The European Broadcasting Union (EBU) has launched a global crowdsourcing campaign to recover lost footage from the 1956 and 1964 Eurovision Song Contests, the two earliest editions of the iconic competition. With only audio recordings and fragmented clips surviving, the EBU is turning to superfans, archivists, and even private collectors to unearth full broadcasts—a move that could rewrite music history and reshape how we preserve cultural heritage in the streaming era.
Here’s why this isn’t just a nostalgia play: the hunt for these tapes could redefine the value of archival content, influence licensing deals, and even pressure studios to invest in digital preservation. And in a media landscape where IP is currency, the stakes couldn’t be higher.
The Bottom Line
- The EBU’s missing tapes aren’t just relics—they’re potential goldmines. Full broadcasts could unlock new licensing revenue, streaming exclusives, and even documentary tie-ins for platforms like Netflix and Disney+.
- This is a test case for digital preservation. If fans deliver, it could force the industry to prioritize archival restoration—before more history vanishes into the analog abyss.
- The Eurovision brand is bigger than ever. With viewership surging (2025’s contest drew 162 million global viewers), the EBU is leveraging fandom to fill gaps in its own legacy—and the strategy is working.
Why Two Lost Contests Could Change the Game
The 1956 Eurovision Song Contest, held in Lugano, Switzerland, was a modest affair: seven countries, no live broadcast, and a jury system so opaque that the winner’s margin was never disclosed. The 1964 edition, hosted in Copenhagen, introduced the now-iconic voting system—but its tapes were reportedly destroyed in a fire. For decades, historians assumed the footage was gone forever. Then, in 2023, a BBC investigation revealed that private collectors might still hold copies, sparking the EBU’s current appeal.
Here’s the kicker: if recovered, these tapes wouldn’t just be historical curiosities. They’d be commercial assets. The Eurovision brand has exploded in the streaming era, with Netflix’s Eurovision Song Contest: The Story of Fire Saga (2020) pulling in 30 million households in its first month, and the live contest itself becoming a global phenomenon. In 2024, Warner Bros. Discovery paid a reported €200 million for the rights to air the contest across Europe—double the previous deal. A full 1956 or 1964 broadcast could command premium licensing fees, especially if paired with a documentary or retrospective series.
But the math tells a different story. Archival restoration isn’t cheap. The 2008 Universal Studios fire, which destroyed countless master tapes, cost the company over $150 million in settlements—and that was for known losses. The EBU’s gamble is that crowdsourcing will uncover the tapes for a fraction of that cost. If it works, it could set a precedent for how studios and broadcasters approach lost media.
The Streaming Wars’ Dirty Little Secret: We’re Losing History
This isn’t just about Eurovision. The entertainment industry is sitting on a ticking time bomb: decades of analog content decaying in vaults or, worse, already lost to time. A 2022 Bloomberg investigation found that up to 50% of all American films made before 1950 no longer exist in any form. For television, the numbers are even grimmer. The Library of Congress estimates that 75% of all U.S. Silent-era films are gone forever, and the situation isn’t much better for early TV.
So why isn’t the industry doing more? The answer is simple: money. Digitizing and restoring archival content is expensive, and the ROI isn’t always clear. As Variety reported in 2023, Paramount spent $10 million restoring its 1927 silent film Wings—only to see it gross $3.5 million in limited theatrical re-release. For most studios, that’s a non-starter.
But the EBU’s crowdsourcing play flips the script. By outsourcing the search to fans, they’re not just saving money—they’re turning preservation into a cultural movement. And in an era where fandom drives everything from box office returns to streaming algorithms, that’s a savvy move. Just appear at Disney’s Star Wars archives: when Lucasfilm released the original 1977 cut of A New Hope on Disney+ in 2022, it became one of the platform’s most-watched titles that month—despite being 45 years old.
“The industry has long treated archives as a cost center, not a revenue driver. But the rise of streaming has changed the equation. Suddenly, every piece of content—no matter how old—has potential value. The question is whether studios will invest in preserving it before it’s too late.”
— Dominic Patten, Senior Editor at Deadline
The Eurovision Effect: How Fandom Became the New Archive
The EBU’s appeal isn’t just about nostalgia—it’s about leverage. Eurovision’s fanbase is one of the most engaged in the world, with superfans known to travel thousands of miles for the live contest. In 2025, the event’s official TikTok account amassed 1.2 billion views, and the #Eurovision hashtag has been used over 15 million times on Instagram. By tapping into this community, the EBU is essentially crowdsourcing its archival work—for free.
