Business as usual and a little bit all
over the place at the same time, the 2022 contest will forever exist within a [geo]political
bubble we can only hope will be a one-off.
01 Albania
B: I love the cognitive dissonance inherent
in “I will never regret / You will be my secret”. There’s something
schizophrenic overall about this mash-up of English, random bits of Spanish and
Ronela’s native Albanian – which, not for the first time, comes across in lines
like “Po un nuk e di, nuk e di si kam me u ni” as some tribal chant. Oddly, the “Xhamadanin me vija” bit goes untranslated in the official
English version, and the best Google can offer is ‘The glass with stripes’.
Huh?
A: The
YASSSS QUEEN SLAAAAY fanboys saw this going places, but I never did. It’s more
of a mood board than a song. There’s a very cut-and-paste feel to it all, with
no obvious progression and an ending that appears to have run out of ideas. But
then for something that aims to – and should – feel modern, the ethnic
albatross around its neck keeps it anchored in the mid-’00s, and the
sub-Ruslana shtick just doesn’t wash. If it weren’t obvious enough that it came
from Albania, the producers hammer it home with the screech of an eagle, which
is pretty much the song in a nutshell: a bunch of sound effects thrown
together. The A-chorus (or whatever it is – the “Hey, I will never regret…”
bit) is the best part of the song, since it’s the only one that has an actual
tune.
V: It’s all very aggressively sexual, isn’t
it? Ronela throws herself into the role of brothel-keeping madam, but at the
expense of her vocals, which are already a little ragged by the halfway mark. Just
like the song, the performance is one set piece after another without much of a
throughline.
02 Latvia
B: These lyrics are clever
in their way, but I’ve always had the nagging suspicion that they (and the
lads) are taking the piss far more than they’re endorsing anything they appear,
on the surface, to be espousing. The ‘green Titanic’ bit in particular is a red
flag, while the entire second verse, and bits’n’bobs elsewhere, have an irrefutable
ring of objectification and macho bullshit about them. So is the song just them
whining about the lengths they have to go to to get into a girl’s knickers
these days, wrapping it up in straight-guy humour, or is it them actually poking
fun at that in a tongue-in-cheek, self-aware kind of way? If the lyrics are
pitched so that you’re never entirely sure one way or the other, I suppose it’s
1:0 to the lads.
A: This
doesn’t get far beyond the halfway mark before its conversation’s dried up, so
there’s a definite sense of it outstaying its welcome. You’ve got to hand it to
them though, that first line is one hell of an opening gambit. I’ve always
thought this is a very solid – and likeable – composition, taking all the best
bits of funk to give it a real lift and drive, especially in the final chorus.
The blend of vocals complements it as well. The saxophone shadowing the vocal
line in the chorus is unnecessary, but then you only notice it when you listen
to the karaoke version, and it comes into its own in the instrumental break
anyway.
V: Citi Zēni are “as well known for their
energetic performances… as they are for their cheeky lyrics”, and they deliver on both counts here – or rather
the audience does where the latter’s concerned, supplying what is no doubt the
most enthusiastic cry of “Pussy!” ever chorused by an army of gay men. As
slappable as the boys are – in different ways: whatsit who does the chorus
looks like he needs a backhander to snap him out of whatever state it is that
makes him look like he can’t move his head or face while singing – they own the
stage both physically and vocally in what is a very effective performance.
Well, not effective enough for them to qualify, but still. The final would have
benefitted from their energy.
03 Lithuania
B: Imagery like “Jis atplaukė juoda puta / Pamenu, kaip stoviu Nidos kopų vidury / Ir
žuvėdrai moju / Toli, toli…” has a sense of
dualism about it, in that it’s so wonderfully mundane and like a scene from a
Fellini film at the same time.
A: There’s something
sensuous and shifting, almost threatening, about this arrangement. The chorus
is the most straightforward and therefore accessible part of it, but the verses
hold more allure. It’s really quite fascinating, especially stripped of its
vocals, when it feels like an almost entirely different prospect: there’s so
much to discover in it. Once again, the last 30 seconds or so are where everything
comes together to cement the overall effect.
