Musically,
1995 meets 2005 in a year where a flawed production represents a
throwback to an even more distant era.
01
Austria
B:
You
wouldn’t pick this as coming from the same composer as Say
A Word.
Well, a third of it, anyway. It’s a bit generic as anthems go, but
I quite like the line “Look up to the starlit sky, reignite the
fire”.
A:
I
do like the glockenspiel and harp, and the ‘uh-oh’
bits make a good hook of sorts. The arrangement’s rather complex in
its way, with layers to it you don’t really know are there unless
you strip away the vocals. Very clean, modern sound to it all.
V:
Nice, simple, consistent performance here, which is what the song
requires, but not really what it needs – our first glimpse of the
floating tampons being about the most exciting thing about it. Sole
male backing vocalist Harri
Baumgartner bears a passing resemblance to golden showers guy from
Oslo in a peculiarly Alpine kind of way.
02
Estonia
B:
There’s
some poetry in this – there’s something truly lovely about lines
like “Veel sulab jää ja õide puhkeb raagus puu” that just
doesn’t come across when translated – but also some awful cheese.
The whole curtain-raising metaphor in the second verse is beyond
banal.
A:
The
orchestral makeover this got between Eesti laul and ESC lifts it
enormously, but still not enough to disguise the fact that it could
be trying a lot harder. I’ve always thought that if more had been
made of the muffled country twang here and there it could have
sounded a bit more contemporary and less like something to which you
try and fail, repeatedly, to attribute a date stamp. There is
a
sense of timelessness about it, but there’s a facelessness, too.
V:
It
doesn’t really need the black and white treatment, does it?
Especially when the switch to colour comes mid-shot, making the
transformation appear as though someone’s just forgotten to press a
button. Birgit looks and sounds the business in the semi but is
noticeably more relaxed come the final, where it’s nice to see her
enjoy it more. Since there’s no evidence to the contrary until the
first chorus, you might imagine she’s standing there completely
naked. I’d been in two minds about the shouty finale, but she pulls
it off with aplomb, and it could well be what got her through.
Fabulous eye shadow.
03
Slovenia
B:
“...inside
me you’ll stay / There is no doubt” – someone’s clearly been
doing their Kegel exercises. I wonder if Hannah and whoever she’s
colliding with are responsible for lighting up the sky that Natália
implores us to gaze up at.
A:
There’s
something self-defeating to me about this style of music, which is
all reverb and echo and sounds shifting from one side of your head to
the other: doesn’t give you much to hold onto and ends up feeling
(and sounding) pretty empty. The verses are more successful than the
chorus, which doesn’t help. Layer on Ms Mancini’s competent but
not particularly attractive vocals and the whole thing’s not
something that’s a lot of fun to listen to.
V:
Round one of spot-the-hidden-backing-vocalists. Hannah doesn’t
really do anything wrong here vocally – the studio version made it
obvious she sounds like that at the best of times – but again it’s
not a voice you hear and think “that
was nice, I’d like to hear her singing again”.
And it’s
all just so very Slovenian. That said, credit where it’s due: it’s
like Vrag
naj vzame done
right.
04
Croatia
B:
I
love the coincidence of one of the lads having the name Bataljaku and
the lot of them wearing traditional soldier’s outfits, or whatever
they are. I also love the fact that it’s saying “life sucks –
we’re out of wine”. But if you have to pre-empt “ka tvrda si
stina” with “Ej mižerja”, you’ve got your priorities wrong.
A:
Klapa,
presumably, is the singing style rather than the genre of composition
this represents, which is decent if unexciting. Then again, so’s
the singing.
V:
Back
in the day, where this rather feels like it comes from, that bit
where they all stand still would have seen us get shots of the
orchestra giving it what for. I’m not sure any aspect of the
choreography works, really – it’s sort of static and robotic and
homoerotic all at the same time. I was [and am still] surprised at
how underwhelming it sounds. Baldie has terrible overacting eyebrows.
05
Denmark
B:
Lots of celestial references this year. I always assumed this was
your standard crumbling relationship ditty, but I suppose you can
interpret it just as rightly as having more anthemic overtones. I
prefer not to, though.
