What started out life as a fairly MOR bunch of songs with little to say
for themselves ended up producing one of the best finals in years – and the
Danes made up for the misstep of ESC01 with possibly the best production of
the modern era.
01 Armenia
B:
Nice simple message here. A little repetitive
perhaps, but that in itself is fitting. “Why do dreams make people scream?” is
clunky, but the idea of constructing a new reality for yourself because you’re
disappointed with the one life’s given you is neatly captured.
A:
Piano and strings? That’ll do me. The way it builds,
and builds, and builds some more is brilliant, especially since there’s no
signposting of what it’s building to – which makes the explosive dissolve into dubstep
all the more effective, since it’s at this point that Mr MP3 really lets rip
with the vocals. Clever stuff. My only niggle with any of it is the last note,
which is very clumsily cut off; a victim, perhaps, of three-minute panic.
V:
Aram looks a little bit like Lurch from The Addams Family. His vocals are a
little bit stiff, too, at first, but he soon dispels any concerns that we’re
heading for car crash tele. It looks like he’s standing on top of a super-sized
jammie dodger in that final overhead shot.
02 Latvia
B:
I suppose you could just interpret this literally as
the story of a guy who’s shit at baking, but I prefer to look at the central
concept as a metaphor for falling in love and not knowing how to deal with the
curveball that throws you. No idea if that’s what they intended, but at least
it makes the fucking cake more palatable.
A:
Something this year’s folksier-sounding numbers have
in common for me is that I much prefer listening to them liberated of their
vocals and/or lyrics. This one, right enough, is a little treat. Or it would be
– sadly, there’s no escaping the chorus (or the cep-cep-cep-kuukus)
even in the karaoke version.
V:
As with most Latvian performances of recent years, this is little more than a
bunch of daft-looking people standing around on and/or wandering about the
stage. They sound suitably… homespun.
03 Estonia
B:
OCD grammar nazi’s worst nightmare, this chorus: is it “Stay, amazing lie?” or
“Stay amazing, lie”? Either way, what is this lie, and what makes it so
amazing? I assume it’s the false love the protagonist continues to crave whilst
being fully aware of its deceptive nature. And right there in that one line
I’ve probably given it way more thought than Tanja or Timo Vendt ever did.
A:
You can sing Together
in Electric Dreams over the chorus here when you listen to the karaoke
version and it fits perfectly. Which is odd, because you can’t once the vocals
are reinstated – suggesting that even if it has nothing else to recommend it, Amazing at least has a vocal arrangement
that’s not enslaved to the music.
V:
Frustratingly, nothing comes together in this performance. The way it’s shot
produces lots of non-sequiturs, even if you know what’s coming, and doesn’t
really do the routine or the stage it’s taking place on any favours. I think
the oddest thing is that there must have been moments where the uninitiated
were left wondering who was doing the singing, since half the time it just
looks like Tanja’s a dancer who’s miming along to it. On top of all that, she
sounds at her least convincing here of any performance I’ve seen of the song.
Meh :( The postcard makes her arse look massive, too.
04 Sweden
B:
There are some quite clever flips here, especially in
“I just stood for nothing / So I fell for everything you said” and the
unexpected taking of control in “Save me, oh I’m gonna save me”.
A:
I suppose this is what modern ballads are, and what they do; I still find it
underwhelming. There’s something slightly clinical about the whole thing that
holds it at arm’s length for me, even if that feels right in context.
V:
Its strengths are clear to see on screen though. The clued-up minimalism of the
staging sets Sanna at the very centre of it from start to finish, and she plays
a blinder. Her performance guarantees the song the kind of success it mightn’t
have enjoyed without her selling it as well as she does (or for that matter
simply as a song alone). I’m glad they reinstated the echo of the studio
version for the final.
05 Iceland
B:
You’ve got time for the message Pollapönk are peddling here or you haven’t, I
think. I have: for my part it’s cleverly and succinctly worked into the concept
as a whole. John Grant is a respected musician and was an inspired choice to
pen the English lyrics, given the subject matter. “Life is way too short for
short-sightedness” indeed.