04 Switzerland
B: If nothing else, the
guff about Marius’ journey of self-discovery in his official bio ties in nicely
with these lyrics, which – I assume – are about being true to and honest with
yourself and others. They’re simultaneously simplistic and overreaching, but
their heart’s in the right place.
A: If
this had been the Swiss entry in 2019 we’d have no doubt considered it 1) a
huge step up from what they’d been giving us to that point and 2) a clear
attempt at emulating the success of Amar pelos dois. It fails at the
latter, but it’s still lovely; just not quite up there with their last few
entries. As contrived as the crackle of vinyl is, it adds to the sense of timelessness
(or old-fashionedness, take your pick) in the music, as do Marius’ croaky
vocals. The orchestration’s gorgeous, stripped back but swelling to fill the
space as the song progresses. It’s easy to hear why the Swiss saw potential in
it.
V: Potential to sell
it to the juries, anyway; the televoters were unlikely to lap it up. Especially
the way it’s presented in the semi, where paring things back tips over into
there being literally almost nothing to see. The projection of the broken heart
on Marius’ face never really works – in fact in the long shot it makes him look
like a medieval plague doctor, wearing one of those beak-like nosegays. (To be fair,
his fashion choices aren’t much better than that.) Almost everything that’s projected
on the screen throughout is unfathomable as well. He’s fine vocally, but there’s
not much connection there between him and the song, or indeed him and the
audience. Less so in the final, admittedly, where the changes they’ve made to
the performance are all for the better… if ultimately futile in winning over the
people at home.
05 Slovenia
B: “S sten gledajo me
slike / Spremljajo me vsak korak / Vrača mi spomine vsaka / Srce v solzah se
namaka.” Aww, Mr Bear was right –
boys do cry! Poor lad. I hope his ESC experience made
up for it, even if it ditched him halfway through as well.
A: Bless,
it’s like the unpopular kids in the music club run by their young and
desperately enthusiastic teacher volunteered to do the music at their school
dance. How this won any national final, ever, boggles the mind. I can’t be
doing with it or the lead singer’s reedy voice, which has no shade or character
to it whatsoever. The composition is the opposite of Latvia’s for me, just sort
of making do with what it has at its disposal rather than getting the most out of
the possibilities the genre offers up. It’s not incompetent, but the occasionally
wandering bassline and brass are the only vaguely interesting things about it.
The way it reverts to type after the incongruous but potentially effective dip
in the middle eight is very annoying. Uncharitable as it sounds, I couldn’t
wait for them to get the plug pulled on them in the semi.
V: The retro camerawork
here, while not always successful, is rather sweet, and Filip looks like he’s
cosplaying as Austin Powers. He sings well enough, and comes across as
sympathetic – unlike the knock-kneed keyboardist who keeps bouncing around and
mugging at the camera, and seems like a bit of a twat. The geometry of the semi-functioning
stage makes more sense here than it does for many other entries.
06 Ukraine
B: “Stefania is a tribute to [band member Oleh Psiuk]’s mother, which she
only heard for the very first time when she saw the band compete in Ukraine’s
Eurovision selection show” – and which seemed
to elicit no reaction from her whatsoever if her vacant expression was anything
to go by. (Maybe she blanked it because it pointed out she was going grey.) It
is, nevertheless, a touching tribute to her and indeed to any mother. It’s
impossible to ignore the fact that recent events have imbued the line “ломаними
дорогами прийду я завжди тебе” and its English translation “I’ll always find my
way home, even if all roads are destroyed” with far greater significance than was
ever intended.
A: The
song in the entirety of Eurovision history whose relative qualities have never
been more secondary to the sheer existence of the entry and, indeed, the
country fielding it. As well produced as the whole thing is, it’s the bits that
combine the traditional elements with the modern production that do the
business for me – rap has never been my thing, although I admire Oleh’s ability
to produce such streams of it. That said, there are some lovely musical touches
underlying it that you don’t notice are there unless you take the vocals away. Lead singer Tymofii Muzychuk has a
melancholy edge to his voice and delivery that suits the song (and the context)
perfectly. The clappy final chorus and instrumental ending are undeniably
effective but also make it feel like the song is treading water until it gets
to the three-minute mark.