A:
Victory hasn’t made that tin whistle any less irritating. Very
economical package though: doesn’t waste much time on the verses,
and then you get a repeated pre-chorus thingy ahead of the main
feature. It’s all a clever way of focussing the listener’s
attention – which, to give it its dues, is something performers
tend to leave to the staging to take care of.
V:
Hello
Anders Øhrstrøm,
stubbly drummer boy! Nice to have you back. You were, after all, the
main attraction in 2008 and 2009.
The
clockwork soldier routine he and the
please-don’t-stick-me-in-close-up-again whistler adopt is rather
fetching. And it’s nice to see that Roz from Spooks
didn’t die after all but ended up letting her hair down and
assuming the identity of a Danish backing vocalist. Meanwhile,
Emmelie looks adorable when she smiles; the rest of the time –
especially when finding the cameras before they find her – she
looks a little awkwardly trapped in the routine. But she sounds fab,
and does a great line in kooky stalker on the second verse. The
glitterfetti is redundant if you ask me.
06
Russia
B:
Fagimovna is a brilliant middle name.
A:
This retchworthy
charcoal tablet of an anthem isn’t
any more progressive in what it’s doing than Estonia really, but it
manages to sound more contemporary, and it knows it has a purpose in
life. The last minute or so is textbook and probably the best of the
bunch among this year’s lot. Dina’s voice has both the innocence
and the impact the song demands.
V:
Very
much the dusky Tartar, with a hint of Anne-Marie David.
Cracking
vocals, including the final ad lib, and the key change is very
effective. The glowing balls give the whole thing a lovely... glow,
but I’m not sure what they’re meant to represent, and the bit
with the two of them being thrown out into the audience just looks
daft. That said, the whole thing is surprisingly palatable until the
eye-rolling hand-holding at the end. Interesting to see that there’s
no improvement in the camerawork at the end of the first chorus
between semi and final.
07
Ukraine
B:
Karen Caravan is clearly the go-to man for superficially cohesive
lyrics. What’s a butterfly doing spinning round a sword as if to
dare? Nice coincidence between said butterfly and the visual theme of
the contest.
A:
Despite the fact
that this feels like a showcase rather than a complete song – three
minutes of something that by rights should be at least twice as long
– it knows how to highlight what it’s got going for it. The
strings and synths work unexpectedly well together. The former do a
lot to personify the musical narrative, too, tying it neatly together
with the lyrics.
V:
Zlata is stunning in every respect. They could and probably should
have dropped the giant, but in general this is, as expected,
can’t-take-your-eyes-off-it stuff. I
wonder if it’s the onomatopoeic vocalist (“Mööööööö!”)
that’s the amusingly named Cleveland Watkiss.
08
The Netherlands
B:
Not
even my linguistically tilted brain can fathom how you’re supposed
to pronounce Teeuwe; no wonder she sticks to her first name. “If
being myself is what I do wrong / Then I would rather not be right”
is one of my favourite couplets in any Eurovision entry (and indeed
any song) in a long time.
A:
What an engrossing
soundscape. When you just listen to the music, the first minute or so
in particular could be soundtrack rather than song. As it builds it
seems to travel backwards in time, adopting some strikingly
old-fashioned (albeit very beautifully rendered) notes in its
arrangement. Anouk’s delivery adds to this overall sense of a
moment being witnessed out of its time. The result is, quite frankly,
amazing.
V:
It’s been said that even the most seasoned professionals can be
daunted by the Eurovision experience, and I’d say that was the case
here in the semi, where Anouk – while far from poor – feels only
barely there at times. She’s far more on top of it come the final,
selling it with much more conviction. 12
points go to Suriname on both nights for the backing vocals.
09
Montenegro
B:
“’ajmo
na igranku, đe
ćemo
drugo?” The final :(
A:
I
love the jarring switch from Birds
to
this. It always surprises me for how much I like it, given it’s not
my thing at all. Probably because it sounds real. Best intro of any
song this year. Best outro for that matter, too.
V:
Nina
Žižić
is fantastic. And hello Mario Đorđević!
This
is mental and vaguely threatening and totally fabulous and the final
was a much poorer place without it.
10
Lithuania
B:
I
don’t know why, but it seems so gloriously Lithuanian to summarise
a song in a metaphor about footwear.
