Like I said at the time, the fake applause needs to die, the flags need
to die and the script needs to die. All three features are symptomatic of a
production which, after the near-flawless job done by the Danes last year,
comes up short in all sorts of ways, regardless of having its heart in the
right place. It’s also an edition of the contest that’s plagued by a lot of
mediocre entries, hence the unusual final result, with the top 8 hoovering up
80% of the votes. At least we can be grateful that much of the dross was left
in the semis or languished on the right-hand side of the scoreboard on the
Saturday night: hopefully it will encourage a return to more diversity and
originality next year and prevent a repeat of what is by far my least favourite
ESC of recent times overall.
01 Moldova
B:
Some clever wordplay here you’re only ever going to get from the pen of a
native speaker (“Sky high when you pull me under” and “I’m not gonna let you
down / Your feet ain’t gonna touch the ground”) that in one fell swoop uses up
Moldova’s quota of correct English for the entire decade.
A:
This is a slick production, as you might expect from the pedigree of the
composers, but gets away with the team behind it sharing no connection with the
country the song’s representing by having a sleazy edge to it that suits the
performer and – call it prejudice if you like – the part of the world he hails
from. Very solid, all the same, and in studio at least young Eduard betrays no
trace of an accent. I assume he received some instruction on that front…
V:
…which didn’t extend to the stage, sadly. Irritating diction that turns the
killer hook into something like twont-twont-twont-twont.
That’s a minor issue though compared to the trashy performance, which while
vocally on good form is one bad idea after another, from the leather and the
uniforms to the ripping off of the singlet and the strangely lethargic
choreography. Decent opener all the same, although the epileptics in the
audience might disagree with me.
02 Armenia
B:
I love the irony of a set of lyrics to a song designed to commemorate an event
that took place a century ago basically saying “Are you still dwelling on the past? God, move on already!”
A:
In its quieter moments this is rather nice. Without the vocals, anyway. Musically
and vocally it’s a crescendo waiting to happen, and even when it gets there
it’s pretty underwhelming. The whole thing just feels meandering and aimless.
Coming straight after Moldova they make the cardinal mistake of sticking the
genealogist with the least convincing accent on first, and on the whole the
blend of voices produces more of a cacophony than a harmony. The semi-Japanese
one sounds good.
V:
Lovely graphics and colour scheme, and some aspects of the choreography work
well. The bit where they form a circle never does, but that’s mostly the fault
of the camerawork. Vocally the six of them sound OK together, but the operatic
melodrama provided by the Australian one verges on shrill at times, and it all
descends into a sort-of-hot mess come the final. Fab costumes.
03 Belgium
B:
“And if we die tomorrow / What’ll we have to show / For the wicked ways down
below?” These lyrics have a penetrating gaze that’s quasi-philosophical, but
mostly just ‘come hither’. Invitations don’t come much sexier.
A:
What a mesmerizingly minimalist experience it is to listen to the instrumental
version of this. The production is phenomenal, shifting and echoing; the
distant piano in the second verse is a particular highlight. The vocals are
equally well attuned to what the song is doing and saying, with some very
inventive double-tracking and backing vocals. Compositions this slick don’t
come along often.
V:
Every element of this has been thought through from start to finish. How I wish
it had won. Loïc is a star in the making and no mistake.
04 The Netherlands
B:
I’m guessing Anouk knocked this out in about five minutes. Apart from the puzzling
non-sequitur of the title – which seems to be doing the exact opposite of what
it’s intended to; I bet ‘walk along’ is an exact match for what you’d say in
Dutch – the lyrics are fine, but nothing more than serviceable. Except the
chorus, which is terrible.
A:
How much better this is without the vocals: you actually get to hear that
there’s something clever going on in the verses. You still can’t escape the
banality of the chorus, sadly, which numbs the senses as effectively as any
anaesthetic. The overall impression is that both the singer and the composer
are much better than the song.
V:
What a turnaround from Belgium – it’s like nothing
has been thought about here. Trijntje is in good voice, but that’s the only
thing that saves this from being a dark, ponderous disaster of epic
proportions.
05 Finland
B:
Sheltered accommodation sounds shit :(
A:
This is basically one man shouting over two lines of music, repeated ad
infinitum. Thankfully, infinity only lasts a minute and a half.
V:
I guess they enjoyed themselves…? It barely registers, which is strange.
06 Greece
B:
This is seriously like you’ve stuck a bunch of ESL students in a group,
brainstormed words often heard in ballads and challenged them to come up with
their own set of lyrics armed with nothing but Rhymezone. It sounds especially
forced in the opening verse, which makes me want to punch Maria Elena in the
face every time I hear it.