V: Mr Muzychuk is incredibly
handsome, and has smoothed the rough edges off his vocals between Vidbir and
Turin. There’s some iconic imagery here – the swaying shadows and the looming
eyes in particular – that makes the performance stand out visually a lot more
than most. This is useful considering the distractions provided by the Kalush
guys themselves, whose blend of looks is… eclectic. Aspects of the staging work
really well, others less so; in any other year I doubt it would constitute a
winning performance. But there’s no denying the emotional tug of it. Even
watching it back now I found myself choking up a little towards the end, with
everyone cheering them on. It’s just such a powerful moment.
07 Bulgaria
B: I’d worried that
in deciding the running order the producers would put Ukraine back to back with
Greece, thus coming up with one of the most tactless pairings in the contest’s
history, so I breathed a sigh of relief when that egg-on-face scenario was
averted. However, it then struck me that the Bulgarian entry makes mention of “hot
flames… tearing me up”, of being sent to war and of the illusion of safety
being surreal and I thought: they dodged one bullet only to shoot themselves in
the foot anyway.
A: Still, the musical
contrast serves Ukraine well. It’s tempting to assume this was
internally selected by Bulgarian TV because thought it ticked the Måneskin
boxes, but that would be such a slap in the face to last year’s winners that
I’ll go with them just not having a fucking clue – which is very unlike them, and
therefore all the more perplexing. Perhaps it was the fucking budget they didn’t
have this time round. Either way, the song is pathetically, offensively middle
of the road even within its own genre, making a mockery of the band’s name and of
them styling themselves as a ‘vastly experienced supergroup’. The middle eight
is easily the most palatable bit of the whole thing, but very much in a bush-tucker
trial sort of way: the kangaroo bollock to the crocodile anus that is the rest
of the song.
V: Okay, that’s being
a bit unfair to it – both the instrumental version and indeed the performance demonstrate
a level of competence, but Jesus, it’s so boring that no amount of pyro or
lighting effects can make up for it.
P.S. What’s with the Elitsa erasure in the official bio? Stoyan “represented Bulgaria with [her] in 2007 with the song Voda” before “returning solo in 2013 with Samo shampioni.” Er, no he didn’t…? Maybe she just doesn’t want her name attached to it anymore. (If Stoyan were smart, he’d take the same approach with Intention.)
08 Netherlands
B: I’d not noticed
until checking the bio that S10 seems to have co-written this with a lesser-known
Marvel superhero: the delicious Krabman, presumably known for his trademark
sideways shuffle and constant itch. He’s quite the catch: their collaboration plumbs
the depths of self-doubt in relationships, with lines like “Ik bijt weer op
mijn tanden en ik weet dat jij dat ook doet / Maar god wat moet ik anders,
wanneer is het genoeg” reflecting the sense
of being pulled under and struggling to work out which way is up.
A: Head
and shoulders above everything else so far, ironically. It’s brooding, but
catchy and accessible, and the language works surprisingly sympathetically.
Stien’s echoing vocals add to the already palpable sense of atmosphere. You’d think
the ooh-oohs and da-da-das would undermine the overall effect, at least to some
extent, and yet they make perfect sense leading into and accompanying the crashing
chorus. But as much as her voice is the thing the rest of the song is anchored
around, the instrumental version is utterly absorbing.
V: See, Switzerland?
This is how you do effective minimalism. See, Bulgaria? This is how you get
lighting to enhance your performance. “The darling of the Dutch alt-pop scene” gives
a lovely performance here, solid but vulnerable. It’s brilliant to hear the arena
chipping in with their own oohs and aahs.
09 Moldova
B: Despite the whole Chișinău–București thing, I’d not
realised these lyrics had something to say about the ties that bind Moldova to Romania;
I’d unfairly assumed they peddled the same banality as the music. But the questions
asked in “Merge și nu poate pricepe: / Care țară? Unde-ncepe? / Țară veche,
țară nouă, / Parcă-i una, parcă-s două” are surprisingly existential, while also
serving as a gentle swipe at outsiders’ inability to tell the countries apart
or lack of awareness that they exist as separate entities in the first place.
Or, for that matter, at all.