A:
Odd
structure this, when you look at it. Otherwise straightforward, and
not unappealing for it. Certainly smacks of the kind of music
ordinary people make and listen to, in this part of the world.
V:
Andrius
looks a bit like John Barrowman, at least in the postcard. (Their lad
last year did as well, strangely enough.) He looks like he’s just
rolled out of bed in his singlet, grabbed his jacket and rocked up at
the arena fashionably late. The heat of the lights makes it appear as
though he’s got a snotty top lip. His performance, like his song,
is very much a case of what you get is what you see.
11
Belarus
B:
No
surprise that the self-assembly schlager comes from a composer
whoring himself to the highest bidder. (Probably the only bidder, in
this case.) I’m sure “Coming at me like a tsunami / Nearly took
my feet off the ground” was the description of a video I saw on a
certain website recently.
A:
If this hadn’t been sitting around in a drawer since 2005 I’ll do
something unexpected and slightly unsavoury. Cheap, repetitive and
with an unhealthy percussion fetish, it could have been tailor-made
for the contest in Kyiv. The chorus is unbelievably flat, given the
message it’s pushing.
V:
Ms
Lanskaya doesn’t sound too bad, actually. She’s very clearly
focussed on getting the moves right in the semi and has more fun with
it come the final, but the routine is still overly busy. Each and
every ‘hey!’
is issued with none of the requisite enthusiasm. They really ought to
have rearranged the vocals for the live version to fill them out more
a
la
the studio version.
12
Moldova
B:
Aah, so that’s where all of Denmark’s shooting stars went – Ms
Moon pinched the lot of ’em. And that’s not the only lyrical full
circle in this semi, with “Vreau
un nou început”
tying in nicely to Et uus
saaks alguse
as well. The rhyme and rhythm throughout is pleasing.
A:
Romanian
has rarely sounded this lovely.
It’s
always nice to see a composer coming up with something completely
different to what they’ve given you before and showing there’s
more to them than what you’ve seen – Pasha Parfeny does it here
as Ukrainian composer Mikhail Nekrasov did before him. (And neither
O
mie nor
Gravity
could
be less like their predecessors, Lăutar
and
Show
Me Your Love.)
Since I’m a sucker for strings and piano, this ticks all of my
boxes. I worry at times that it then goes on to tick a few too many
more of its own when it might have made more sense to rein itself in
a bit, but by the time it comes back round again it’s just about
gotten away with it.
V:
The contemporary dance routine is one of the best bits of staging
this year, and what with the dress and Ms Moon’s remarkable
levitation it’s all very absorbing. (The way she turns to ice at
the end is just beautiful.) The vocal lift going into the last bit is
much needed and perfectly executed. Love
the moment in the semi where she swallows a line on the first verse.
She’s noticeably more nervous in the final until she can let rip.
13
Ireland
B:
More
stars. Quite a decent little club anthem, this. “And when the stars
are aligned, you got to make love a state of mind” is a good line.
A:
All
that opening swathe of the instrumental is lacking for the full
native American Indian effect is the cry of an eagle echoing across
the mountain peaks. The rest is a plinky-plonk mash-up of synths and
vocals and not much else – and while it does what it says on the
tin, you can sort of see why the juries ignored it.
V:
Goodness
knows how, but this manages to come across as far less obviously
queer than it is. Even Ryan himself persuades of a certain machoness,
despite the spray tan and the glitter in his hair and the fact that
what look like leather trousers and jacket are actually some sort of
lamé
affair. On the whole though it’s a convincing three minutes. Ryan
copes admirably with some pretty demanding vocals, even if he still
doesn’t sound all that great.
14
Cyprus
B:
Sadly
beautiful, these lyrics, and quite moving.
A:
For
me there’s absolutely no contest between this and Estonia, with
which it’s essentially competing. It’s no more groundbreaking,
but it’s far more successful – mostly because it has some
character to it, and a real intimacy. The elements meld smoothly
without losing any of their individual purity, and complemented by
Despina’s vocals make the whole thing feel so gloriously...
genuine.
V:
Despina
looks lovely and glittery and has a fab dress. She just seems as
though she’d be a lovely person. The simple staging is a real treat
after the übertrash of Belarus and Ireland. Such a shame that the
only blatant bum note of the night mars this, even if it’s not
actually that bad in itself.