A:
I’m normally a sucker for the cello, but there’s something self-important about
this composition that sets me against the whole thing. (It certainly doesn’t
help that it feels so pompous but sounds a bit end-of-season.) To me it only exhibits
any real sense of knowing what it’s trying to achieve when it explodes into
would-be Bond theme territory towards the end – which, it’s no coincidence, is
the point at which it sells itself to you if it’s ever going to. Ms Kyriakou is
very breathy, which is both entirely and not at all appropriate at the same
time.
V:
Is it just me or does she look like a newsreader who’s surprised everyone at
the staff do by owning the karaoke? Judicious use of the wind machine and a
sparkly frock add to the decent if somewhat mechanical performance.
07 Estonia
B:
These lyrics were clearly the starting point for the borderline misogynistic
video that followed, although it’s Elina (or rather the protagonist she’s
playing) who’s the firebrand in this dysfunctional pairing. You can see from
her lover’s admission that “I didn’t want to wake you up / My love was never
gonna be enough” that there are two distinct personalities at work here, which
are cleverly twinned with the vocalists themselves – Stig being far more subdued.
It’s quite an insightful snapshot of a relationship, really.
A:
Hands down one of the best compositions Estonia’s presented at Eurovision. The
instrumental version’s a delight to listen to for the subtle layers and neat
arrangement it reveals, and for single-handedly showcasing Stig Rästa’s
song-writing talents. His measured, somewhat resigned vocals work well paired
with Elina’s, which exhibit far more fragility, again suiting their characters
down to the ground. Great harmonies at the end.
V:
Stig always looks (and to some extent sounds) adorably sleepy. The sepia colour
scheme serves this performance well, one in which both of them do exactly what’s
needed of them. The whole concept’s quite neat really. Elina tries a little bit
too hard with the chap stick in the eyes towards the end, but by that point
it’s academic – you’ve either fallen for it or you haven’t.
08 FYR Macedonia
B:
The use of autumn as a metaphor mightn’t be especially sophisticated, but it
works very well here in a compact set of lyrics that still manages to say a
lot. The lines “Hanging from our knees in the willow trees / Easy like the
month of June” are a little triumph for expressing the ease and movement of
both concepts.
A:
I’ve loved the package here from the moment I heard it – it’s one of the most
modern productions of the year. It very quickly betrays its Scandinavian roots,
but it’s not that far removed from what the Macedonians might come up with
themselves as to sound utterly foreign. There’s something very sympathetic about
Daniel’s vocals, too.
V:
Way to scupper the song’s chances…! In theory this had a decent shot at doing
well, or at least qualifying, and purely as a song still should have in my
view. But this performance, with its ill-advised ’90s boyband overtones and a
lead singer who at times isn’t even in the ballpark he’s trying to hit the
vocals out of, sinks it completely. A real shame.
09 Serbia
B:
However true it may be, the notion that true beauty lies within is even more
trite as a springboard for a set of lyrics than the transition from summer sun
to Autumn Leaves. That said, Charlie
Mason provides two of the most poetic lines of the contest in “Beneath the veil
of skin my heart’s entangled in / Beauty’s embodied”.
A:
There are some great touches to this that really come to the fore when you
remove the vocals, but that’s all they are. In toto this is just San Marino
2013 done right, and as compliments go that’s pretty much the definition of
back-handed. Bojana has a lovely, warm voice which necessarily goes a bit
bath’s-too-hot towards the end.
V:
Another WTF moment straight after Macedonia. Bojana’s far too pretty and has
far too well-developed a sense of personal style to be giving us Magenta from The Rocky Horror Picture Show in a
routine that’s positively Romanian ca 10
years ago for its bad styling. At least you can see what they were getting at
though, which is more than can be said for their neighbours. The audience lap
it up nonetheless, but then a Eurovision audience would.
10 Hungary
B:
This is admirable in its intent, and in a year that’s so much about saying the
right things to the right people its message is very on-trend, but it still
reads like something a precocious 14-year-old who’s going through a vegan phase
would write.
A:
Pared back and intimate; not quite as elegant as their debut, but thereabouts. Ms
Boggie even has the same sort of quality to her voice that Friderika had,
simultaneously powerful and brittle. The vocal arrangement is a textbook
example of how to take half-a-dozen people and make it sound like you’ve
recorded with an entire choir. The fact they’re so willing to fit the words
into the music however awkwardly it sits with their proper pronunciation isn’t
nearly as tsk-worthy as it might otherwise be.
V:
Visually and vocally arresting. The line-up’s a bit Israeli at the end, but on
the whole the performance is spot on.
11 Belarus
B:
Uzari informs us precisely nine times in three minutes that time is like
thunder, but I still don’t get it. Talk about painting yourself into a corner
lyrically – in terms of limiting himself there are few other words he (or
rather Maimuna and Svetlana Geraskova) could have chosen to bring the
rhymes-with count even lower. ‘Time is like an orange’? ‘Time is like an
elephant’? Mind you, they made a blunder when they didn’t plunder the gamut of
rhyming opportunities available to them*: where are ‘wonder’, ‘under’ and
‘asunder’?