A: The
term ‘diminishing returns’ feels like it was coined to describe Zbod şi
Zdub’s Eurovision oeuvre, at least in musical terms; the results speak for
themselves. You’ve heard everything this song has to offer before it’s even
notched up 45 seconds, after which it’s just repeated again, and again, and
again. The ‘heavy metal’ makeover that sections of it were given, as uninspired
as the entirety of the Bulgarian entry, add nothing to the song but do at least
go some way to breaking up the monotony. It’s the Brothers Advahov who provide
the composition with its only interest-piquing moments in the line they take
with the fiddle and accordion.
V: The consummate
showmen. This is a smiley, upbeat performance that’s nevertheless surprisingly
static; colourful, but with basic choreography and limited movement. Works though
– there’s no reason to take umbrage at their televote success. The aforementioned
brothers are the cheery cherry on the cake.
10 Portugal
B: The English lyrics
here are lovely and perfectly attuned to the music, but it’s the Portuguese
verse in its entirety – “Tem tanto que trago comigo,
foi sempre o meu porto de abrigo / E agora nada faz sentido, perdi o meu melhor
amigo / E se não for demais, peço por sinais / Resta uma só palavra / Saudade” – that really does it for me, for its rhyme
and rhythm and gentle flow as much as the ingenuousness of what it’s saying.
A: Portugal’s
renaissance at Eurovision (if it can be said to ever have enjoyed a substantial
period of success in the contest) has largely paralleled that of the
Netherlands, but been much more understated and, at times, underappreciated. Not
with this though, which continues their run of quality entries that
combine traditional elements with a modern production and sound exactly the
same on stage as they do in studio. The instrumental opening, Maro’s vocals and
the harmonies encapsulate everything the song is about. It’s amazing that
something which gives us more or less the same four bars for almost a minute is
so effective. The introduction of the acoustic guitar towards the two-minute
mark, like the vocal arrangement accompanying it, is glorious.
V: The
harmonies are even more effective live, sending shivers down the spine during the
verse in Portuguese. I feel the intimacy of the performance is punctured a
little by Maro’s eyes roving around the arena while she sings; I’d like to
think it’s about connecting with the audience, but I suspect she was just so chuffed
to be there that she was pinching herself the whole time. It doesn’t distract
from the beauty of the song at least, which has even more impact coming
straight after Moldova in the semi and between Romania and Finland in the final.
11 Croatia
B: I love that the protagonist
here is torn by the situation but not at all ashamed to find herself in it,
pragmatic enough to embrace the fact that for a lot of people, love isn’t
nearly as black and white as it’s made out to be. “I’m with him until the death
do us part” is a clever bit of wordplay.
A: An
unexpected and delightful change of gears from Croatia, beautifully and very
thoughtfully arranged and with a fantastic vocalist in Mia. It makes smart use
of backing vocals and vocal effects, too. The acoustic glissando is a delight.
There’s a real tug and upswell to the whole thing. In the best possible way, it
sounds like it could come from anywhere.
V: Kudos to them for
the story they’re trying to tell through modern dance, but all sorts of unfavourable
choices were made here. Mia sounds great but has none of the effortless cool
she exuded in Dora, weighed down by an outfit that does nothing but distract, while
the choreography, as clever as it is in parts, necessitates camerawork that leaves
the whole thing looking and feeling disjointed – which fits the lyrics, but isn’t
great for TV. The switch to Croatian is ineffectual as well, since it just feels
like they didn’t have the courage of their convictions in going with English in
the first place. None of this does the song itself any favours, to the extent that
they were lucky, in the end, to come as close to qualifying as they did. A real
shame.
12 Denmark
B: I’m all for the female
empowerment message here, but there’s a clear mismatch between the intent – being
told to make sure you fit in, but doing your own thing and not being afraid to
stand out – and the ironically faceless outcome. “You can’t stop me!” Well, the
juries and television audience can.
A: I
much prefer the first minute of this to the other two, but it’s a
lesser-of-two-evils situation. There’s something about both the theme and the
delivery that makes the entire thing come across as inauthentic and
unconvincing to me, even amateur. The key change and pat ending only compound
that feeling. Every time the song comes on, it immediately puts me in mind of
the Irish entry from 2009. In this line-up it’s as gormless in its way as Disko,
and I always assumed (and, cruelly, hoped) that it would share the same fate. In
isolation, the piano opening reminds me of the theme tune to Days of Our Lives.