15
Belgium
B:
The
entire chorus here is a crushingly accurate description of the
unhappy endings some relationships come to.
A:
Bizarre
to think that among them these composers have both San
angelos s’agapisa and
Running
Scared to
their name. That they do though (at least where the Azeri winner is
concerned) is reflected in the fact that this is one of the most
modern-sounding songs in this year’s contest. Expansive, too,
without being alienating. And catchy. In terms of what it’s there
to do the chorus is undoubtedly one of the best of the bunch on the
Malmö stage.
V:
Odd
but interesting choreography, which it’s nice to see is extended to
the [very good] backing vocalists. Roberto handles the semi well but
the final even better, to which his endearing girly reaction attests.
Unlike, say, Croatia, which should
have, this truly does
sound massive.
16
Serbia
B:
I love the translation on Diggiloo of “Srce
tvoje je tad ribama hrana” as “Your
heart is fish food”!
A:
What
an odd concoction this is, given the names behind it. Its catchiest
bit – the do-re-mi-fa-so-fa-mi-re-do
line in the chorus – is also musically its most banal.
V:
I
wonder how many viewers, deprived of subtitles or explanation,
thought this was some teen lesbian sleepover melodrama.
17
Latvia
B:
I wonder if the vision they were on a mission to fulfil was coming
last in their semi for the third time in five years. Who’s Andy
Kaufman?
A:
White boy rap is never much of an idea at the best of times, least of
all when it’s saddled with a backing track that – though
unpretentious – is this uninteresting.
V:
As
controversial as the decision to allow SVT to decide the running
order of the shows may have been, it did mean this obvious opener was
allowed to be just that. Sure, it had next to no impact anyway, but
in theory at least if it was going to have any, the number one slot
would afford it slightly more chance of cashing in on it. I’d
always wondered what kind of a response an ‘audience
participation’ entry would get in Eurovision; I now have my answer.
Kudos to them though for throwing themselves into it. Especially in
those outfits. (And I had no idea until seeing it that half of the
music was beatbox.)
18
San Marino
B:
Rather
a prettily rendered metaphor, this set of lyrics – even if lines
like “Certe volte dentro me / Ho sentito un vuoto che / Mi chiamava
dentro di se” make you wonder whether she’s regretting a
hysterectomy.
A:
There’s
definitely something... incubatoresque about this arrangement, so it
works on that level. The discotastic spreading of wings in the final
minute all the more so, as cheesy and dated as it ends up sounding.
(Is it just me though or do those last sixty seconds always sound
like they’re being pumped through speakers that have seen better
days?)
V:
There’s
something very Monaco about the two other girls on the stage, who
fulfil no other purpose than to whip off Valentina’s... whatever it
is she’s wearing come the big reveal. Ms Monetta doesn’t convince
me here vocally the same way she did last year and comes across a bit
mid-life crisis, but on the whole it’s alright.
19
FYR Macedonia
B:
I
suppose “Не е ко порано / Добрите времиња
ги нема” could be in reference to the relative success of
Crno
i belo,
or perhaps the fate that has befallen Vlatko in having to share the
stage (and indeed half his song) with Esma. Extra points for the use
of the subjunctive.
A:
Some
interesting flourishes here, as you might expect from a Macedonian
entry. I love the alien scuttle along the strings there towards the
beginning, and the percussive moments in Esma’s bits later on. Take
the vocals away in fact and it comes across as far more together a
composition than it ever does when you’ve got the two of them
competing for your attention. Which is a pity, since that inevitably
gets lost, and because Vlatko represents the country’s best chance
at a formidable result in the contest if given the right material to
work with. (Which is to say: not this.)
V:
This
really doesn’t want to come together any which way, much as Vlatko
does a good job as the leading man. A couple of extra backing
vocalists might have helped, since by song’s end the two they have
– along with Esma – have descended into a shouty, off-key mess.
20
Azerbaijan
B:
“If
love was a mountain / I’d climb up to the highest of them all” is
a nice sentiment.
A:
Nice to see the Azeris branching out and shopping a little closer to
home for their entry this year. (Given the economic situation, Greece
was probably asking less.)