A:
The Belarusians changed their Facebook status to In a relationship with Solid
Pop about three years back and there’s no sign of them breaking up yet. It’s
entirely unremarkable stuff though. I like the strings when they’re doing their
own thing, but mark them down when they and the vocals follow exactly the same
line in the post-middle-eight choruses.
V:
Maimuna’s a surly looking mare. I’m not one to advocate a plastered-on smile,
but she might at least have indicated she was vaguely happy to be there.
Uzari’s waxed for Vienna so immediately has points deducted. The stage looks
very empty for much of the song, which makes you wonder why they felt the need
to conceal the backing vocalists, and the streaming toilet paper motif does
nothing for the feel of the performance.
12 Russia
B:
Textbook anthem, although it was cruel of the writers to pepper it with so many
long vowels when Polina proves incapable of recognising any of them.
A:
The double bass is so exposed at the beginning there without the vocals that it
sounds like the orchestra’s just warming up. Not that that lasts long: we soon
get the first musical prick-tease of the year** that tricks you into thinking
the tempo’s about to be cranked up to disco inferno. But it remains steadfastly
MOR, which is a suitable label for the whole thing – as it was two years ago,
when they presented pretty much the same song, only without it being quite so
effectively anthemic. Polina’s voice has both a lightness to it and a
don’t-mess-with-me-motherfucker quality that suits something this punchy
perfectly.
V:
I’m still fascinated by the size and quantity of the bricks Ms Gagarina is
clearly shitting here. I suppose there’s no reason she should be less nervous
than anyone else; logically, given the unwelcome reception she may have been
expecting, she should have had more (not that she really got one in the end,
but still). I guess just because she has that kind of voice I feel like she
should be much more assured, rather than allowing her nerves to get the better
of her. In any event it’s easy to understand why the song did so well. I wonder
whether it was in reaction to the predominance of slowish stuff that they
subtly upped the tempo of the live version? It was a good move, whatever the
reason.
13 Denmark
B:
I love the lyrical shrug in the lines “I don’t know what it is you do / But you
do / And I can’t explain why”. There are also a couple of lines that are
(unintentionally?) effective for playing with their prepositions – “I wanna
take my time and spend it all on you” and “I’m hanging on to every single word
you say”.
A:
You only have to listen to the first couple of bars of this and you know
exactly how every chord’s going to progress. That’s not necessarily a bad thing
– it fits the ’60s vibe, and it certainly served a lot of songs from that era
well – except it’s just not particularly interesting. The Danes normally tread
the right side of the fine line with this kind of stuff, but as well-produced
as it is, this one’s a misstep. It also outstays its welcome by at least half a
minute.
V:
God, they’re so irritating.
14 Albania
B:
Fnaar @ “I know you will come with the speed of light”.
A:
Ooh, acoustic and percussive heaven, as I suspected it would be. The opening is
just glorious. It gets a bit busy towards the end, and is lacking a chorus now
just as much as it ever was, but there’s no denying it presses my buttons as a
composition. Not the sort of thing you except from a writing team calling
themselves Zzap’n’Chriss, frankly. Vocally it’s not quite what you’d expect of
a Voice of Somewhere winner, either, coming across as though it were designed
to test Elhaida’s limits rather than showcase her abilities. Numbered among
which, incidentally, English diction is not: at various points it sounds like
she’s worried about a damaged SCART and complaining that her other half shat on
her dreams.
V:
“I’m out of breath, I’m trying to find the words to say” – it’s almost as if
lyricist Sokol Marsi knew the thing would be impossible to sing…[Rewatches semi
performance] They were lucky to scrape a qualification, frankly. Ms Dani
doesn’t actually do a great deal wrong, but the sum total is still something
that just sounds wrong. [Final] She’s
more on song here, but it still sounds like a chore.
15 Romania
B: “Aș
zbura chiar și-o noapte-ntreagă / Spre zorii-n care ai fi tu / Ploile n-ar
putea să-nțeleagă / De ce nu cad când sunt tot ud” is delightful whichever way you look at it, although the fact you can
interpret it as a common-or-garden ballad does rather mean the point of the
thing is lost unless the message is hammered home. That said, a more direct
“won’t somebody think of the children!” approach would have quashed any charm
it does retain for being neither here nor there. The English bits are
surprisingly successful at reproducing the feel of the Romanian.
A:
So synthesiser much vocal manipulation wow. It struck me as odd from the off
that this was given as much credit as it was, because it does nothing more than
what it says on the tin and I really don’t think it’s very good. The lead
singer has a very slappable voice.
