In the giddy aftermath of a victory that has sent the nation into a frenzy of flag-waving and questionable karaoke, the Bangaranga singer has made a startling admission: she almost walked away from it all. For those who have been living under a rock, or perhaps just avoiding Twitter, Bangaranga is the electro-folk fusion act that stormed to victory at this year’s Eurovision, securing the UK’s first win in decades. Their song, a cacophony of bagpipes, drum machines and a chorus that sounds suspiciously like a yodelling cat, has become an unlikely anthem. But behind the glitter and confetti lies a tale of anxiety, brinkmanship and the peculiar pressures of representing a nation.
In an exclusive interview, the lead singer, known only as Zara Banga, revealed that she nearly quit the competition days before the final. ‘I was in my hotel room, staring at the Eurovision logo on a pillow, and I thought: I can’t do this. The weight of expectation, the memes, the fact that my gran would have to watch me on telly in a leotard made of rubber ducks. It was too much.’ She claims she had a suitcase packed and a taxi booked to the airport before her bandmates talked her down with a bottle of cheap prosecco and a promise that if she left, they’d release a solo cover of ‘Save Your Kisses for Me’ as revenge.
This confession has struck a chord with the public, not least because it humanises a contest often dismissed as frivolous. Social psychologists might note that the Bangaranga story is a microcosm of modern British anxiety: the fear of failure magnified by social media scrutiny, the pressure to perform national identity, and the odd catharsis of a dance routine involving inflatable swans. On the streets of Liverpool, where the contest was hosted, the mood is one of relief mixed with mild bewilderment. ‘I thought we’d never win again,’ said local pigeon enthusiast Maureen, 67. ‘Now I have to learn the dance. My hips aren’t what they were.’
What does this say about class dynamics? Bangaranga, with their DIY aesthetic and distinctly non-London roots, represent a cultural shift away from the polished, corporate pop that has dominated Eurovision. They are, in essence, the underdog made good. The quit threats add a layer of relatability. We all want to quit sometimes, especially when the eyes of 200 million people are upon us. The band’s triumph is not just a victory for music; it is a victory for sticking with something even when your insides are screaming ‘abort mission’.
Of course, the cynics will say it’s all a publicity stunt. But Zara’s account rings true. She describes a moment of panic in the green room when she realised her costume had a rip that exposed more than intended. ‘I taped it with gaffer tape from a stagehand. It held. Just like my sanity.’ The human cost of Eurovision is rarely discussed. The sleepless nights, the arguments over key changes, the terror of the live televote. Yet for all that, Bangaranga have given us a moment of rare, uncynical joy. As Zara says, ‘If I can get through that, I can get through anything. Even my gran’s reaction to the rubber ducks.’
As the country continues to hum that infernal tune, it is worth remembering that behind every glitter cannon is a person who nearly ran away. And that is the real story.