(Not that anything as insignificant as expense would be likely to get
in the way of Azerbaijan’s ambitions.) When I first heard this I
described it as punchy, but at the same time punching under its
weight, and I stand by that. I’m not arguing it doesn’t achieve
what it sets out to, and it’s certainly still strong, but it’s
not as satisfying as the likes of Drip
Drop,
which did this sort of contemporary ballad thing far more
effectively.
V:
Given he’s wearing a vest and trousers, it’s amazing how
chavtastic Farid’s outfit looks from a distance. Thankfully his
nerves are only betrayed by the juddering of the hand holding his
microphone; vocally he acquits himself admirably. I’m not sure he
or any member of the Azeri delegation realises how gay the whole
routine is, especially the bit where he and the guy in the box appear
to be coveting each other’s arses. (But then that photo of them
snuggling in the green room probably points to that more effectively
than anything we see on stage.) The mystery of the invisible
backing vocalists deepens.
21
Finland
B:
It’s
even funny on paper. “I don’t think that I know ladies who would
give you cuter babies / Isn’t that amazing?” is just one of the
highlights of this, without doubt the most (and most successfully)
tongue-in-cheek entry Eurovision’s given us in a long time. If
people are still struggling to identify the tone, you only need to
take a look at the second half of the chorus: “I’ll play your
game, I’ll change my last name / I’ll walk the walk of shame /
I’ll do it for you...”.
A:
Unashamedly
poptastic, and clever to boot. I love the way the bassline does its
own thing throughout.
V:
This
is Eurovision-savvy, and for that matter television-savvy, in a way
that Finland has never demonstrated before. For me it’s the best we
get this year – very much a vocal and visual, ahem, marriage. It
has loads of ESC staples but never feels like a rehash. The only
criticism of it I have is that the reveal of the three bridesmaid
goes a bit... well, unrevealed. The last few seconds of the
performance are genius.
22
Malta
B:
Hot
on the bi-curious heels of Krista Siegfrids, Gianluca takes to the
stage with one of the better narrative lyrics the contest has seen.
By Maltese standards it’s a masterpiece, with some great lines
likes “Risk assessment was his investment in a life of no
surprise”.
A:
This
just sounds like something that could only come from a country that
enjoys a lot of sunshine and warm weather. If they sang it in
English, there’s no reason Portugal couldn’t be equally
successful with something along the same lines.
V:
Labelling
any entry ‘Maltese’
is not usually a compliment, but this is
very
Maltese in a good
way. Smily Gianluca sells the song effortlessly, and the words
projected behind him actually add to the performance rather than
distracting from it. Lovely to hear the crowd oh-ohhing along with
him in the final, where he’s ever so marginally ahead of the
backing track throughout. One thing I want to know though is: where
does the park bench appear from at the end?
23
Bulgaria
B:
Honestly,
you could draw a line down the centre of Europe and you wouldn’t
find a single one of the villages they’re banging on about here
anywhere on the left-hand side of it. The very essence of it seems so
peculiarly Eastern European.
A:
What a transformation this undergoes from the studio to the stage. As
a piece of music it runs out of reasons to exist before it’s even
clocked up a minute, with little of the intrinsic ethnic charm of its
2007 forerunner,
despite (or perhaps because of) having so much of the stuff thrown at
it. Every time it starts I forget myself and enthusiasm wells; but
before I know it, I’m clamouring for its immediate, sometimes
violent, demise. And
yet when it appears on screen...
V:
...it
suddenly makes much more sense. It’s lifted by actually being able
to hear the percussion, as Voda
was in Helsinki. Elitsa’s equine movement is interesting. The way
she has to shove her microphone down her knickers in the instrumental
break (and then retrieve it) is as awkward as the grannies’
animal-on-heat hee-hee-heeing
in the background is offputting.
24
Iceland
B:
And
so we switch to the Jesus channel. Assuming you take “Og ég trúi
því, já ég trúi því / Kannski opnast fagrar gáttir himins /
Yfir flæðir fegursta ástin hún umvefur mig alein” to mean
exactly that, rather than being a metaphor for the far more mundane
love of his life.
A:
Pétur
Örn Guðmundsson and Örlygur Smári are clearly becoming the Ralph
Siegelsson of the national final scene in Iceland. They deserve an
award for this, though: in spite of the competition it faces, nothing
beats Ég
á
lif
when it comes to sounding quite so seamlessly transplanted into the
modern contest from ca
1995. (The Icelandic only adds to it – largely because that was
about the last time we heard it in ESC.) The arrangement throws up
some interesting touches, including the bazouki-like
probably-just-a-banjo, but none of them do anything to drag the song
into the 21st
century.