V:
Again, if your commentator hasn’t given you the backstory, good luck working out
what the suitcases are doing on stage and how it all fits in with the kid in
the shipping container. It’s not the cheeriest of subjects but the overall tone
is hopeful, so the predominantly black-and-white colour scheme is draining.
Sounds pretty good though.
16 Georgia
B:
I’m afraid these lyrics are still stucked in my mind for all the wrong reasons.
Still, she freely admits she cobbled the thing together in the space of a few
hours; it would be churlish to expect perfection.
A:
There’s not a whole lot more variation to this than there is in Finland, and
it’s just as insistent. It works, although I dread to think what it was like
before G:son gave it a polish.
V:
She’s like a spoilt child cosplaying her favourite graphic novel character and
throwing her hands out as if to say “Look, these are all the fucks I don’t
give” when people stare at her. (It’s nice to see her smile at the end, all the
same.) Considering the whole thing pretty much rests on that, it’s a risk that
paid off: there’s a lot happening on stage to grab your attention despite there
only being one person on it. [Addendum: when you can see it through the dry ice
in the final.]
17 Lithuania
B:
These Baltic women are a pushy bunch, aren’t they – first we had Elina being
the fiery one in Goodbye to Yesterday
and here we have Ms Linkytė eyeing up Vaidas like she’s in a supermarket full
of single women and he’s the only man left on the shelf. More fool her though:
the fact she’s in the confectionery aisle alone should be enough to alert her
to the fact he parks his bike up Cadbury Lane.
A:
The Lithuanians have never really given us anything this upbeat or infectious,
so it’s been a long time coming. Well worth the wait, it has to be said. Its
hybrid identity works in its favour; it could come from just about anywhere to
the north, south or west of where it actually does. Nice blend of vocals
between the leads, who handle the harmonies with aplomb.
V:
After the relative gloom of the first semi this is a much-needed breath of
fresh air, in every sense. It’s super-cheesy but knows it, which is an
important distinction in terms of whether it’s going to come across the way
it’s intended. The two of them are fine on the whole, but Vaidas is at times
less convincing. Perhaps he’s overwhelmed by the occasion, which is ostensibly
three minutes of him [consciously or otherwise] outing himself. Lost in the
moment, they overdo the ‘one kiss’ thing in the final but just about recover.
18 Ireland
B:
Ugh, teenage angst. In its own way this is every bit as insincere and irksome
as Russia peddling peace and harmony. If it’s an attempt to make amends with a
lover scorned, I don’t want to know – she’s only 16. If, as some have
suggested, it’s an olive branch to her parents apologising for being a sarky
cow, I still don’t want to know. Either way it reads like the creative writing
bit of a high school English exam the student’s convinced is deep and
meaningful but which only earns them a 5/10. On appeal.
A:
Another entry I like much more when it’s just the instruments. If Molly had a
hand in writing the music and not just the 10th grade essay she
sings over the top, kudos to her: it’s the best thing the Irish have given
Eurovision in a long time. The opening in particular is engrossing. The backing
vocals are a little bit too Ireland-at-ESC for my liking, but Molly’s own are
pleasing for being rather unusual.
V:
Hmm, let me revise that to ‘strained and peculiar’. Her make-up’s terrible, and
there’s simply no way of plonking a piano like that on stage and it not forming
an instant barrier between the singer and the audience. She catches the
camera’s eye a few times, but it’s obvious she’s forcing herself to. And yet
while all this makes the three minutes a challenging viewing experience and
explains the song’s poor showing, the smile she breaks into right at the end –
as if she can barely believe she’s there in the first place – makes up for just
about all of it.
19 San Marino
B:
“Just light up the candles, let them shine on deep inside” – preferably having
been shoved up the arse of Bernd Meinunger, from whose fecund bowels this shite
emptied like so much lyrical diarrhoea.
A:
Credit where it’s due – until we reach the chorus this is actually quite
interesting. All done by pressing buttons, but at least it produces a flicker
of hope that it might not be an utter turd. In the end it’s only about 90%
shit, which is an achievement of sorts for a song of its nature. It’s telling
that the backing vocals, without exception, are provided by Michele. He’s
clearly the stronger of the two, even in studio. Anita’s… well, you’d hardly
call it ‘rap’; ‘not-singing bits’? Whatever they are, they’re good for a laugh.
V:
Michele going for the ’50s matinee idol look is sweet, if misguided. Anita
going for the notes she’s supposed to hit is endearing, if mostly
unsuccessfully. But somehow the whole thing is less unbearable than it might
have been. ‘Could have been worse’ is hardly a ringing endorsement, but it’s an
achievement where this entry’s concerned.
20 Montenegro
B:
“Još me boli što je boljelo”
– then you’re not doing it right, Knez. There’s something inherently romantic
about Balkan Slavic, in every sense of the word. Nowhere else could you go from
“Procvjetao ruzmarin,
savio se bijeli krin” to “Meni sve na tugu miriše” in
one breath and still make it sound so beautiful.