A:
I can see why some might roll their eyes at this –
the backing vocals, for example, are
affected – but I think it’s brilliant. The lads set themselves the task of
coming up with something parents would love as much as their kids (the “children’s
own music adults adore”, if you will) and I’d say they nailed it. The
instrumental break’s fun, the way the brass comes into its own at the end is a
punch-the-air moment and the whole thing changes key without you even noticing.
What’s not to love?
V: Lead singer Heiðar Örn
Kristjánsson is
about a quarter of a note off-key throughout the semi performance, but not in
any way that derails it. The whole thing’s every bit as colourful and
entertaining as it needs to be, and the direction on taller/smaller/thinner/dinner
is genius at its most unassuming.
06 Albania
B:
Hersi’s take on Jorgo Papingji’s lyrics renders much of them unintelligible, so
it’s nice to finally read them on paper – even if they still don’t make perfect
sense. “Say you’ll be there when the words are done” is rather poetic.
A:
This is a tour de force of acoustics and percussion
when you’re not being distracted by the Jewelesque vocals of Ms Matmuja.
Initially anyway: I find the electric guitar intrusive (surprise!), but it
wouldn’t be fair to lay the blame squarely at its door when the composition
starts treading water as early as the first chorus. Interest soon wanes,
peaking again momentarily for the middle eight, but by then it’s too late.
V:
What is she wearing? Bellbottoms?
Culottes? An embroidered jumpsuit? Whatever it is, it steals my attention away
from the performance, which is nevertheless fine. Hersi has some great backing
vocalists, but puts in a convincing turn herself. Given how dinky she is, the
plinth-like thing they plonk her on is a clever move.
07 Russia
B:
Unfortunate (or not) timing that a song with a set of lyrics like this should
represent Russia in a European forum. There’s all sorts to pick apart – from
crimes to crossing lines – but nothing comes across quite as disingenuously as
“Telling all the world to show some love”. Not that it’s anything other than
cheesy schmaltz in an ESC context, but still.
A:
The ’60s twang in the verses here is the most (only?)
interesting thing about this. Textbook pop, yes, but from the most dry and
uninspired textbook on the shelf.
V:
The girls sell it well though, giving it the lift it so desperately needed.
Rather like last year, in fact, right down to the Swedish backing vocalists.
(You only get a glimpse of the Muscle Mary operating the oriental fan, but
that’s more than enough to tell you which side his sun sets on.) They play up
the twins thing for all it’s worth, but I suppose without the magic hair and
the seesaw it might have looked a bit empty. They’d surely win the Eurovision
Enunciation Contest with their inimitable schoolgirl enthusiasm.
08 Azerbaijan
B:
The lyricists are going for deep and meaningful here, and getting about halfway
there. The imagery’s captured with a neatness of touch.
A:
God help us if Dilara and Hersi ever do a duet –
we’ll never understand a word. Not that I’ll be complaining if it sounds as
lush as this: music so unadulterated you can hear every key being struck, every
movement of the bow, every breath being invested in the woodwind. It’s easy to
criticise the Azeris for outsourcing their entries, but it’s just as easy to
see why they do so when their go-to team keeps coming up with stuff like this.
V:
While she’s better in the final, Dilara doesn’t exactly nail this in the semi,
does she. Perhaps it was the realisation that this might be the case that led
them to employ the acrobat, who at least has moments of reflecting the story
that’s being told in the lyrics.
09 Ukraine
B:
“Shh, don’t stop” is my favourite bit of this
serviceable but not entirely inane set of lyrics.
A:
Straightforward pop, when it gets this formidable a makeover, can work a
fucking treat. Top marks for the production, which features some really clever
elements. Love the clapping. And the whistling – like
buses, you wait 47 years for one and three come along at once! [See also:
Switzerland; Denmark.]
V:
Yay, they listened to me about that final ‘tick-tock’! I said the pregnant
pause between syllables in the semi was a step too far. Mariya is absolutely
gorgeous, and while she might not be the best singer her country’s ever stuck
on stage, she doesn’t put a foot wrong. The performance is pure Ukraine, who
must surely win the award for consistently getting that Eurovision’s not just a
song contest. (In more ways than one: q.v. the highly political act of putting them
first in the final. Where it was very satisfying to see them finish ahead of
Russia!)