V:
What
with the facefuzz and the darker eyebrows, that hair almost looks
like a comedy wig. Eyðór’s
a great singer, and I do like the way the backing vocalists emerge
like that, but it’s all still hopelessly old school.
25
Greece
B:
Positively sardonic. The message is lost of course on those who
haven’t gone to the trouble of translating it (or viewers of the
YLE and ETV broadcasts, who helpfully have it translated for them),
but since it works perfectly well on another level without that
knowledge it doesn’t really matter.
A:
Whether
or not you like it, you can’t deny how catchy it is.
V:
This
has a lot more in common – both musically and in terms of the way
it’s staged – with recent Moldovan entries than it does with
anything Greek. Which, of course, is why it works as well as it does:
put the two together and it was always going to excel. It’s hard
to find three minutes in Malmö that are more fun than this, or
sexier – even with grandad getting so much screen time. I just wish
they were showing a bit more (hairy) leg.
26
Israel
B:
Again,
depending how you interpret it, we could well be back on God TV here
– only this time the Icelandic Ð
and Þ
have been replaced with the Hebrew כ
and
ך.
I’m sure it’s all wonderfully poetic. The repetition in the
chorus seems a bit half-arsed.
A:
This puts me immediately in mind of Milim,
although it’s not as attractive a composition. There’s still a
lot to like about it, but after something as unaffected (and
successful for it) as the Greek entry it invariably seems more
po-faced than it perhaps is.
V:
The statuesque Ms
Mazor, and indeed her female backing vocalist, could have stepped
straight off the set of an ’80s soap, where they would undoubtedly
have just called each other bitches and ended up in a fountain
clawing at each other’s big hair.
The
vocals are even bigger; I’m still surprised the juries didn’t go
for them enough to see it through.
27
Armenia
B:
Nothing like a bit of product placement amongst all the preaching.
True, it’s styled like a protest anthem rather than your typical
Praize Jeebuz guff, but it’s fooling no one.
A:
The good work in the opening verse is undermined by the introduction
of the organ and electric guitar, which have ‘Christian
rock’ written all over them. It’s a solid enough piece of music
on the whole, but catastrophically unengaging given the message it’s
peddling.
V:
The
lead singer has an odd-shaped nose, but it clearly doesn’t inhibit
his ability to sing. I
wonder which of his hirsute fellow Dorians is the fantastically named
Gagik.
And also whether the hand-in-the-air thing is some secret sign, like
a Masonic handshake, to the God-fearing televoters that they have the
divine nod to vote for the song. Great lighting.
28
Hungary
B:
Deceptively
simple, these lyrics, and yet with such glorious imagery in lines
like “Kócos haját reggelente / Szelek fonják” and
“Rozmaringból készít hintót / Tücskök húzzák”. Just
adorable, and so right for the song.
A:
Beguiling.
There’s not a single element here, not a single note even, that
doesn’t feel right. It’s without doubt one of the most sincere
entries Eurovision has seen in a long time, and the contest is all
the better for it.
V:
Nice
to see Helga Wéber on backing vocals again and doing as good a job
as she did last year on Sound
Of Our Hearts.
Visually
this is probably the most eye-catching performance of the contest, in
terms of the backdrop. There’s no way around the fact that ByeAlex
is wide of the mark in pretty much every chorus in the semi, and then
again in the first verse and towards the end in the final, but it
only seems to underscore the song’s unpretentious appeal. The way
he says “This is for Hungary!” at the end is so
sweet.
29
Norway
B:
What a convincing and confident piece of song-writing this is. I’m
not sure I know what it all means, but it’s full of compelling
ideas. “I’ve
got the future on my tongue” is even good for a snigger. Win-win.
A:
Two entries back-to-back that do the contest the world of good. You
have to be willing to sacrifice yourself to that initial onslaught of
electronica to revel in the rest of it, but if you do you’re
rewarded in spades. Ms Berger puts an unusual twist on the
pronunciation of the opening line that makes it sound as though she’s
singing “Like a queen in a tree” as opposed to the cocoon of
which the lyrics purport to speak.