A:
Željko trailing this as a departure from his normal style was a bum-steer, but
that’s where my complaints start and end. There’s more of a generic, almost
schlager feel to it than his earlier Eurovision stuff – count the key changes!
– but all his trademarks are there. As ever, they produce an atmospheric and very
effective composition. It helps that Knez sounds so much like him that it might
as well be a demo. Which is not to take anything away from the Montenegrin
singer, I hasten to add.
V:
Indeed, he provides some of the most assured vocals of the contest. He’s not as
disconcerting to look at as I thought he might be either, although all that
surgery has left him looking like a teddy bear that’s lost its eyes and has had
two small black buttons sewn in to replace them. This fits the backdrop, which
changes from a perplexingly dark sea-slash-moonscape to an equally perplexing
volcanic scene. Blackness seems to be the overriding theme in both, and neither
of them seem to fit the song.
21 Malta
B:
This may aim to “create something timeless” but whether it achieves it is
another matter. It’s by far the more comprehensible of the two Warriors on offer, which is a victory in
its own right given this is Malta we’re talking about. Indeed, the lines “We
are not the enemy / We’re just tired of suffering” are great.
A:
The chorus is a step up from the verses here, but for a song with those lyrics
it’s surprisingly apathetic. I mean, I know she says she had no choice but to
become a warrior, but really, both she and the song could try harder to
disguise the fact her heart’s not really in it. Damp squib of an ending. Amber
has the sort of vocals beloved of talent show judges (or at least audiences)
the world over but that just make me want to scream “sing properly!” at her.
V:
See what I mean? Kudos to her for fronting the thing entirely on her own, but
it doesn’t make it any more interesting.
22 Norway
B:
Ms Scarlett chiming in on the second chorus with “I better let you go / To find
the prince you thought you found in me” adds an interesting if inadvertent
twist to proceedings – which on the whole are an unsatisfying lyrical tease.
What did Mørland do as a child that’s so scandalous? If he didn’t murder his
entire family in their sleep he’s just being melodramatic. (Oh, and it seems
harsh but appropriate for a line like “Sing me something beautiful, just make
it stop” to come so soon after the likes of San Marino.)
A:
With vocals or without, I love this either way. It’s piano and strings – how
could I not? That said, the instrumental does show how important the vocals are
to the overall feel and impact of the song; they come together gloriously at
the end. As articulate as it is, there’s also something about it which makes me
understand why it failed to speak to a large portion of the audience. Perhaps
it brandishes its Nordic sensibilities a little too demonstrably.
V:
There’s a quality to flame-haired beauty Debra’s vocals that renders the fact
she’s not always note-perfect unimportant, which is lucky. Mørland looks like
he’s floating above the stage until the Running
Scared lighting moment reveals he does, in fact, have legs.
23 Portugal
B:
It must be Portuguese – it talks about salt/pine trees/honey.
A:
I desperately want to believe that the murky production here is the musical
personification of the sea that separates Ms Andrade from whoever it is on the
other side, but the only conclusion I ever draw is that it’s just a bit amateur
and shit. (I’d also like to think the opening line is a nod to Bem Bom, but doubt I’m on any surer
footing on that front.)
V:
Leonora’s rather pretty, so it’s a pity her default setting for this
performance is ‘intense’. Her urging the audience to clap along and indeed the
urgent camerawork throughout are characteristic of a song that needs an awful
lot of enlivening in that kind of setting. At least we get to see at the end that
she did enjoy herself after all. That’s some consolation.
24 Czech Republic
B:
I’d never noticed that the lyrical switch here is timed to coincide with the
key change, which is neat. Up to that point it’s so unremittingly dark and
depressed you expect them both to dive headfirst off the Charles Bridge to a
watery grave in the Vltava.
A:
If that opening swathe featured a bit more incident it could almost be incidental
music from a period drama – it’s positively Elizabethan. That’s the only truly
noteworthy thing about the composition though, which is professional but
unexciting, like one of the lesser numbers from a well-regarded but not
particularly well-known musical. Marta and Václav add the requisite touch of
grittiness.
V:
They’re also effortlessly sexy, and give us some first-class vocals. Inventive
use of the backdrop as well. Basically, the ingredients for a good result are
all there bar an accessible song – and while 33 points is a 266% improvement on
their best score to date, it’s still a pity.
25 Israel
B:
Sorry Nadav, but if you really are 16 then I’m sure your mama does know what you’re doing on the
floor. That’s unintentionally entendretastic though in a set of lyrics that has
far more obvious euphemisms (“Pull me, baby, I’m your trigger / You know that
my love is bigger”). The nod to Eurovision at the end is adorbz.