10 Belgium
B:
Unlike the song itself, and especially the performance, these lyrics are
actually tolerable. For a verse and a chorus, at least – after that the whole
thing tips over from a touching tribute to the full Norman Bates horror. You
just know Mother’s a desiccated corpse making an improbably deep imprint in the
mattress in Axel’s mausoleum-cum-spare bedroom. The whole thing’s as cloying as
the formaldehyde you just know he’s used to pickle her.
A:
Rafael Artesero’s run of Eurovision ignominy
continues. It’s not hard to see why: although intrinsically this should be
difficult to distinguish from, say, Start
a Fire (which it follows directly on from on the official CD, to its
detriment), it shows none of the same finesse. I want to like it – and Lord knows it does all sorts of things that
would normally press my buttons – but it simply comes across as second-tier.
Layer on Axel’s presumably heartfelt but utterly mawkish vocals and the result goes
without saying.
V:
Ugh, it’s like Mr Creosote with an Oedipus complex.
11 Moldova
B:
Aww, they actually think these lyrics mean something. “I have no feelings of
mercy” is true enough.
A:
Those opening bars launch an assault on the ears that
never really lets up over the ensuing three minutes. Not unaccomplished, it
nevertheless inhabits a murky soundscape that’s only rivalled by Ireland. Which
it’s better than, if not especially more attractive.
V:
Back we’re dragged to the Eurovision dungeon where the torture of pronunciation
is as pitiless as it is endless. The stage and backdrop, pre-poppies, look
fantastic, if perhaps a little too greyscale for their own good, and it’s nice
to see Moldova treating us to contemporary dance as part of their routine for
the second year in a row. But Ms Scarlat – well, what’s she come dressed as?
And what’s the hair thing about? Wouldn’t it make more sense (and certainly
look better) if it was short to begin with and then got longer, not the other
way round?
12 San Marino
B:
There’s some nice stuff here among the hackneyed majority. “Maybe this is it,
this is real / And I feel this is right, finally right” proved prophetic.
A:
The fact that this came 9th in the Estonian televote in the final
will forever perplex me: I’m clearly inured to its timeless charms. It doesn’t
strike me as being all that different to, or more proficient than, their last
attempt, and while the orchestration’s nice enough I just can’t see the appeal
of a song like this in 2014. Or indeed any year after about 1978.
V:
Are they going for a Botticelli kind of thing here? Me-bi. The transition from
blue to gold’s lovely, and Valentina’s never sounded better, or connected more
effectively with the camera. She’s still super-nervous though – right at the
end it looks like she’s trying to cast the spell of which she sings.
13 Portugal
B:
Mel! If it’s not that it’s wheat or
pine trees or some such. Not that this is in any way comparable to the poetry
of previous Portuguese entries, but the language has a way of taking the trite
and making it sound wonderfully exotic. I like “Quero banhar-me no teu
corpo de prazer / E saciar a minha sede de te ter”, for example. For at
least two reasons.
A:
UAUAUÉ! UAUÉ! Upbeat, but oh so cheap. The year they took out clearly helped…
V:
Suzy – from pimba to bimbo in two easy steps! Gives it all she’s got though,
and the ‘oh-oh-oh’ bits go a long way to making it personable. Super gay
routine. I love the fact that the bleach-blond bongo guy in the leather pants
is a bit podgy.
14 The Netherlands
B:
Interesting that there seem to have been at least three native speakers
involved in the writing of these lyrics and yet none of them saw a problem with
“What’s the use to cry”. They’re forgiven though when so much else is so right
– especially “I could say I’m sorry / But I don’t wanna lie / I just wanna know
if staying / Is better than goodbye”.
A:
Unalloyed in every sense, this is so pure it
glistens.
V:
Astonishingly well staged by Dutch standards. You really can’t take your eyes
off it. Ilse has a gorgeous Tammy Wynette quality about her, while Weylon has a
very likeable and very cheeky glint in his eye. They sound, and look, perfectly
matched – and everything is just that little bit more polished in the final,
where it matters most.
