Chronicle of Östersunds Posten, February 21 2015
One Saturday for precise thirty-one years ago, the audience begins to flow into the Liseberg Hall in Gothenburg. While doing to all artists ready. All except me and Richard. We are still stuck in the long checkout line at the Domus, the Avenue.
Twenty minutes earlier, the impulsive but bright realization struck us: what if we win the whole party! How do we do then? SVT has certainly prepared the Champagne for the winners, but ... we're abstainers.
Each with a ginger ale bottle in hand, we begin to move forward. "Sorry ... can we penetrate us before?"
Marveled gaze meets us.
"The fact is that we will sing in a little while," explains Richard.
"Yes ... Melodifestivalen!" I add, and clears his throat me apologetically.
Talk about stress. But it had been all week. It started with the original costumes. They felt completely wrong. Too much glitz and ostentation. Could not we just run with something simpler, cleaner style? White pants and pastel colored shirts maybe? But the shoes then? We could take some Peter Pan boots and spray them with gold paint. But it will be really neat? Hmmm ... they will have to do anyway. And by the way, it will probably not many in the audience will pay attention to the shoes anyway.
The choreography we also have to simplify. It could barely sing to that aerobics session. We will remove most Spins. We jump less. And all flapping his arms, we cut down to a minimum. However, we should probably keep the little armsnurren the beginning of the chorus. Who knows, someone might think it looks great?
We return to the Liseberg Hall with the breath in the throat and the Pommac bottles in the hand. It only takes a moment to change. Then we get ready behind the curtain. Ready to conquer the world. And when we dance on stage as the swinging intro and Per start singing "Flashes and thunder ..." then I know: now something big will happen.
Today I am forty-eight years. Very wonderful has happened over the years, but I still remember with clarity the transformative joy of age of seventeen sing a popular song of the world's best songs - a song I already knew would survive us all. Certainly there are more important things in life than the Eurovision Song Contest, but I'd be lying if I did not acknowledge me humble and grateful for the opportunity that was given me and my brothers.
Therefore, I'm pleased with the people who get this opportunity. Tonight, for example, there will be several debutants at Östersund Arena Stage, including the region's own Jon Henrik Fjällgren. I hope he shows - as I and the brothers tried to do - devotion and love for his melody. Do I know him fairly, he does it. And who knows when it might happen something big.
In my eight year old daughter, there is another recipe for success in Mello. You have to look nice and cute in television, "as you were when you sang Diggiloo Diggiley, Dad."
"What?" I protest. "Is not I still pretty?"
"Oh yes!" She says, and pauses. "It seems to me mom, anyway!"
Guest Columnist: Luois Herrey