A:
All the way up to the first chorus this is one of my favourite numbers of the
year for actually sounding like it’s been produced by someone who knows what
contemporary music is supposed to sound like. Then we’re instantly transported
back to 2005 – and who would ever have thought a year could date so quickly? As
a complete package the thing works for being so tongue-in-cheek and
well-meaning, but there’s no ignoring the fact that the chorus is the albatross
around the song’s neck.
V:
The performance is the same mash-up of rubbish and genius, but it’s hard to
dislike a kid who asks you whether you like his dancing when he’s clearly just
a little bit self-conscious about showing it to you (and a hundred million
other people) but does anyway. And that’s the sense the whole thing has: it’s
just Nadav throwing himself into it, giving it his best shot, blushing a bit and
having fun in the process. What’s not to love?
26 Latvia
B:
I may well accuse Aminata of “becoming affected” if her lyrics were any less
homespun. They build a picture in any case which says far more than any one
individual brushstroke.
A:
You’ve got to love a song that’s not afraid to use silence and moments of
emptiness as musical punctuation. They’re one of many highlights here; another
is the whispering threaded under the main vocals. Ms Savadogo surprises for the
powerful transition from the verses to the outpouring of the chorus, and the
final oh-oh-ohs make for a fitting coda.
V:
What a triumph of camerawork and lighting. Vocally perfect as well, and within
the context of the performance Aminata looks entirely right. Latvia has never
delivered as complete a package at Eurovision; for that matter, very few others
have either. It’s remarkable to get both this and Belgium in the same year.
27 Azerbaijan
B:
This comes part of the way to greatness, but it loses momentum, and its sense
of direction. Still, there are worse pretensions to have than the purely
poetic. I’m hoping there are wolves in Azerbaijan, otherwise the metaphor
becomes completely alien (stemming, as it does, from a Swedish saying that
isn’t widely used in English). Must be a first though – a set of Eurovision
lyrics inspired by a cult movie. Ingmar Bergman would be proud.
A:
This is the first time the Azeris haven’t bothered to insist on at least a nose
flute or something to add some local flavour to the mix, and the song probably
benefits from it. Hugely rousing, as anything with that sort of instrumentation
and choral sound is, and every bit as classy as most of their other imported
entries have been. Elnur is far more palatable as a vocalist on this than he
ever was on Day After Day, if for no
other reason than the histrionics are significantly reined in. (Incidentally,
the sound on the instrumental version is so clear you can actually hear someone
clear their throat.)
V:
It’s last year all over again, with an oddly static performance in which
acrobats are employed to visualise the story while the singer stands and looks
at them. But Elnur’s more on the money than Dilara ever was, and the backing
vocalists are worth every penny, considering there can only be three of them.
28 Iceland
B:
For a 12-step programme (if I counted right), María’s lyrical journey here is a
strangely stationary one: more of a mantra, like she’s desperately trying to
convince herself to even take the first one. And not succeeding.
A:
This has exhausted its few reasons for existing before it even reaches the
minute mark. The only thing that even vaguely excites me about it is the piano
in the chorus, which subtly charts its own course, separated from the rest of
the arrangement.
V:
For a country that’s been as solid as Iceland has for the last decade, this is
a massive stumble. Which is ironic. OK, objectively it’s not all that bad, but there’s something about
it, and about pixie-like María, that screams talent-fest. Even with five
top-notch backing vocalists propping her up she falls flat. If the song had
more to it they might just about get away with it, but it doesn’t, they don’t
and it still astonishes me that so many people expected otherwise.
29 Sweden
B:
Bit of a mixed message for something so anthemic: “We can do anything … that
the voices in our heads tell us to!” Still, I suppose Måns could be a poster
boy for everyone everywhere who struggles on a daily basis to suppress their
psychotic tendencies. Top marks for the presumably accidental namechecking of
the previous entry.
A:
Despite entries like Goodbye to Yesterday
and This Time having something of
an American twang to them, they’re trumped by the Swedish entry, which goes for
the full cartoon wild west effect. There’s something very cartoon-like about
the whole thing, of course, in a good way, from concept to execution. But
however much people might like to claim that the performance is the only trump
card this has, there’s nothing wrong with the song itself: it’s a very solid
slice of anthemic pop that’s as much at home on the radio as it is on TV.
V:
You really can’t take anything away from that performance. Måns makes a complex
routine look easy, delivering flawless vocals – albeit in a lower key than the
studio version, which should feel
like a cheat – and commanding the stage. He’s also extraordinarily
good-looking. The only shock is that it didn’t win the televote, but then
there’s every chance that was down to the draw more than anything else.
30 Switzerland
B:
It’s like Serbia, Iceland and Azerbaijan all rolled into one, this. Hats off to
Mélanie for making the song completely her own, writing both the music and the
lyrics. Even if no one was particularly interested.
