Azerbaijan – land of plastic hosts and uninspired production values. Not a very exciting year musically either, with some disparity between the better entries and performances, but there are a few songs that should stand the test of time.01 Montenegro
A: You’d never guess this came from the same stable as Samo ljubezen. Mark of a good composer, I guess – or a versatile one, at any rate. There’s a lot going on in this which you don’t necessarily get on one listen, and right enough too: that’s the song in microcosm. The chorus is not only its most readily identifiable ethnic element but also its best bit.
V: Inserting the “I got no ambition for high position in competition” disclaimer was erecting the wall and putting the writing on it, but again, I quite like the fact that they – Montenegro and Mr. Amadeus – are doing their own thing here and bugger the outcome. Continuing the fine tradition begun by Kamil Mikulčik in 2009, he looks like he’s just getting in from a particularly heavy night on the tiles at some Podgorica wedding.
02 Iceland
B: I wonder whether “I still believe that you’ll remember me” was the mantra they intoned as the votes failed to roll in during the final and they languished at the bottom of the scoreboard.
A: There’s something... self-important about this composition. I don’t know what it is, but it rankles. I almost feel obliged to be impressed by it, which of course means I’m not.
V: It’s like someone’s decided to turn a Halldor Laxness novel into a musical and we’re being treated to a three-minute preview. Greta’s bouncy violin antics are a bit disconcerting, as are the half-baked backing vocals, but Jónsi looks sexy in a skeletal kind of way and provides some great harmonies.
03 Greece
B: Of course, we all know what she’s really referring to when she says she can’t get enough of his ‘aphrodisiac’.
A: Eurovision by numbers from the Greeks: does what it’s required to, but nothing more. It’s certainly the most derivative and least interesting of their recent entries. You can almost see the composer’s one-fingered thumbing of the keys as he turned out the chorus.
V: The one thing that this routine is lacking, given the lyrics, is any evidence of Ms. Eleftheriou dancing like a maniac. Fantastic lighting and backdrop though – the first to really show off the stage. I hope they paid the backing vocalist as much as (if not more than) our spunky lead, since she carries the whole thing. Yet again I’m befuddled by the Greek inability to pronounce /æ/: you’d swear the song was called Ufrodisiuc.
04 Latvia
B: Rolans Ūdris needs shooting.
A: Not even Malta has sunk this low. OK, as a piece of music it stands up alright, without being in any way remarkable, but even the potentially interesting bits – like the hint of Benny-and-Bjorn guitar – sound like they’re slaves to the Eurovision groove the thing as a whole is stuck in. And either way you’re stuck with those fucking awful lyrics.
V: There’s so much slap on Anmary that she looks like she’s trying to cover up the fact she was born in distant nineteen-sixty, not the year that Irish Johnny Logan won. That, though, is the least of their problems with this performance, which couldn’t be more cringeworthy if it tried. (Visually at least; the vocals are alright.)
05 Albania
B: “Më ler ni të qaj... / Se ktë gjë më së miri di ta bëj tani” pretty much says it all about these lyrics. Harrowing in a way we haven’t seen* since Poland stopped being any good.
A: *or heard. The music alone tells a story. Glorious string arrangement. Haunting piano. I’ve always held that the percussion is a bit too... tattoo for its own good, but there’s no denying the strength of the composition in toto. And sometimes, just sometimes, squealing like a stuck pig can be beautiful.
V: Entrancing even, and that’s despite it (and Rona) being so challenging. It doesn’t matter a jot that she fumbles the whole note-perfect thing. The melodramatic denouement is an unnecessary coda to the tangible drama of the preceding two-and-three-quarter minutes.
06 Romania
B: Breezy lyrics that capture the feel of the piece perfectly. I do like “Tú, déjate amarte”.
A: The tattoo continues, albeit on a much lighter note. The bridge is my favourite bit here, in a composition that is workmanlike but not unworthy. And again, it feels just right.
V: Lead singer Helena shows great professionalism in the face of audio adversity in the semi, which makes her flawless (if slightly out-of-time) vocals all the more impressive. Cute routine, too, that again suits the song down to the ground.
