.)

Guys. Eurovision guys. Eurovision men. ARTISTS. Do us a favour. We don't want to know what you wear in bed, how big your feet are or what you notice first in the opposite sex - let alone how you maintain your sausage garden, what your turn-ons are or how you'd like to spy on women in their private spaces. We just want you to sing well, be nice and look good.

That is all I ask.


Alex Sparrow Accordion Mind you don't get owt caught in them bellows.

I am now going out to buy a Shetland pony because they're cuter than all the men in this article, they're not going to take vain "selfies" of themselves or fill out rude questionnaires because hooves inhibit this, and they can't pose in ridiculous underpants because they're already naked. (Also because my emotional core is that of a 9-year-old girl.) OK, it'll probably shit all over the floor. But I can deal with that. I have a shovel. Animals: they can mess up your apartment, but they won't mess you up inside.

This is the end. I have no conclusion. Adieu.

1 comment for “Gay kisses tattooed nipples shaved pubes and tongues in ears”
Kylie
Posted 07 July 2013 at 17:58:50

OMG are those interviews for real?! I'm getting a bit of second-hand embarrassment here!

As a straight female (although I'm fully aware that my taste is not typical of most straight women), mystery is definitely more attractive than cocky vanity (pun not intended). Just give me a pretty face and a nice personality without shoving their bulge in my face in tight Y-fronts.

PS - I really, really didn't need that mental image of Olly Murs with the giant eclair... *gags*

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