A:
I remarked when I first heard this that there’s something quintessentially but
also peculiarly Swiss about it, and I’m reminded of that thought now. I don’t
quite know why. Perhaps it’s the combination of being competent and laudable
but also slightly dated and not very exciting. The contrasts don’t help,
either: there’s an underlying sense of, I dunno, impending violence or
something that’s generated by the electric guitar and the synths that sound a
bit like a length of steel pipe being pulled out of a stack in some dank,
abandoned factory, and then we get a fucking tin whistle.
V:
Lovely assured performance from the dusky Ms René, who outshines some of her
far more experienced peers. At the end of the day, as good as it may look and
sound, it’s one of those performances that has no place coming last but simply
ends up there for lacking that certain something.
31 Cyprus
B:
“In your hour of need, I didn’t come.” Chin up, John – you can see your doctor
about that. I do like the progression (regression?) from “I always did
everything for you” through “I didn’t do everything for you” to “I nearly did
everything for you” as he deconstructs the relationship and takes his share of
the blame. Lines like “One day you think you have it all / The next you’re
staring at the wall” will resonate with anyone who’s been in a similar
situation.
A:
Mike Connaris unashamedly returns to his roots in Stronger Every Minute and delivers one of those rare beasts, a
sequel that’s better than the original. It gets a bit twee in the middle, but
the rest of it is delightfully straightforward. Its acoustic simplicity,
coupled with that of young Mr Karayiannis’ vocals, is a welcome addition to a
line-up in which so many of the other ballads overegg the pudding.
V:
Utterly charming.
32 Slovenia
B:
This forms a neat counterpart to Cyprus. “Everybody else sees in black and
white / You look at wrong and make it right / Can’t I open your eyes?” is
great. (Whoever Charlie Mason is, I hope the Balkans realise he’s a keeper.)
A:
There’s an awful lot to like about this entry, which is one of the best Slovenia’s
come up with. Musically it’s ploughing a furrow that’s not all that dissimilar
to Still in Love with You, except
that Maraaya do the whole ‘putting a modern twist on a classic sound’ thing
right and Electro Velvet do it wrong. Marjetka’s got the ideal voice to bridge
that gap as well. On paper, they’ve got a winner on their hands.
V:
In practice, they do just about everything they can to fuck it up, or at the
very least don’t do themselves any favours. From the strange androgynous
gimp-cum-mime artist playing the air violin to the ponderous shots of the guy
at the piano (and his later wink to camera), it just all adds up to a
performance I’d much rather watch with my eyes closed. It still sounds great,
and Marjetka’s vocals are studio-perfect, but that staging tells you it’s not
going to do nearly as well as a song of its calibre ought to.
33 Poland
B:
There’s an inordinate amount of depression being battled in the second half of
this semi. Admittedly Monika here has first dibs, but I do wonder with all the
‘building a bridge’ bollocks whether this wasn’t written specifically to fit
the theme of the contest. As if the whole thing isn’t calculated enough as is.
A:
This sets out its stall from the opening bar, and from a distance it’s rather
attractive. It’s only when you inspect it at close quarters that you realise
it’s offering nothing you’d ever want to buy. The woman behind it isn’t doing a
great job of selling it, either.
V:
It actually seems cruel showing those clips of Monika performing before the
accident that left her in the wheelchair. I hope for her sake she was a better
singer then than she is now; I still find it incredible, in the most literal
sense, that she qualified. The fabric softener background’s fetching.
34 France
B:
“Je
suis ici ce soir au milieu de ces ruines” – is Lys Assia in the
audience again? There’s something… prim and didactic about these lyrics that
rankles with me. Pretty they may be, but I don’t really need to be lectured to at
Eurovision. That said, the French achieve their aims more effectively than the
Armenians do.
A:
I admire this piece of music, but you won’t find me singing its praises from
the rooftops. Perhaps that’s because it’s the entry this year that to me most
resembles something from a movie soundtrack – the instrumental version could
easily be the incidentals accompanying some rousing speech as the troops go
into battle. I suppose in that sense the music and lyrics enjoy a happy
marriage, but since the words are enough of a history lesson in and of themselves
I don’t then need the instruments telling me how to feel about it.
V:
Lisa’s sporting a very ’80s gap in her teeth, and the little drummer boys
appear to be wearing their pyjamas. Not that these are the first things you
notice about this performance, which is visually and vocally very striking – so
much so that the pundits got overexcited about it in rehearsals and suddenly
started predicting good things for it. Alas, my kneejerk reaction to it proved
right in the end: who was going to vote for it?
35 United Kingdom
B:
“Oh yes?” That’s still my favourite line.
A:
The idea here is solid enough, and certain flourishes earn a nod, but it
honestly does sound like it should be advertising TV dinners. It’s trying to be
the Scissor Sisters with an nth of
the budget and credibility, begging the question: why bother?