07 Switzerland
B: “It doesn’t matter how hard it is.” I beg to differ.
A: This has such potential, until it reaches the chorus – after which it plateaus and remains as flat as the proverbial tack. The middle eight captures something of the nascent excitement of the opening bars, but by that point it’s far too late. It doesn’t help that the lead singer’s got an irritating voice either.
V: ...or that he looks a bit peculiar, with big starey eyes that make him look like he’s on day release. That said, the performance is about as engaging as it was ever likely to be. It also gives us our first sighting of this year’s abundant crop of overacting bit-players mugging at the cameras.
08 Belgium
B: If debutante Iris had penned these lyrics herself I’d be more inclined to forgive their shoddiness, but you’d expect more from a bunch of Belgians. Still, some of the observations are spot-on (“It’s a two-way street, and I know that”)... just not necessarily from the point of view of a 16-year-old.
A: I said from the word go that this was too pedestrian to stand out from the other more polished and more interesting ballads on offer, and I was proven right. It’s clearly aiming for a guileless Tom Dice appeal, and isn’t actually all that shabby, especially once it comes into its own in the last minute or so. It’s just not very exciting, and the young lady helming it was never going to turn that deficit around.
V: Iris – more naïve than dulcet and every bit the awkward little girl – is completely overexposed here. She’s not bad, but nothing shines through like lack of experience. She certainly hasn’t mastered the ability to look like she’s enjoying herself on stage.
09 Finland
B: Lovely sketch, this. I understand it’s of her mother, but it could be about any intimate relationship with lines like “Nå’n som fattar vad man säger fast man talar utan ord”.
A: How much more I find myself appreciating this when it’s stripped of its vocals. It’s wonderfully arranged, with each strand of the composition doing its own thing and yet complementing the others perfectly. But Pernilla’s vocals... well, they’re coming from the right place, I suppose. I really can’t take to them though.
V: Sweet, but the momentary delay there at the beginning is indicative of a song that’s going nowhere. The tomato, basil and mozzarella colour scheme doesn’t do it any favours either.
10 Israel
B: I do like these lyrics, since they work on two levels: you can interpret them literally, but also read them as representing something (or rather someone) much more specific. Like Time, who sounds like a kiddy-fiddler when labelled the “man in my playground”.
A: Liked this when I first heard it and still like it now. There’s something laid back, almost lazy, about the way it all hangs together that couldn’t be more attuned to what the song’s saying. And it’s retro, but in a timeless way, which feels right too. The music and vocals are happily married, which is an added bonus. Thumbs up.
V: Another fab backdrop; pity we see so little of it. The camerawork is a bit hit and miss here, particularly where it counts most, and this doesn’t help in a performance where everyone looks (and at times sounds) like a caricature. The whole thing comes across as odd rather than enjoyably quirky. The frump on the keyboard looks totally bemused at even being there.
11 San Marino
B: I quite like the fact that this tells a story.
A: Albeit one that gets completely lost. Plus there’s no discernible chorus. Given it’s from the House of Siegel it could (and probably should) be a lot worse than it actually is, but it hangs together despite itself, and there are occasional flashes of inspiration.
V: You’d swear the dorky guy in the pilot’s outfit was the same dorky guy who implores everyone to “dance!” in Wir geben ’ne Party. Valentina’s vocals are impressive from the off, although there’s a sense that if she looks at the camera for more than a split second she’ll forget her lines.
12 Cyprus
B: “Love the way you fill me up with life” is as single an entendre as you’ll get among this year’s lot. Running theme with the Greek entries, clearly.
A: Love the guitar strumming away beneath the verses. There’s something instantly uplifting about this that’s always drawn me to it, whilst recognising that it’s every bit as this-button-then-that-button a cobbler’s job as stablemate This Is Our Night. I like it about a gazillion times more though.
V: Liv Tyler sings for Cyprus! The full weird-arse sound of her voice is disguised in the studio version but out there for all to hear live, and it truly is something to behold and boggle at. The slickness, confidence and imagination of the routine knock Greece’s into a cocked hat (for once). Great backing vocals from composer Björn Djupström – which is what they are for the first time, after singing every word with Sarbel and Arash in 2007 and 2009.