15 Montenegro
B:
Quintessentially Yugoslav, in that if you’ve taken even the slightest notice of
Croatian, Bosnian and Serbian entries over the years you can understand pretty
much all of this without even speaking the language. Their ballads display a
useful tendency to draw from the same dozen or so sources of lyrical
inspiration. A line like “U tvoje ruke dušu vežem” could easily, if not
entirely accurately, be translated as something like “My heart is in your
hands”, and yet the very concept it presents betrays its roots in an instant.
A:
This is three-quarters of a perfect Balkan ballad – one that’s clever enough,
like Nije ljubav stvar before it, to
obscure its origins and sound like it could come from almost anywhere. It has
some truly charming elements, and Sergej’s voice suits it down to the ground,
but there’s no escaping the fact that come the three-minute mark it just stops.
What’s more, the three minutes we do get are oddly structured, which makes me
think they could have rejigged the whole thing with very little effort and
given it a proper ending while still coming in on time. I love it though, needless
to say.
V:
I suppose it’s not a giant leap from rapping astronauts to rollerblading figure
skaters. It sounds overblown on paper, but is done very tastefully and is
certainly striking in combination with the visual effects on the stage. Sergej
just stands there and sings, as he should, since he makes it seem so
effortless. (Nice to see backing vocalist Martina Majerle making possibly her
most glamorous appearance at ESC to date, incidentally.) Somehow the abrupt
ending works better on stage than it does in the studio, but they still should
have chucked in an a cappella ‘ljubavi’
or something to round it off if you ask me.
16 Hungary
B:
“Mama let the devil in her house” is but one example of what is a very
hard-hitting set of lyrics. For want of a better term. It’s uncharted territory
for Eurovision, and for music generally, and adds a gritty sense of realism
that’s not unwelcome. Worthy, even.
A:
Less about the journey and more about the destination
than Armenia, but equally effective, which probably accounts for why they
finished back to back in the top five in the final. The doom-laden piano is
great, and there are some really good synths as well. Following their debut
this is easily Hungary’s most complete package at Eurovision.
V:
Young Kállay-Saunders is a hunk of spunk and no mistake – and he can pull off a knitted cardigan! (I prefer the short sleeves
from the semi; perhaps it was a bit nippy in the hall.) There’s some great
direction here that effectively captures the best bits of the dance routine,
which works really well. It’s clear to see that András watched his semi-final performance
back and adjusted his approach – and his breathing – accordingly, making it
even better in the final.
17 Malta
B:
When you look at these words objectively they’re only slightly better than the
mangled Maltese English we normally get, and pretty unremarkable to boot –
straddling the line between ballad and anthem and not putting their weight on
either foot. Apart from a penchant for pugilism and a general sense of
determination there’s precious little to associate it with the anniversary of
the Great War the preview video rather poignantly recreates, nor does it really
speak to (or of) the émigrés it’s purportedly dedicated to. On the contrary
really, given it’s called Coming Home.
A:
All that said, it’s one of Malta’s best ever entries.
The harmonies are gorgeous, and the way it constantly gathers and generates
momentum makes the last half a minute or so a real joy. Mumford & Sons (and
their sister) would be proud.
V:
All very Bosnia 11. Which is a good thing, obviously – it sounds magnificent.
Richard and his various brothers certainly add to the attraction. Respect to
him for having a bit of a muffin top and not being afraid to wear an outfit
that does nothing to hide it.
18 Israel
B:
“We don’t beat from the same heart” is a far better
anchor line for the chorus, it has to be said, than its Hebrew counterpart “Lo
achsir od peima”. I’m guessing ‘to skin someone out’ makes sense in the
language, too, although it makes the point painfully clear either way.
A:
In terms of build this is almost as effective as Not Alone, even if it’s more obvious
where it’s going from the opening bar. It’s an unapologetic composition, as it
should be, given the story it’s providing the soundtrack for, and boasts some
killer strings. However, matched with Ms Fine’s equally hard-edged vocals it
goes some way to explaining why the song didn’t go down well with either the
juries or the televoters in Copenhagen*. Well, that and the key change – which
makes sense in context but is the most glaring of the few we actually get.