This strategy mirrors how other industries are using fandom to solve problems. In 2024, the New York Times reported that Lucasfilm had quietly partnered with fan restoration groups to recover lost Star Wars footage, including deleted scenes from The Empire Strikes Back. The difference? The EBU is doing it in the open—and with the full weight of its brand behind it.
But there’s a catch. Crowdsourcing preservation comes with risks. Without proper oversight, recovered footage could be altered, misattributed, or even hoarded by collectors. The EBU has already set up a dedicated portal for submissions, complete with verification protocols. Still, the potential for chaos is real. In 2023, a Reddit user claimed to have found lost footage of The Beatles’ 1964 Ed Sullivan Show performance—only for it to be debunked as a deepfake.
What Happens If the Tapes Are Found?
Let’s say the EBU’s gamble pays off. What’s next? The most likely scenario is a multi-platform rollout, starting with a documentary or retrospective special. In 2021, the BBC’s The Beatles: Get Back miniseries, which used restored archival footage, became Disney+’s most-watched premiere of the year. A similar project for Eurovision could attract similar buzz—especially if it’s paired with a live event, like a 70th-anniversary celebration.
Then there’s the licensing angle. The EBU already sells Eurovision footage to broadcasters and streaming platforms, but a full 1956 or 1964 broadcast would be a premium product. Imagine Netflix or Amazon Prime offering a “Lost Eurovision” collection, complete with restored footage, behind-the-scenes docs, and even interactive voting simulations. The potential for merchandising is equally vast: think vinyl reissues of the original performances, limited-edition Blu-rays, or even a video game tie-in.
But the real prize might be the cultural impact. Eurovision has always been more than a song contest—it’s a snapshot of European history. The 1956 contest took place just 11 years after the end of World War II, with countries like Germany and France competing side by side for the first time in decades. The 1964 edition featured the first performance by a Black artist (Anneke Grönloh of the Netherlands) and the first use of a non-European language (Hebrew, by Israel’s Esther Ofarim). These moments aren’t just footnotes; they’re defining chapters of 20th-century pop culture.
| Year | Host City | Notable Moments | Current Status of Footage |
|---|---|---|---|
| 1956 | Lugano, Switzerland | First-ever contest; winner (Lys Assia, Switzerland) never disclosed margin of victory | No known full broadcast; only audio recordings survive |
| 1964 | Copenhagen, Denmark | First Black performer; first non-European language; tapes reportedly destroyed in fire | Fragmented clips exist; full broadcast missing |
| 1974 | Brighton, UK | ABBA wins with “Waterloo”; launch of global superstardom | Full broadcast available; frequently licensed |
The Bigger Picture: Why This Matters Beyond Eurovision
The EBU’s search for lost Eurovision footage is a microcosm of a larger industry crisis: the race to preserve our cultural heritage before it’s too late. In 2025, the Guardian reported that major studios are finally waking up to the problem, with Warner Bros. And Disney investing in AI-powered restoration tools to digitize their archives. But for every Casablanca or The Godfather that gets the royal treatment, thousands of lesser-known films and TV shows are left to rot.
This is where the EBU’s crowdsourcing model could be revolutionary. If it works for Eurovision, why not for other lost media? Imagine a world where fans aid recover the original Doctor Who episodes (97 of which are still missing), or the lost 1960s Batman TV series footage. The technology exists—it’s the will (and the funding) that’s lacking.
“The EBU’s campaign is a masterclass in turning a problem into an opportunity. By framing preservation as a community effort, they’re not just finding lost footage—they’re building brand loyalty. And in an era where every media company is fighting for attention, that’s priceless.”
— Katie Atkinson, Senior Director of Digital Strategy at Billboard
What’s Next? Your Move, Fans
The EBU’s appeal is open-ended, but the clock is ticking. Every day that passes, the chances of finding the tapes diminish. So what can you do? If you’re a collector, a historian, or just a superfan with a hunch, the EBU wants to hear from you. Check out their official submission portal—and who knows? You might just hold the key to rewriting music history.
But let’s be real: the odds are slim. The tapes could be sitting in a Swiss attic, or they could be long gone. Either way, the EBU’s campaign has already succeeded in one crucial way—it’s forced the industry to confront a question it’s been ignoring for too long: What are we willing to save?
So here’s my question for you, readers: If you could recover any lost piece of entertainment history—film, TV, music, or otherwise—what would it be? And more importantly, what would you be willing to do to find it? Drop your answers in the comments. Maybe, just maybe, we’ll start a movement of our own.