13 Denmark
B: Painfully accurate portrait of a failed relationship here. Love the play on words of ‘home/homeless’ and the suitcase imagery. And everything encapsulated in the line “You’re so here, you’re so there, you’re not really anywhere”.
A: As a piece of music this just works for me: in itself, given how effortlessly it blends its elements; and when paired with its vocals, and its lyrics. It really speaks to me. I love how contrary whatever the hell those little ding-dong things are there at the start, and indeed throughout.
V: What a cosmopolitan bunch: very welfare society. Suits the feel of the song though, right down to the ASBO cellist. The vocals are uniformly good, both times.
14 Russia
B: Let’s face it: we’re not listening to this song for its lyrics. (That said, lines like “Кочыше но шумпотэ но, пуные но шумпотэ / Мылы-кыды капчия но, шумпотонэн пачылме” reflect how cute and cheery the whole thing is!)
A: We’re not listening to it for the music either, which is pure Saturday night light entertainment cheese. Flick through every Russian channel and you’ll find this kind of thing allegedly entertaining the masses, but to give it its dues, it does have a clear Verka Serduchka appeal. Mind you, that opening – shorn of the gummy vocals – could almost pass for something Enya might once have thought twice about.
V: This was written by the same guy as Nobody Hurt No One?! The opening is a bit painful... but you forgive them anything the moment you set eyes on them. Anyone who expected this not to come second was being wilfully blind.
15 Hungary
B: Fairly decent stab at an anthem.
A: What impressed me about this the first time I heard it was how neatly Compact Disco had interwoven the orchestral accompaniment into the beeps and blips of the synthesisers propping the whole thing up. It actually sounds really big in places, which is very much in line with its anthemic pretensions, and builds to a surprisingly satisfying crescendo.
V: I’ll have the lead singer and the tall guy on bass wrapped to go, please. Mr. Walkó is clearly confident enough in his sexuality to sport silver lamé. And indeed to display his wanking technique on the microphone so brazenly.
16 Austria
B: “Dei Popo wü Begegnung, geht scho gib erm wos a braucht!” Can’t argue with that.
A: I’ll readily admit that this did nothing for me when I first heard it, but it’s one of a few songs this year that have really grown on me. I don’t know why it has, since I’m clearly not its target audience, but there you go. And both because and in spite of this, I can’t think of anything else to say about it.
V: The backdrop really adds depth to the visuals here, as does the camerawork, which is unusually good in places. I’m not taken with the colour scheme, or the strip club chauvinism at the heart of the performance, but I liked it enough to think it would qualify. There’s definitely something crowd-pleasing about it, but perhaps you had to be there: it didn’t translate into votes, after all. Love it when whatshisname’s cap gets knocked off by one of the dancers and he catches and sticks it back on so deftly.
17 Moldova
B: The line “On a plane which belongs to your daddy” is surprisingly effective as lyrical shorthand in a set of lyrics which are otherwise fairly (and inoffensively) simplistic.
A: Pretty Moldova-light, this, but it has cheeky charm enough to get away with it. Not nearly as mechanical as Aphrodisiac, either, although in Eurovision terms they’re both following the path of least resistance. And credit where it’s due: the vocals here are actually pretty demanding.
V: I’m sure there are quite a few people who’ve never seen Pasha Parfeny’s trumpet who’d be more than happy to give it a brass rubbing. Fab costumes and choreography, which are both a bit nuts. Great backing vocalists, too.
18 Ireland
B: Designed to make pre-pubescent girls everywhere think Jedward, like, totally love them? Some of the imagery, while inevitable, is cleverly used.
A: Trawling through this looking for something to criticise is like a musical pop smear, and yet it comes up clear – I’m not a fan of it by any means, but I’m forced to concede its neat touches and to admire how solidly it’s constructed. Thematically, the lyrics and music are, ahem, watertight.