V:
*Not that I agree with either of them: it sounds huge, it looks huge – the
lighting in particular provides a real wow moment at the end of the first
chorus – and the routine as a whole is very effective. The drop into Hebrew in
the second verse sees it fall a little flat, but beyond that (if you can get
beyond the voice) it’s great. In fact, I’d rather this dynamic diva had been in
the final than Italy, to be honest.
19 Norway
B:
What a haunting little vignette. I wonder what Carl’s
cousin was trying to tell him.
A:
That opening line always sounds like “At the tone…”
to me, as if the lad’s about to launch into The
Speaking Clock Song. Striking composition: dark and swirling, but with a
glimmer of hope. All of which is reflected in Carl’s vocals, which are a
rough-hewn thing of beauty. The ending’s fantastic.
V:
Take him or leave him, Mr Espen is what he is and delivers this song with no
apologies and no regrets. The elongated notes in the second verse catch you
off-guard but still feel genuine. The outfits on the fiddling ladies give the
whole thing an appropriately Nocturne
feel.
20 Georgia
B:
I know what they’ve said this is
about, but hippie and new age trappings aside, I still wonder if it was
inspired by Felix Baumgartner.
A:
While I like Mariko’s voice, I much prefer to strip this song of all its vocals
and just roll around in its gorgeousness. It plays with your expectations and
pulls your attention this way and that, giving you something new to listen to
every time. It’s also one of those songs that has surprisingly straightforward
timing but a rhythm that would confound a Macedonian.
V:
You’d think that a trio named Mamuka, Zaza and Zurab would add up to something
more glamorous (and frankly interesting) than The Shin. Mr Miminoshvili the guitar virtuoso is the least likely looking Zaza you’ll
ever see. But they all sound great – indeed, they all sound exactly like they
do in the studio version. I wonder if they drank all that wine from the
postcard; it might explain why the skydiver never gets off the ground. You
spend the whole three minutes waiting for him to ascend, or descend, or do
anything frankly, and he never does. Arguably, the same could be said of the
song.
21 Poland
B: “My na swojskiej śmietanie chowane.” Oh
honey, aren’t we all.
A:
I’m not a fan of this kind of music at the best of
times, but I tip my hat to them for integrating it with the ethnic elements as
effectively as they do – in spite of which this comes across as by far the most
contemporary thing on offer.
V:
I’m not much of a fan of Cleo’s voice, either, but to give the lass her dues
the whole thing could be playback. The fact it sounds as good as it does is astounding
considering there are only three backing vocalists. You can argue about the
message this sends out all you want: anyone who fails to see how resolutely
tongue in cheek it is is being wilfully contrary. And since it’s not setting
out to create offence, why bother being offended by it? It’s hilarious. Enjoy
it. The standard-bearers in the mosh pit lap it up, but then they would – the
gays love a bit of shameless sexuality, whoever’s displaying it. (The only note
I’d give the Poles here is that the stage is so red the effect of the spinning
dresses gets lost in the bigger picture.)
22 Austria
B:
Even the really obvious stuff here (“Once I’m
transformed…”, “You have got to see to believe” et al.) works, and that’s
without looking at the whole thing in more general, speaks-to-everyone terms.
A:
I’m still trying to figure out what the movie would
be called if this were the Bond theme it does such a flawless impression of. No
musical slouch as winners go, it’s fantastically arranged and orchestrated. And
while it might come across as something of a back-handed compliment, there’s a
quality to Mr Neuwirth’s voice that’s well-matched to the brassier elements of
the composition. Great stuff.
V:
Lighting, graphics, camerawork, costume, effects and music in perfect harmony.
It basically declares itself the winner. Love the arched eyebrow on ‘see to
believe’.
23 Lithuania
B:
This really deserves an exclamation mark in the title.
A:
Kudos to Vilija for writing this – it might sound
like faint praise to describe it as ‘fresh’ and ‘different’, but that’s exactly
what it is. I can understand why it didn’t set the scoreboard on fire, but I’d
like to have seen it in the final if for no other reason than the fact it is so quirky and innovative.