V:
Fantastic
backing vocals, as you might expect given the trio providing them.
Very
much a sense of something that knows what it’s about here. It
really is brilliant, and one of very few songs and performances that
will outlive its place in the context of the 2013 contest.
30
Albania
B:
If
it wasn’t for the enduring popularity of this kind of music in that
part of the world I’d be tempted to suggest it was the lyrics alone
that won it for them. Quite the nationalist sentiment, without
tipping over into jingoism, and accessible enough to speak to anyone.
(Well, provided they speak Albanian.) “Se kur ndava ëndrrën gjeta
/ Një rreze dritë, pak frymë si ti” is rather romantic, whatever
it’s referring to.
A:
The
orchestral line running through this saves it from total ignominy,
but it’s hard to overlook the fact that it forgets to have a
chorus.
V:
Not sure about Russell
Branduraj’s quiff, but he sounds alright. The other one looks and
sounds like a kiddy-fiddler. (Then again, they all look pretty
dodgy.) Good use of fireworks.
31
Georgia
B:
Cheeky of G:Son to namecheck his own entry in the second verse. “Your
love is pouring down on me” could account for why Margaret Berger
has the future on her tongue if she’s been anywhere near Nodi.
A:
Speaking of songs that overlook the need for a chorus... Well, that’s
a little unfair, since this one does
have one, and the fact that it’s not as distinguished from the rest
of the song makes sense as part of the overall concept. But still.
Great harmonies. Terrible accents.
V:
If
there was ever an entry so unabashedly blatant in its intent to
emulate a recent winner, this is it. People bang on about it being
Quédate
conmigo,
Part II, and sure, it bears a resemblance to its Spanish stablemate
because of the very stable it’s come out of. But everything about
this is designed to succeed in the same way Running
Scared
did... and doesn’t. It’s all far too rehearsed. I mean,
everything is, obviously, but few are as mechanical as this, giving
lie to the natural movement and power central to the song itself.
Sopho has a lovely frock, but she’s actually pretty shrill on the
big note in the semi.
32
Switzerland
B:
The icing on the communion wafer. Not as effective an emetic as What
If,
it nevertheless has you dry-retching into the toilet bowl. Which,
funnily enough, is its rightful place.
A:
I’ve
always found this incongruously murky when it seems to be striving
for anthem status. Or even if it’s not. The Ruslana-lite ‘hey!’s
feel totally out of place, and the whole thing’s so unvaried and
plodding. If I’m honest, it’s the kind of thing that makes me
wish Switzerland would just go away and not come back till they
realise how clueless they are. Decent entries are fewer and farther
between the longer they insist on taking part.
V:
Blimey this is lame. The old boy propping up the double bass (or is
it there to prop him
up?) looks like he hasn’t got a clue what day it is. The
blond guy at the end really needs to be making porn.
33
Romania
B:
Fire–desire
A:
I’d
like to able to say I enjoy this more without the vocals, but I
can’t. And since I can’t say I enjoy it with
the vocals either, it’s probably best to say nothing at all.
V:
I’m
sure Cezar’s a very talented vocalist, but that doesn’t make this
song – or popera in general – a good idea. Explains why the
televoters fell for it the way they did though, given that it’s
the kind of thing Nowhere’s
Got
Talent audiences
so often go for. God knows why anyone thought plonking him in the
middle of a miscarriage would make for effective staging though, and
I’ve no idea at all what the choreography’s meant to be about. In
our last chance tonight, has anyone yet worked out where the backing
vocalists are?
34
France
B:
The years have clearly not been kind to lyricist Boris
Bergman if the transformation from the Monegasque innocence of Un
train qui parte and
Une
chanson c’est une lettre to
the unapologetic violence and sadomasochistic overtones of this
number are anything to go by.
A:
This
is straight off the soundtrack to the French version of Kill
Bill.
When I gave all of this year’s songs a first listen there were only
really two that drew me in and held my attention from go to woe –
this and the Dutch entry. It’s compelling stuff, and so utterly
French. Although I’ve long since found out where it goes, I always
love retracing the route.
V:
Amandine
sounds amazing
and certainly ticks all the rock chick boxes – even if you know
better you just assume she’s littering the lyrics with profanities.