V: Gimmicks aplenty here, not least of which being Jedward themselves. Not that they bring anything new to the table, bar the water feature. There’s no disguising the fact that this is a stage with six backing vocalists on it – as they’re running round the fountain towards the end of the song you can hear only too clearly (ironically) how low the Brothers Grimes are in the mix. Nevertheless (or therefore?), it all sounds pretty good in the final.
19 Serbia
B: The opening lines set the tone for this – another battered and bruised account of a relationship coming to an end – in a way that almost makes you recoil at how much pain so few and such simple words can contain. But then the whole thing’s like that. Poetry set to music. Love the rhythm in the bridge before the final chorus.
A: Prior to which (the bridge, I mean) this could just about come from anywhere. The music is cunningly contrived to sound a little bit Nordic, a little bit Irish, a little bit anywhere and everywhere, and it’s only really when the ethnic tags are attached that it betrays its roots. And what a wonderful betrayal it is. I wasn’t sure I’d love this as much as Lane Moje when I first heard it; I am now.
V: Željko’s vocals are like velvet. The staging is only a very slightly stripped back version of what he gave us in 2004, but it works. And as it does in studio, the last bit of the song sounds amazing – real hair on the back of your neck stuff.
20 FYR Macedonia
B: Kinda hopeless, this, in the most literal sense, and yet in a wonderful way. There’s a lot of honesty in imploring your other half to “Отвори душа признај ми / Што сме сега јас и ти”.
A: Macedonia just can’t be doing without its electric guitar, can it. Still, I suppose it fits the feel of the piece and forms a nice counterpoint to the stabbing strings and the undercurrent of piano. And it certainly matches Kaliopi’s vocals for raw power.
V: All very black and blue, these Balkan outings (Црнo и синo anybody?). This comes across far better live than it does in studio, thanks largely to Kaliopi herself.
21 The Netherlands
B: The cat chasing its tail in the chorus here feels so right for what the song is saying – and we haven’t had a lyric as recursive as “It’s you and me and everybody out there / And I can see that everybody knows / About you and me” since Leha’amin’s “To have a dream that maybe one day / We can find the way / To have a dream” in 2004.
A: You’d never take me for a fan of this kind of thing, but I absolutely adore it. It’s just such a complete package, with music, lyrics and vocals coexisting in perfect, nostalgic harmony.
V: Well hello Mr. Banjo Player! He was always going to steal my attention away from Joan, Indian headdress or no. Sweet performance, if a little sharp and shifty-eyed in places.
22 Malta
B: The first line forms quite a good hook into the rest of the song, I suppose.
A: Given the depths of naffness the Maltese usually plumb, this isn’t bad at all. The first time I heard it I thought to myself: I ought to be liking this a lot less than I am. I guess that (and jury bribing) goes a long way to explaining why it made it out of its semi.
V: The performance helps, of course. Well, up to a point. Neither it nor the song take off the way they should – the remix makes it sound a tad murky – and it goes a bit pear-shaped towards the end, but the little dance is nifty, and I love the ad-libs (especially the Crystal Hall one in the final). Kurt is definitely the better-looking of his brothers.
23 Belarus
B: By Belarusian standards, this is a pretty impressive set of lyrics. Nothing that makes you go “ooh!”, but decent enough.
A: Which is more or less what can be said of the song itself. I’ve never heard the original so can’t say how much of a Eurovision compromise it turned out to be, but I can’t imagine it was amazingly more powerful in its original form. It’s an OK piece of music, in much the same way as This Is The Night. Damning with faint praise though that may be.
V: It’s not nearly as personable, however, which is its undoing. Who knew Alex Panayi was on backing here! The Mad Max mike stands are interesting, but everyone’s hair is terrible, and a sideways shuffle never constitutes choreography.
24 Portugal
B: Everything’s here for the full faux-fado, from Saudade and the City to the quintessential floral references. Sweet enough, in its way, and I do like the lines “Mas entre tudo que possas ser na vida / Só quero, meu amor, sejas vida minha”.
A: Far too much echo – the song was only ever going to win people over for what it was rather than reverberating its way into their hearts. The artlessness of Filipa’s vocals successfully masks the more disingenuous aspects of the composition and sells the song for me. Well, almost: I flirt with buying it, but in the end decline politely and move on to where they’re selling the real thing.