V:
God love ’em, what a gormless pair. Bianca’s actually the weaker of the two,
which surprises me. The story goes that this was cooked up as an entry purely
on the potential of the visuals, and you can see why – they come up trumps with
both the art deco touches and the neon effects, which produce some great shots.
In fact, the whole thing’s about as good as it was ever going to get.
36 Australia
B:
A song that was written for Eurovision if ever there was one, but in a good
way, and for the right reasons. I suppose you could read it as planting the
seed of a winning reprise in the viewers’ minds, but equally it can be
construed as asking to stay now that they’re here.
A:
Or rather now that we’re here – I’m
not above claiming two entries as my own when they’re two of the most solid on
offer. To be fair, Guy Sebastian isn’t pushing any envelopes here, but he’s
certainly playing to his talents, which was the only sensible thing to do under
the circumstances. This may yet go down as the one and only Australian entry at
Eurovision, so he would have been mad to take any approach other than easy,
upbeat and melodic. And for something he’s happy to admit was written, arranged
and recorded in the space of a weekend, it knocks most other entries this year
into a cocked hat in terms of production.
V:
Child of a Pop Idol upbringing he may be, but he sure as hell knows what he’s
doing. That’s the overall package right there.
37 Austria
B:
This bears all the hallmarks of a tender ballad and wears its heart on its
sleeve, but that sleeve belongs to a coat that’s discarded – along with every
other piece of clothing – as soon as he walks in the door. It’s The Booty Call
Song, basically. I like the line “You’re a lesson I love learning”. (Eurovision
was a pretty harsh one for them, as it turned out.)
A:
I’ve always felt that this seems cobbled together from slightly memorable bits
of lots of other songs, and we all know what familiarity’s said to breed. It’s
very easy to listen to – as is lead singer Dominic Muhrer – and ultimately
rather likeable, but I also said the first time I listened to it that it
doesn’t really go anywhere. And it doesn’t.
V:
Fantastic vocals, and a class act all round. Even with a burning piano this is
the most understated home entry in donkey’s years.
38 Germany
B:
Superb set of lyrics, very much in the vein of their 2012 entry. Love it.
A:
Like Roman Lob before her, Ann Sophie here brings us one of the most
contemporary numbers of the year. Well, contemporary in an Amy Winehouse retro
kind of way. It’s one of only a handful of songs this year that sounds like it
had a life before Eurovision and will continue to have one afterwards (in spite
of the unjustified snubbing).
V:
Another classy performance. It takes a confident artist to spend the entire
first verse with her back to the camera, but Ann Sophie oozes stage savvy. I
love the cheeky little look she steals at her own cleavage as if she’s only
just noticed she has any.
39 Spain
B:
Given this song’s musical delusions of grandeur it’s underwhelming to discover
it’s nowhere near as OTT lyrically, despite so much love being bled all over
the place. She should be threatening suicide and sticking dog shit through his
new girlfriend’s letterbox, not pining after him from a distance.
A:
The strings are to die for, but I still can’t see this as anything more than
someone deciding the time was right to riff off Madonna’s Frozen. Edurne’s echoing vocals only amplify the sense of a song
trying to make itself bigger than it is.
V:
Bloody hell, she’s stunning. I think because she looks like a model you expect
her to sing like one too, but she actually acquits herself commendably enough
that you feel sorry for her when the last note ends on a strangled croak. It’s
not a powerhouse performance though by any means: the choreography is rather
directionless, the dancer largely superfluous and Edurne herself on the edge of
derailing at several points. The casting of spells or display of superpowers or
whatever it is tends to get lost in the mix as well.
40 Italy
B:
Bunch of size queens, these three. Great flow and rhythm to the verses.
A:
**This being the other one. Mind you, that’s all part and parcel of initially
disguising the fact that it’s popera rather than pop, but it’s a more than
decent slice of the latter and the most acceptable face of the former we’re
ever likely to see on a Eurovision stage. It’s still pure Il Divo stuff, but
it’s hard to deny its appeal when it’s done this well – as its ultimate result,
and in particular its televote victory, attests. Musically it’s much less
arresting once it does come out of the popera closet, but all it really needs
to do is to build effectively to that final, extended note and voila.
V:
And that’s exactly what it does. There’s an awful lot of good will for them in
the hall, which clearly extended to the televoters at home.
And
so to the points...
1
point goes to Hungary
2
points go to Cyprus
3
points go to Lithuania
4
points go to Norway
5
points go to Sweden
6
points go to Germany
7
points go to Estonia
8
points go to Australia
10
points go to Latvia
and
finally...
12
points go to...
Belgium!!!
A
matching pair of wooden spoons is awarded to Finland and Iceland.