The woodwind that eventually accompanies it before the whole thing goes
rock-lite is rather nice.
V: It’s like a
Bangles tribute band. The Bungles? Not that you can call them out on much for this
performance, which is solid, right down to the colour-blocking. As ever though
I find the wandering-away-from-the-piano thing annoying (she sits at it for a
whole minute and never once does the camera show her actually playing it), and
the fake laugh right at the end rings hollow. But apart from that it’s a decent
showing. Shame the song’s pants.
13 Austria
B: The official bio
bigs up LUM!X’s electronic music credentials and the vocal skills and performance
experience of Pia Maria (whose name sounds like a brand of knock-off alcohol
you’d find at Lidl) such that none of them being borne out in Austria’s end result
feels even more glaring for its incongruity.
A: To quote my
husband: “Christ, it’s shite.” I can’t stand the torturously processed
vocals she had no hope of reproducing on the night or the enforced clapalong-a-club-anthem
feel it’s going for. The accessible melody is its only saving grace, although
the ethereal backing vocals in the bridge that the karaoke version reveals are
an unexpected find.
V: Is that how the
kids are dressing these days? Not nearly the vocal trainwreck I remember it
being, but virtually everything in this performance is about damage limitation.
I get the logic of them using live backings to shore up Pia Maria’s not considerate
vocal talents, and applaud them for it, but it somehow contrives to make
everyone sound more exposed. Then there’s the two of them literally being
hemmed in by the halo of lights: they clearly didn’t want to give them an
entire stage to cover. I doubt either of them will be featuring on posters
adorning the wall of young queens any time soon, but at least Pia Maria seems
to have had a blast if her girly reaction is anything to go by.
14 Iceland
B: I’m guessing there’s
a lot of allegory in these lyrics, which seem very poetic even to someone who
has next to no handle on Icelandic. “Í dimmum vetri – vorið væna / vermir þitt
vænghaf á ný / Og hún tekst á flug / svífur að hæstu hæðum / Og færist nær því
/ að finna innri ró” is clearly taking its imagery and applying it to something
else altogether, which can be interpreted in the
light of Sigga, Beta and Elín’s trans activism or,
I suppose, however you like. Either way the words are beautiful.
A: This
wormed its way into my affections very quickly once it finally got me to take
notice of it. Vaguely mysterious, there’s also something very finely homespun
about it that I adore. The vocals build beautifully but economically on the musical
foundations, in whose quiverings and reverberations I roll around in the
instrumental version like a pig in the proverbial. As a soundtrack it tells
such a meaningful story in its own right.
V: Virtually
identical to the Söngvakeppnin performance, and none the worse for it, since the
song and staging came ready-made. Some of its potency is diluted in the final
by sheer dint of it being in the downtempo second half, but it’s all as lovely
as ever. Iceland has never sounded so Icelandic.
Note: I wasn’t aware it was their brother on drums, which makes me wonder why they didn’t call themselves Syblur (or whatever the Icelandic for ‘siblings’ is) instead.
15 Greece
B: “I’m in your back
seat / You are driving me crazy” is one of the year’s better bits of punning,
although it really does feel like the car should then be driven off a cliff to
explode in a fireball as it hits the rocks below. I know we’re not meant to
take the lyrics literally, but they can’t help but make it sound like a suicide
pact.
A: That
cold opening ruthlessly betrays the song’s Nordic roots; the first half
couldn’t be less Greek if it tried. The bombastic second half feels more at
home representing the country, even if the maudlin subject matter doesn’t.
Overall it fails to move me, since to my mind it never really capitalises on
its potential, of which it has quite a bit. Plus there’s just something, I
don’t know, weak? underwhelming? about Ms Tenfjord’s voice that stops me from
being sold on it. The chorus works better in that respect, but only the first
time round. Apart from the fascinating treatment on the backing vocals in the arresting
introduction to the instrumental version, the middle eight is by far my
favourite bit of the song, probably because it feels like it’s been patched on
from something else altogether.