V: While it’s satisfying to see the two biggest eurowhores in the competition – Siegel and Babić – falling at the first hurdle, I feel a bit sorry for Filipa here, who puts in an impassioned and vocally very impressive performance. The backing vocalists look like the cast of some South American soap opera.
25 Ukraine
B: Punning titles are always good. Is she really chanting “La la la la la la la la la love” though? I assumed she was just making noise.
A: When you listen to this without Gaitana’s vocals, it’s a bit bereft. She’s a powerhouse and no mistake, and that’s clearly what won the juries over, if not the televoters. The song itself is typical Ukrainian bombast. I admire the economy of penning a song for one competition and then entering it in another.
V: Interesting performance, this: you can see (or rather hear) exactly why the juries went for it and also precisely why the televoters didn’t. The synthetic brass they laid over the top for the live version still irritates me.
26 Bulgaria
B: Brave to pepper an entry like this with lyrics that admit it has no colour and that pain knows no borders.
A: If the universe were defined as the lower reaches of an infinite number of Eastern European semi-final scoreboards from about 2002 onwards, you might reasonably claim that this had a universal sound. And as if that weren’t enough, we then have to contend with a positively Israeli multitude of “I love yous”. Ugh.
V: Yowzer! We haven’t had an opening salvo go that wide of the mark since Germany in 2005. She can’t keep time either, and looks like your typical 40-something quasi-ho wife of a corrupt nouveau riche husband from behind the Iron Curtain. So I’m still surprised by how (relatively) well this did for itself, given the kind of song it is.
27 Slovenia
B: This could very well be glorious for all I know, but the only thing I think when I look at these lyrics is how unattractive a language they make Slovene seem :(
A: Given the track record of the composers, this is unexpectedly meh. Takes forever to get to the point, too, and then repeats itself before it does. The last minute or so makes an attempt at ‘rousing’, but by that point there’s no one left listening.
V: All very heartfelt, I’m sure, but they’re clearly convinced of its gravity far more than anyone else is. “Čutim da grem do dna” indeed. Apart from having a very dirty-sounding surname, backing vocalist Sandra Feketija puts in a very humdrum aah-aah-aah turn here. There’s far more potential in Ms. Boto, who belies her tender age with a strong performance.
28 Croatia
B: I didn’t realise there was such bitterness at the heart of this. Fab!
A: I could slide up and down that guitar all day. Quite a complex song this. It’s got acoustics, it’s got strings, it’s got build and it’s got the wonderfully smoky voice of Ms Badrić – so why don’t I like it more?
V: Back to black (and blue). I’m not sure “Poslušaj me kad ti kažem sve sam probala” is a fair reflection on the performance that follows here: on the one hand, it has some very effective choreography; on the other, it has some ineffectual fabric being flapped about in the background and a trio of possibly the most oddly attired backing vocalists ever. And it’s all just a bit too dark for its own good.
29 Sweden
B: Very ‘club anthem’ set of lyrics, this. The ‘u-u-u-u-u-up’ bit makes a great hook.
A: A song that needs its vocals, certainly, unless you’re in a leotard. Undeniably modern production of something that nevertheless sounds about twenty years old.
V: Has a Swedish entry ever displayed this level of artistry? If I’d known this was what it was like beforehand I would have understood why everyone was sure it would win. You really can’t take your eyes off it. Outstanding use of light and shade.
30 Georgia
B: “მოლოდინი დასრულდება” – and so it comes to pass...
A: ...as soon as the sweeping intro is superseded by the lameness that is the other two-point-five minutes of the song. A structure it shares with Party For Everybody, incidentally. The Georgian entry is more successful at integrating its ethnic elements into the song proper – in that the Russians don’t even bother after the first thirty seconds – but calling it a “song proper” is being far too kind to what is, at best, a series of disconnected interludes randomly strung together.
V: I’m sorry, Anri, but no one’s going to believe you’re a womanizer after a performance like that. A poker, yes. And if you’d sung “I’m a woofter, I’m a poofter”, then definitely. The tone is all over the place, not helped by the remix ramping up the disco.
