What’s in a name?
Let me set the record straight from the start - last night I was rooting for Gianluca Bezzina all along. I was rooting for the lad not because he’s related to me, nor because I had heard his song before, and certainly not because he is a medical doctor; I was rooting for him purely for selfish egotistical reasons which most of you will not understand, will not get, and because you lack the humour gene, will not be amused by.
If you loosely suspect that you fall within this last segment of society, I beg you, please stop reading now.
You see, the truth is that I was hoping for a Bezzina to win the contest because I’ve long had it up to you know where of being associated with the only other Bezzina that has made a habit of hitting the headlines for the wrong reasons.
I figured that if Gianluca won this year’s Song for Europe, then, for at least a year or so, my surname would be associated with his and not with Emy’s, whose name is intrinsically linked to Norman Lowell’s, men’s rights and, for listing his deceased parents as witnesses in a case filed against him over inheritance.
So when Giancluca did win, I couldn't be happier. I ran to my computer and listened to the song for the first time. I liked it, actually I loved it, but as luck would have it, my joy was short lived.
Shock horror! Even though I’m tone deaf and can’t tell a good tune from a gabbling gaggle of geese, as I listened to the cute Bezzina boy sing, another famous tune was pushing and shoving its way into the front lobes of my brain.
“He...eey, hee...ee...ee..ey...” it rang.
At first I thought that maybe it was just me because, when it comes to music, I’m know to be wired to the moon, but no, “He...ee, hee....eee, your lipstick stains....Hey soul sister, I don’t wanna miss you......” the other song insisted.
This can’t be happening, I told myself.
Just when I was about to get a year’s break from being associated with eMANcipation and VIVA Malta, Gianluca had to go do this to ME?
I kept listening carefully, hoping and struggling to needle scrape the record that was playing in my head, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't do it.
The more I listened to Gianluca’s winning song, the other song got louder and louder in my head. By the third time that I listened to it, honestly I was about to ‘blow my mind’!
How could this be happening?
Am I going to have to go back to explaining that I’m not related to that Emy guy who thinks that the only way for young people to develop is to stay home and read the classics?
A few panic stricken moments later, I managed to put on a brave face, wipe the drool that had formed around my chin and rejoin the others.
“What’s worse?" I asked. "Being associated to Emy Bezzina’s eccentric passions and woes, or Gianluca’s musical plagiarism?”
“Who’s Emy?” they answered, and went on to discuss Gianluca’s smiling eyes and cute demeanor.
And so I rest, at least for the year to come.