Eurovision fans are in shock today, not to mention most people in the Balkans. Toše Proeski (Тоше Проески), who represented the former Yugoslav republic of Macedonia in Eurovision 2004 in Istanbul, was killed at 06:25 (BST+CET) this morning in a car crash in Croatia, at the tragically young age of 26. It seems he was a passenger in a vehicle which crashed into the back of another. He was the only fatality. The driver and another passenger, Toše's manager, have survived the crash.



Toše and his dramatically presented song 'Life' (above) surprised quite a few people in 2004, by getting through the first ever Eurovision qualifier and finishing a reasonable 14th out of 24 in the final. More importantly, he was a multilingual megastar in the former Yugoslav countries, where this will be massive news today.

Our condolences to all involved with him.

Labels: Croatia, Eurovision 2004, FYR Macedonia, obituary, Toše Proeski

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It's been a bad 48 hours for the UK's Eurovision fans. On Sunday, Wogan was elevated to the status of cultural icon by well-meaning but ultimately batty Radio 2 listeners. This has probably extended his tenure on Eurovision by another five years, at least.

Today, we learn that Ronnie Hazlehurst has died. Not only was his name one of the most seen in TV credits of the 1970s, because he'd written the theme tunes, but he was also a Eurovision fixture. He was musical director for three Eurovisions and conducted the UK entry seven times. This clip, from Eurovision 1974 in Brighton, is possibly not Ronnie Hazlehurst's finest moment, but Katie Boyle does mention his name twice in the first minute, once in English and once in French. What more could anyone want?



Here's a better tribute. Hazlehurst is the one looking like Steed from the Avengers at the beginning of this 1977 Eurovision clip (Wogan-free version):

Labels: 1974, Eurovision, obituary, Ronnie Hazlehurst, Wogan

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Marcel Marceau has died. Here's Chig's fitting tribute:

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Labels: marcel marceau, obituary

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Chig was saddened to hear, late last night, of the death of Anthony H Wilson, AKA ‘Mr. Manchester’, at the age of 57. It seemed very soon, after his recent announcement that he had kidney cancer (although he has died of a heart attack while receiving treatment). One of my colleagues also lost his sister to cancer yesterday, so there were two reminders in one day of what an unforgiving condition it is.

I would have liked to meet Tony Wilson. I think we could have talked about music for hours on end. Someone I have met (once, on a train) is Stuart Maconie, who was clearly upset at Wilson’s death, judging by his voice and his comments on his Radio2 show today, which he opened with Joy Division’s ‘Love Will Tear Us Apart’. I had a lot of respect for Wilson and always found him immensely watchable on TV. He was opinionated and often slightly smug, but I liked him anyway because he had interesting views on music and the arts and was a real music enthusiast. He had probably earned the right to be arrogant anyway, by bringing us Joy Division, New Order and the Happy Mondays, so I think we can forgive him.



Never mind those groups though. I owe Tony Wilson a huge debt of thanks for the Haçienda. The six or seven nights I spent there, all but one of them at the legendary monthly Flesh nights, were the most exhilarating and happiest club nights of my life. Sadly, I know they will never be bettered, but the memories are still there. Flesh at the Haçienda was so good – and on a Wednesday, of all nights – that I used to take Wednesdays and Thursdays off work once a month to make my pilgrimage to Manchester and meet up with a bunch of studenty friends, who I had met out clubbing in Manchester in the first place. One of them was one of the lost loves of my life. (Lost to the evil clutches of heterosexuality and marriage, although it didn’t stop hi…oh, let’s not even go there. I’m getting all wistful and nostalgic, but that’s why I have such happy, warm and fuzzy memories of clubbing at the Haçienda.)

Flesh at ‘the Haç’ (as we used to call it) wasn’t just a club, it was an adventure, differently themed every month, at a time when one of The Verve’s later songs most definitely didn’t apply. I loved it. Bless you Mr Wilson for building the Haçienda in the first place, and for giving it a Factory Records catalogue number, FAC51, as if it were one of your record releases.

I guess it’s about time I watched my 24 Hour Party People DVD for the first time, isn’t it?

* Haçienda photo courtesy the CerysmaticFactory.
* Flesh flyers photo courtesy BBC Manchester.

Labels: Anthony H Wilson, Haçienda, Manchester, obituary

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