31 Turkey
B: This outdoes even the great Enid Blyton for the surfeit of overt entendres!
A: Regardless of the instrumentation, this is up there vying for the title of least Turkish Turkish entry evah. Which is to say it still sounds very Turkish, but it’s just so... different.
V: And as departures go I heartily applaud it: it’s brimming with character, and our Mr Bonomo has just the right kind of “who, me?” quality to win you over instantly. He also looks like he’s having a bloody good time!
32 Estonia
B: This is probably the most Estonian set of lyrics the country’s ever delivered at Eurovision. As I said at the time of Eesti laul, both it and fellow superfinalist Mina jään speak directly to Estonian sensibilities – and the idea that ‘vaikusel on võim heliseda’ sums up the way the locals think in four simple words. As an anthem it may resound broadly, but its aim is very specific. In that sense, it could well be the most representative song in this year’s contest.
A: I know for a lot of people this is the epitome of Eurovision schmaltz, but for me at least it presses all sorts of buttons, each and every one of them right. The way it builds, quietly gathering power, is in complete accord with what the lyrics are saying.
V: Marvi Vallaste provides faultless backing vocals here. Ott overeggs it in the semi but tones it down just enough in the final to strike the right balance.
33 Slovakia
B: Hmmm, I wonder if the “God save me” bit is ironic. Christian mettle? Boom tish. Not that I had any idea that’s what he was saying there at the beginning, or indeed that he was saying anything, as opposed to just screaming.
A: Third entry in a row penned and performed by the same lad. This one’s all about comfort zones, oddly enough, and sticking to them. There’s not a lot else you can say about it, since it’s very much the kind of thing you either take or leave.
V: And I think I’ll leave it. It’s tuneless enough to begin with without being that out of tune on top of it.
34 Norway
B: Work it, move your body, baby! You better WORK! You better WORK! Still the best bit of the song.
A: Farty synths I actually quite like for a change. This is just as effectively crafted as Popular was last year, I think. Of course, it also has little tinkly nods to Tooji’s ethnic origins, so I like it more.
V: Hmmm. Let’s just say I’m glad he’s got his looks to rely on. The bridge has zero oomph.
35 Bosnia and Herzegovina
B: We always knew the Balkans were home to some tortured souls at Eurovision, but there’s an unprecedented amount of it this year. Not that I’m complaining when it produces lyrics like “K’o da kradem te od svih samo za sebe / … / I opet sve to prezirem dok se pred tobom branim”.
A: Such a lush, intricate, multi-layered arrangement. Easily one of my favourites of the year. You know you’re onto a winner when the music tells as much of a story as the lyrics do, and with this one all the emotion is in there. Just gorgeous, and so beautifully complimented by Maja’s vocals, which are fragile and yet unequivocal at the same time.
V: But it’s a disappointment live, if I’m honest. I have no idea what she’s come dressed as, or why she gives up all pretence of playing the piano halfway through. Her voice doesn’t have the brittle strength that it has in studio either, and while she’s by no means bad, she doesn’t quite have the presence to make the song carry – not in the way it needs and deserves to, at any rate. The simple blue backdrop’s stunning though.
36 Lithuania
B: That screengrab on Diggiloo makes it look like Lithuania’s produced a hybrid John Barrowman clone to sing for them. Which makes “I’m on my knees for you” about right.
A: Every time I listen to this I long for it to explode into something far more discotastic than it ever becomes, and yet I always find myself quite liking it all the same. At least it never pretends to be something it’s not, and the boy’s certainly got a voice on him.
V: Swarovski crystals! I knew something had been missing from Eurovision for the last few years. For a dinky wee thing, Mr Montell does a good job of filling the stage. Strong performance, too, vocally, although it’s a little uninvolving on the whole.
37 United Kingdom
B: There’s a lovely, sad, selfless story playing itself out here, heart very much on sleeve. Racked with pain, but full of hope. Melikey.
A: Yet another delightfully expressive piece of music, particularly in isolation. Not that Engelbert’s vocals detract from it; I just prefer it as an instrumental.
