Please savor the above, re: Only Mr. God Knows Why, from The New Yorker.  Subscription required.

“But here’s the rub: European pop sounds like Eurovision pop even when it’s not from the Eurovision Song Contest. The stuff you hear in the back of Belgian taxis, on German radio, in Sicilian bars, and in the lobbies of Danish hotels: It was all created by the great god of dreck, and Eurovision is his temple. P.J. O’Rourke, surveying the dancing in a club in Warsaw in 1986, deplored what he called ‘the tragic lack of black people behind the Iron Curtain,’ and there is no doubt that had Motown opened up a branch in, say, Bratislava, Europe would have been a happier landmass.”

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