"Nyeprastaya eta zabava..."Awkward is not the thing to be at Eurovision. Awkward artists earn the wrath of the audience, and awkward songs tend to go nowhere. An awkward approach rarely gives you the result you're looking for, and awkward packaging only confuses people. It is bizarre to find then that there isn't a single entry in 2009 more awkward than Probka - not because of the song as such, but because it comes from Latvia, a country that in recent years has shown itself incapable of selecting an entry that isn't twee and/or tacky and/or well-attuned to the needs of the contest. From its timing to its tortuous route to Moscow, Probka seems neither designed nor destined for Eurovision success - and is bound to be misunderstood and underappreciated by virtually everyone.
Suffice it to say that is also what makes it so brilliant. It is complex and meaningful, but better than that, it is entire: a complete package of music, lyrics and performance. Like the Lithuanian entry Strazdas, it is fated to be written off by people who lack the inclination to try to appreciate what a dense and clever three minutes it represents. The fidgety signature and shifts in aural focus are perfectly in tune with what the lyrics are saying, a trait the song shares with its forerunner, the equally quirky Gonki from the 2007 Latvian final. The vocal approach Intars Busulis takes to the song is again very much in keeping with the feel of Probka and what it is saying, as is his ADD style of performing. If the staging and lighting designers don't go a bit berserk on this, they're missing the point.
But fair dos, the point of your average Eurosong is not to require deconstruction for general appreciation. Nor though is their any reason to snub quality because you don't get it. If you don't like it, fine, but here in particular Probka - or rather the Latvian team behind it - is shrewdness itself. Choosing to perform in Moscow 100% in Russian (the only country to do so) might seem like an odd move for Latvia to have made, but it in fact makes a lot of sense: blessed with a draw in which they are surrounded by their neighbours, the home base of a large proportion of their diaspora and various other countries in which Russian or similar is spoken, they may hoover up votes with an efficiency that takes everyone by surprise. Well, everyone bar those who have thought about such things and think it's fab enough to deserve to, anyway.
In political terms, however, the language issue with Probka remains the most awkward thing about the whole song. Latvia might be on a firmer footing with Russia than its neighbours, and might have a higher number of Russian speakers among its resident population, but you've still got to wonder how your average Latvian feels about being represented by a song in the language of the power that oppressed them and their own for so many years. Mind you, the fact that Sastrēgums even survived to become Probka and make it to Eurovision at all might see them grateful, as I would be for a song of its quality to be flying the flag for my country. I'd still rather it be in Latvian, but you can't fault their strategy. And it is essentially a sponsored entry, so the man on the street probably doesn't get much of a say in the matter.
For any country to produce a song as integral as Probka at Eurovision is achievement enough; for it to come from Latvia, in a year when it could so easily not have come at all, makes it all the more impressive. Awkward it is, but you can give me something this stimulating over the likes of the more two-dimensional Irish entry any day. Sauraj Latvija!
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