V:
A song (and indeed a voice) that was made to be heard live. The “I’m gonna make you-make you fall / Down-d-d-down-down on
your knees” bit is inspired, on every level. Colour scheme, choreography and
costume are all fab, Barbara Dex award-winning or not. And the stage looks
stunning. Oh, and hot dancer.
24 Finland
B:
All these words tell an intriguing, occasionally insightful and unrelentingly
head-scratching story as you try and work out what they actually meant to say.
A+ for effort though.
A:
Wearing your influences on your sleeve so prominently leaves you open to less
than flattering comparison at the best of times, but not here. Softengine
mightn’t be pushing the envelope of the genre, but they clearly know what makes
it work. The song manages to hold your interest by changing itself up and
chucking in new things at regular intervals without ever sounding desperate or
disconnected. It also has not one, but two
of the best hooks of any of this year’s entries.
V:
Fresh-faced lead singer Topi struggles ever so slightly in the semi but pulls
it together for the final. Mind you, it sounds (and looks) great both times
regardless. Add Elias and Lari to the line-up and they could all be characters
from Salatut elämät.
25 Ireland
B:
There’s no excuse for an entry from an English-speaking country having
substandard English. The first line doesn’t even scan properly.
A:
The music here sounds like its lungs are full of
water, which matches the lyrics at least. (Except the music, presumably, came
first.) It presses in on you uncomfortably from the off, opaque and unchanging.
The Irish folk elements are an ineffectual afterthought – a tin whistle-shaped
life ring thrown in long after the poor sap’s disappeared beneath the waves.
V:
Kasey looks like She-Ra, Princess of Power’s equally busty, dark-haired Irish
cousin. The postcard is the only evidence you’ll see that she’s not the living
embodiment of a Terry’s Chocolate Orange (and even then probably only because
they graded the picture in post-production). That on its own is but one of a
catalogue of WTF?s with regard to the staging here, however. Musically and
visually it’s the home of Eurovision losing the plot somewhere at the bottom of
the barrel it’s scraping.
26 Belarus
B:
Aah, ‘perhaps’! I was wondering what that word was in
the first line of the chorus.
A:
All that tutoring from Alex Panayi to get his diction
right and it still sounds like Teo’s saying ‘jizzcake’. Which would put a far
more interesting spin on the song, it has to be said. I rather like it, all the
same – pimped to perfection, it’s sassy without taking itself too seriously,
and while it’s probably at least one chorus too long, it’s still arguably
Belarus’ best entry to date.
V:
The only thing missing from this performance is the indifferent Japanese (?)
girlfriend. Teo’s as cute as his routine and has a great voice.
27 FYR Macedonia
B:
“Where do we go now?” Good question. I still say Vlatko Lozanovski with a
Željko-penned ballad.
A:
I hadn’t realised this was from the same pair that
gave us last year’s Macedonian entry, or that it makes a fitting final panel in
co-composer Darko Dimitrov’s Ninanajna-triggered
triptych. At least, I hope it’s the last we hear of him, on this evidence. Faceless
doesn’t necessarily mean hideous, but it ain’t pretty. Or impressive. (Apart
from the acoustic guitar, which I like throughout.)
V: Lines don’t get any more literal and yet
simultaneously ironic than “You better hold me, dance me, sway
like this forever / Take me dancing tonight”
given how rooted to the spot everyone is. Well, apart from the dancing nutjob
in the loony bin onesie. Tijana – who clearly stole Tamara’s hair from 2008 and
dyed it platinum blonde – sounds alright, if short of breath, for most of this,
but it all just looks a bit odd. The final frame’s good though.
28 Switzerland
B:
Full marks for “I’m so wet, I’m dirty” obviously, but also for this being so
brutally honest at times that it transforms a reflective portrait into an
essentially suicidal character assassination. And it’s all the better for it,
too – especially coming from a country like Switzerland, which otherwise seems
determined to say as little as it can as much as possible.
A:
There’s a languid quality to the banjo in this which
balances out nicely with the frenetic mind-set of the lyrics (and the fiddle).
It’s interesting that it’s not all that different an approach from the last
Swiss entry, but where that got it utterly wrong, this gets it entirely right.