Against the odds, it makes for a great opener.
35
Spain
B:
What’s up with the Spanish always
having illusions?
A:
That
bagpipe opening is like the musical equivalent of a costume change,
only at the start of the song rather than the end. It makes you think
we’re in for Ireland 07 all over again – a notion which the
otherwise charming first verse does little to dispel. Under other
circumstances I might have said it’s a good thing we didn’t get a
repeat of They
Can’t Stop The Spring,
but given what ESDM do
give
us I’m not so sure. In and of itself it’s completely inoffensive,
and possibly even has redeeming features. But in Eurovision terms
it’s useless. Just... there.
V:
There
are moments where this sounds almost alright. Not many, but some. The
launching of the lanterns is a nice touch.
36
Germany
B:
Aah!
So that line’s not
“We are young and
hard
and we’re free” after all...
A:
The
dancefloor fillers took a bit of a hammering this year, didn’t
they. And fair enough, I suppose – they’re designed to be a bit
lowest-common-denominator, so there has to be something remarkable
about them for them to really stand out. And nothing much does about
Glorious.
(Not that I’m suggesting they don’t have their place.) The
parallels with Euphoria
are overemphasised.
V:
There’s
no particular reason it should, but this misfires on all cylinders.
Apart from anything else, it’s crying out for far more than two
backing vocalists. The version they use doesn’t do it many favours
either, lending it a slightly odd structure.
37
United Kingdom
B:
Decent set of lyrics, although I can’t help but visualise the
protagonist as some Terry Gilliam animation shuffling across the
screen in a Monty Python sketch, especially on the line “You
never see the rainbow, you just curse the rain”.
A:
Perfectly acceptable underwhelming fare from the UK for the second
year in a row. You can see where they’re going with the song, just
as you can see that they haven’t got a clue why it’s the wrong
direction to have picked. Removed from the Eurovision context it’s
a very together piece of music that doesn’t do much wrong, but
there’s little point in attempting to divorce it from reality.
V:
Arnold
George Dorsey passes the torch to Gaynor Hopkins. They might as well
have stuck to their real monikers for all the success their stage
names brought either of them.
Like
the last remaining evidence of some long-forgotten civilisation,
Botox Bonnie sounds like she’s one more performance away from total
ruin. When you consider she probably wouldn’t have sounded worse
belting out something sub-Total
Eclipse of the Heart,
they might as well have given her something like that instead so at
least people would recognise her for who she once was. (Is this in a
slightly lower key, by the way, or slowed down or something?)
38
Sweden
B:
I
do like the way this works on an intimate one-to-one level as well as
a sort of takk
så
mycket Sverige.
A:
This
is one of my favourite pieces of music this year, despite sounding
like it was penned for an advertising jingle. It really captures the
spirit of the lyrics. Or rather they it.
V:
Uniformly
hideous outfits and an odd routine make this seem cobbled together at
the last minute, which it clearly wasn’t. On this evidence though
it really didn’t deserve to do as well as it did with the juries
(unless of course it came together much more effectively the night
before). Robin could easily be a lesbian with testosterone issues.
39
Italy
B:
I
find some of these lyrics a bit dense to be honest, but there’s
something very true and romantic about much of them – “Mentre il
mondo cade a pezzi / ... / Tornerò
all’origine / Torno a te che sei per me, l’essenziale” in
particular.
A:
Gorgeous
arrangement. Classy in a way that elevates it above most of the other
balladry in the contest, but not particularly innovative – and for
that reason alone I don’t think it’s worth quite as much praise
as has been heaped on it. For me it’s reliably solid in the way
that each of the last few Italian entries has been, but falls short
of being truly great.
V:
I dunno if it’s the make-up – too much bronzer on an already
olive complexion? – but it looks like his head’s about to
explode. He
has no idea what to do with his hands. He seems to approach the whole
thing with an amusing but not really admirable indifference.
And
so to the points...
1
point goes to Moldova
2
points go to Denmark
3
points go to Ukraine
4
points go to France
5
points go to Hungary
6
points go to the Netherlands
7
points go to Montenegro
8
points go to Belgium
10
points go to Finland
and
finally...
12
points go to...
Norway!!!
The
wooden spoon goes
to Switzerland.
