Spain’s Nebulossa Sends ‘Zorra’ to Eurovision: Lyrics, Age, and Controversy

Nebulossa’s 'Astuta': the song Spain sends to Eurovision

Spain sends to Eurovision a song repeating 'astuta, astuta, astuta' as its chorus, presented by its own performers as an anthem of female empowerment. The duo is called Nebulossa, formed by Mark and Mery, aged 47 and 55, and their track has achieved something unusual: the controversy over its meaning outweighs the music itself. The lyrics turn an insult into a flag, and from there, everyone decides whether this is pogre or a gimmick.

What is 'Astuta', Nebulossa’s song for Eurovision

The proposal bets on an eighties aesthetic and a festive rhythm, with Mark and Mery at the forefront and a dance troupe that, in the music video, appears in corsets, heels, and provocative poses. The performers' profiles—47 and 55 years old, far from the usual emerging artist mold—have become one of the campaign's hooks, as much as the song itself.

The clip includes scenes that have sparked discussion: at 1:13, two dancers appear on all fours wearing heels and corsets. A detail some read as a bold staging and others as mere showmanship. The chorus, simple and repetitive, is what stays in the mind; it is also what sparks the most debate.

From empowerment to rejection: the lyrics that divide

Here lies the crux. Part of the audience reads the song as a feminist reclamation: the word 'astuta' ceases to be an insult and becomes a declaration of independence. Some call it an anthem of liberal womanhood and emphasize that the rhythm is catchy from the first listen.

On the other side, a current holds that the result is 'hackneyed, tiresome, and old-fashioned,' with childish, easy lyrics that no longer provoke anyone. Between these positions lies the most uncomfortable objection: that a word does not change meaning no matter how much it is sung on a stage. In parallel, some reactions veered into dismissals of certain groups that added nothing to the musical analysis; these outbursts remained outside any serious discussion about the entry.

Is Eurovision a contest or a propaganda operation?

The festival itself is not spared. One line of analysis argues that Eurovision does not function as a standard contest: votes are not public, and contestants are handpicked. According to this reading, the festival is primarily a cultural propaganda operation, designed to spread certain models of consumption and behavior before a million-strong audience.

Conversely, some recall that the average level of entries has risen and cite proposals they consider solid. The discussion, however, escapes the musical realm and lands elsewhere: what is the purpose of a festival that Spain has tried to win for decades?

The political reading: tributes and rejection of lecturing

One of the most cited spin-offs is political. It is mentioned that the entry could pay homage to Manuela Trasobares, a transgender councilor from Valencia, something others nuance by pointing out that the music video bears no relation to her figure. What underlies this is a recurring critique: the feeling of facing a product designed to accumulate clichés and deliver lectures.

This rejection of 'lecturing' is, in reality, the core of the discontent: not so much the song as the impression that one must applaud it out of obligation. Critics from opposing ideologies agree here, each for their own reasons. As a coda, it was already anticipated that shows like Los Sarracena or regional channels would parody the track within days.

From Chiquilicuatre to Rigoberta Bandini: the comparisons

Every Spanish entry carries its own shadow. The first comparison is with Chiquilicuatre, the phenomenon that took to Eurovision a deliberately absurd song. The second is with Rigoberta Bandini, whose 'In Spain we call it soledad' is cited as a direct reference to the tone. Part of the audience sees this as an evolution; another, as a supermarket version with the same packaging and less substance.

Some go back even further, recalling a song from 1975 that also spoke of a prostitute, albeit with an opposite message. The conclusion of this time travel is striking: the discourse has come full circle without entirely changing the subject.

'Astuta' and language: the trump card of not being understood

A recurring argument is language. If foreigners do not understand the lyrics, the provocative effect dilutes outside Spain, leaving only the music. And there, the song can play in its favor, because the chorus is catchy and learned without translation. The question is whether this is the best defense for an entry: that it works precisely for what it does not say.

With controversy as its main asset, the question is no longer whether 'Astuta' will win in Europe, but whether Spain has chosen well its presentation card. And, above all, whether reclaiming an insult serves any purpose when the insult remains intact on the street.