V: Sadly, watching this, or more precisely listening to it, I still prefer it that way.
38 France
B: A little meandering, these lyrics. Or rather running in circles. Which is appropriate enough, but it feels like they need to get to the point a lot sooner than they do.
A: None of this really does what I expect it to, even now as I listen to it for the umpteenth time. There are aspects I’d happily extrude – the synthesised whistling, for one – but overall I tend to find myself more impressed by it than I assume I’m going to be. I do like Anggun’s voice.
V: There’s a concept here, but I’m not sure what it is. (None of the televoters did either, obviously.) Anggun looks stunning, and the way the backing makes her vocals sound double-tracked in places is clever. Strange three minutes though.
39 Italy
B: There’s something nonchalantly slinky about this that makes the interweaving of the languages work for me. It’s almost like the English bits are what she’s saying while the Italian bits are what she’s thinking.
A: One of only a handful of songs this year that sounds like it existed before and would continue to exist beyond the Eurovision bubble. I love it: smart, sassy and with some really clever touches to the composition.
V: In hindsight, the (brilliant) line “You’re great, but not impressive” sums up this performance. It is great – I love the backing vocals and Nina’s attitude – but for whatever reason it just never achieves its full potential. Heigh ho.
40 Azerbaijan
B: Not a lot to these lyrics, but they say what they have to.
A: The composers have certainly got a good thing going with the Azeris, or vice versa I suppose – presumably on the principle that if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. And it certainly ain’t broke when it continues to deliver to this level. Running Scared, in all its MOR glory, may have won the whole shebang for them, but this is streaks ahead, and even better than Drip Drop. It bears all the hallmarks of its Swedish origins, despite the ethnic touches, but could just as easily come out of the British scene. In that sense, no happier a marriage will you find in this year’s contest.
V: So is it actually the dress itself that’s changing colour? It’s not very clear. Otherwise the performance (and camerawork) is kept surprisingly simple. The cross-legged man hovering in mid-air is far too distracting with his ethnic wailing when the song sells itself well enough with him turned right down in the mix, but I guess they felt they needed to up the local content for the home crowd.
41 Spain
B: Well, this is all very... ouch. Pathetic, in the best sense of the word. Feels quite real, too: the realisation of what you’re throwing away in “Y ahora que te veo marchar / Sé que no te voy a olvidar”.
A: This is a step up from pretty much everything everyone involved has ever given us at Eurovision. Of course, how much you agree with that statement depends on how willing you are to embrace the melodrama of a ballad as big as this, and I’ll be the first to admit that initially I was very reticent. My main misgiving was how calculating it seemed; and it probably is. But it’s certainly won me over since then. I guess, in the end, I’m just a sucker for someone prostrating themselves.
V: Vocal performance of the contest. Brilliant backing vocals, too. But my, she does look severe.
42 Germany
B: What a contrast back-to-back with Spain! And yet equally recognisable: they might almost be two takes on the same situation. There could be an awfully hard edge to something like “this ain’t giving up, it’s knowing where to stop”, but it simply rings true.
A: Germany and Azerbaijan have adopted much the same model in their approach to Eurovision in recent years, outsourcing their entries, so it’s no surprise to see them both winning and maintaining an envious string of results. Standing Still is the third very strong entry in a row from the Germans and easily one of the most radio-friendly of this contest. The vocals work really well with the music – which, oddly enough, is very reminiscent of Running Scared.
V: Roman might be relieved the relationship’s over, but you wouldn’t expect him to be smiling quite that much. Neat, contained performance that lets the song speak for itself.
And so to the points...
1 point goes to Italy
2 points go to Moldova
3 points go to the Netherlands
4 points go to Spain
5 points go to Bosnia and Herzegovina
6 points go to Azerbaijan
7 points go to Sweden
8 points go to Germany
10 points go to Denmark
and finally...
12 points go to...
Serbia!!!
In this Olympic year, a full set of gold-, silver- and bronze-plated wooden spoons are awarded on the losers’ podium of shame to Georgia, Bulgaria and Slovakia respectively.