The whistling, like Sebalter and his itinerant pronunciation, should be
irritating but is in fact quite endearing.
V:
Using up half their fireworks budget within the first three seconds was a
clever choice. They then go on to use up the contest’s entire quota of mugging
to the camera, but it’s so affable they get away with it. Not sure what I think
about the pre-recorded whistling, but I suppose it falls within the rules for
not being vocals per se. Besides, if he’d had to do it live it probably would’ve
sounded shit.
29 Greece
B:
Great rhythm to “Come on and rise up, jump out of
what gets you down”. I’ve no idea what the rap’s about most of the time; it
might as well be in Greek. Which basically makes this the bonus bilingual track
no one knew this edition of Eurovision was giving us.
A:
Does what it says on the tin, does it well and has a
blast doing it. The nearest it’ll ever come to a Grammy is that brilliant
gramophone intro, but so what. It could be lifted from any chart right about
now.
V:
Big love to the director and vision mixer here – I know from experience that
cutting between cameras like that during a live broadcast is hugely
complicated. The Greeks must have been chuffed to bits with how it looked. I
certainly am. Not sure what Riskykidd’s
repeated lapel flick is about; maybe it’s a nervous tick, or his jacket was
uncomfortable. Otherwise the whole thing comes across as spontaneous and fun.
(Not that random trampolines pop up all over the place, but you know what I
mean.)
30 Slovenia
B:
I wonder which bit of these lyrics the delightfully named Tina Piš was
responsible for. I hope it was “If we can’t change how we’re living / Isn’t
life just a lie that we feed?”, because I quite like that.
A:
As a piece of music I’ve always had time for this,
mostly because I’ve been trying to work out what the point of it is. With each
listening I’m reminded of the little bits I like and then denied any memory of
them as soon as it comes to an end. Which means unexpected moments of delight
every time, but as a song it’s just… there.
V:
Fantastic backing vocals. Fantastic lead vocals for that matter. More variation
in the lighting would be nice to differentiate between verse and chorus, but in
general Tinkara and the gang market this as effectively as they were ever going
to.
31 Romania
B:
“Now you know what it’s like… / …you just can’t deny
it’s incredible.” I beg to differ.
A:
I maintain that this has one of the most promising openings
of any song this year, but it’s a promise it never makes good on. The sum of
its parts is nothing to write home about, and it doesn’t even add up to them.
In the end it’s essentially two minutes in search of a key change to showcase
Ms Seling’s vocal abilities (which, in all fairness, are very impressive) and
is as bottom-drawer in its way as Quero
ser tua.
V:
The real miracle here is that Paula can still move her face to sing: what with
that and her strange gait she looks like a 70-year-old trying to pass for 30.
Her squealy bit is amazing, and the vocals generally are fine, but this is a
staging disaster compared to the simplicity of Playing with Fire. Ovi doesn’t even try to make his fingering of
the keyboard look convincing, and the hug is just creepy.
32 Germany
B: Posing a question like that in the title of your
song is asking for trouble. There’s an interesting echo of the Dutch entry here
in “She
turns over and looks to him / She tries to feel, and can’t feel anything / But
it’s so hard to say goodbye / When you know that it’s right”.
A:
Let’s be honest – you’re not going to have much fun with this if the accordion’s
not your thing. It’s not really mine, although I do enjoy listening to the
instrumental, which you could pin down as coming from anywhere between the Elbe
and the Dnieper and reasonably expect to be proven right. There’s some great
double-tracking going on in the chorus.
V:
I think Yazz had a secret German baby and named her Elzbieta. Anywhere would
have been an unenviable starting position for this, quite frankly, but Austria
is a particularly tough act to follow. The girls acquit themselves well nevertheless
and seem genuinely thrilled to even be there. The streamers are pointless.
33 France
B: Very droll, this, but also a well-observed sketch,
and quite withering. The fact that the one thing the guy wants but can’t get is
something as mundane as a moustache is both inherently funny and pathetic in
its way. “Je veux ci, je veux ça / C’est comme ci, c’est comme ça”
are cleverly chosen as hooks.
A:
It’s a bit like the musical equivalent of a pinball
machine, this. I love it. Other people seem to like it, too, albeit in many
cases against their better judgement; I don’t know why. It’s cleverly
constructed and spotlessly produced. More importantly, it’s fun!
V:
This comes across as the least rehearsed and least convincing of any
performance in the final. Luckily for TwinTwin, they don’t look like they’re
that bothered.
34 Italy
B:
The direct finalists have one thing in common this
year: whatever else they might have got right or wrong, they did good with the
hooks. “Voglio te, voglio te, voglio te” works well in this sea of words, which
paint a very unrestrained picture – one of few this year to truly say
something.
A:
On the pop checklist, the greatest crime this song
commits is failing to make a clearer distinction between its verses and chorus,
the former of which could perhaps have done with a little more subtlety.
Generally though it’s rich in incident, with plenty to keep you occupied and
catch your ear on repeat listens that you didn’t pick up on last time. Emma’s
vocals suit the tone perfectly.
V:
Love the imperial bling look. Ms Marrone oozes stage savvy, but possibly also
an unwillingness to adapt her usual style to the more… nuanced arena of ESC.
Not that she should, necessarily. Given the sheer amount of lyrics she has to
deliver here her slightly breathless rendition is understandable, but it does
have the unfortunate side-effect of making her sound less than pitch-perfect in
places.
35 Spain
B:
This is rather nice, like one side of a whispered conversation where the
absent-minded lady narrator keeps talking to her lover (or herself) in Spanish
before switching back to English so he’ll understand what she’s saying.
A:
You might not be immediately convinced that there are
some serious music credentials behind this song, but by the end you’re forced
to concede that they knew what they were doing. It’s by no means my favourite
composition in this year’s contest, but it’s solid and effective – moreso on
both counts than its reputation ever suggested – and manages to sound modern
and totally 1990s to me at the same time.
V:
Ms Lorenzo has wondrous wet-look hair, which she flicks fabulously. Indeed, she
does a sterling job generally. Everyone was worried she’d be the screamer, but
it’s one of the backing vocalists who sounds scarily like Anabel Conde circa La mirada interior breakdown towards the
end. The visuals are some of the most memorable of the contest.
36 Denmark
B:
Why the change from “OMG” to “Oh my God”, I wonder.
It fitted in nicely. #ZOMGLOL!!?!
A:
There’s a very cosy retro sound to this for a song
that has such a contemporary feel to its production – not least because it has
more than a touch of the Real Thing about it. Bruno Mars comparisons are
inevitable, too, but hardly unfavourable. My only real criticism is that once
it’s fixed on which path to take it doesn’t really stray from it, although the
acoustic lines demonstrate a pleasing streak of independence every now and
then.
V:
Feelgood bordering on cheesy at times, but it’s great to see everyone in the
hall up on their feet singing along and not only the fans at the front. Just
like their compatriots in Baku in 2012, Basim & co. are poster boys for how
integration should work in a modern multicultural society, which is just as
important – if slightly more highbrow – a message as the one they quite
literally fly the flag for on stage. Great vocals; great performance. I think
it’s the best (and certainly the most upbeat) home entry in years.
37 United Kingdom
B:
An anthem for the revolution of the depressed, this.
That whole first verse is fab, if rather dark and misleading of where the rest
of it’s going. The core concept – and the hook the whole thing hangs on – is
the least successful part of the song, lyrically.
A:
And musically. The rest of it’s rather intriguing;
entrancing even, in places. Fantastic strings throughout, especially in the
second verse. Molly has a beguiling quality to her voice, fluttery and croaky,
that works well for most of the song (again falling flat where everything else
does). Odd fusion though, all in all: not an unqualified success, but certainly
interesting, and a step in the right direction.
V:
Looks and sounds great, and the swirly henna motif’s lovely. If only someone
had advised Molly to sneer less and smile more.
And
so to the points...
1
point goes to Finland
2
points go to Denmark
3
points go to Ukraine
4
points go to Norway
5
points go to Armenia
6
points go to Hungary
7
points go to Iceland
8
points go to Malta
10
points go to Austria
and
finally...
12
points go to...
The
Netherlands!!!