V: An astonishing first
minute here gives ways to a less focussed but nevertheless absorbing performance
it’s hard to take your eyes off. The stage looks extraordinary in wide shot
with the gradated blues and white lights,
however obvious a combination they are given the country they’re showcasing. (They
make up for the overhead shot of the melting chairs, which looks more like
bacteria multiplying in a petri dish.) Michelle Gomez’ Greekwegian daughter produces
finely controlled vocals in the semi, which then flatten out somewhat in the
final once the pressure’s off. Still, she brings it when she needs to.
16 Norway
B: Combined with the
whole Jim/Keith thing, “I really like… / That hairy coat of yours with nothing underneath”
and “I like… / That hunger in you – I’m in danger now, I guess” make this a
delightful combination of the homoerotic and the humdrum.
A: A
work of genius, or madness, or both. For a ‘lightweight’ entry it has
surprising depth to it: the opening and closing verses are an acoustic treat. I
like the rest of it as well, even if it labours the point in stretching itself
out to three minutes. The arrangement of the synths in the second verse adds an
effective moment of variety, although the production as a whole is more layered
than it initially appears to be.
V: An obvious
qualifier, but it’s easy to see why it plateaued in the final. The backing
track deserves an on-screen credit, providing about three-quarters of the
vocals; the rest of the time is spent trying to work out who (if anyone) on stage is singing. They clearly
are though, so that’s something. And in any case it’s daft and fun, and good
enough not to be dismissed as a novelty entry.
17 Armenia
B: Getting the most out
of the multiple meanings of ‘snap’, this is a clever set of lyrics that feels
very genuine and has plenty to recommend it. I particularly like “Turns out people
lied / They said just snap your fingers / As if it was really that easy / For me
to get over you” and “My heart‘s been
on fire / I’ve been spending my nights / In the rain trying to put it out”.
A: The
most competitive entry Armenia has fielded for some time, and worthier that its
final result would suggest. The track itself is yet another acoustic (and this
time percussive) delight, but everything is anchored around Rosa Linn’s vocals
in a way that most other songs this year aren’t. I would have considered holding
off on the echoing backing vocals until the second chorus, but they probably felt
the first one needed them to distinguish it more from the verses bookending it.
V: That toilet tissue
tree Hayko planted in Helsinki finally paid off. It lends the set rather an odd
look, all the more so when bits of it are ripped off to reveal the ugly
calligraphy underneath. Working against this, Rosa Linn gives a very confident
performance for someone so inexperienced, sounding fantastic throughout. The hold-your-breath
moment in the semi that is her failed first attempt at tearing away the paper seal
across the porthole turns to a sigh of relief when she handles it like such a
pro. Her heart might have skipped a beat, but if so, her vocals don’t betray it
for a moment. She’s on song again in the final, although I’m not sure the
pyjamas look is an improvement.
18 Finland
B: It seems fitting
that a song whose title is a word that hasn’t been in common parlance since
about the 1950s should be co-written by someone with as old-fashioned a name as
Desmond. The reference to the crucifixion hints at the Jezebel in question being
the Biblical queen of Israel rather than the harlot or hussy of colloquial renown,
but the lyrics as a whole tend towards the latter: less Phoenician princess,
more bewitching siren with an insatiable appetite for cock.
A: This
was seen in certain quarters as the logical continuation of the Finns’ previous
entry, but it has a lot more in common with schlager than it does any sort of
metal. For that very reason, the one previous ESC entry it reminds me of most
strongly is Eyes That Never Lie from Belarus back in 2009. It’s OK; certainly
well produced, but there’s something… I dunno, complacent about it that stops
it from appealing to me more. The only surprising bit is the electric guitar
quietly doing its own thing in the second verse. Lauri’s vocals sound like they’re
being tested even in the studio version.
V: The static sun
suits the bumblebee colour scheme perfectly, certainly more so than the
balloons, which just look a bit cheap. Presumably they’re behind the choice on Lauri’s
part – the man who must surely hold the Guinness record for the world’s highest
forehead – to open the performance by giving us a poor man’s Pennywise. He’s
very unconvincing at first, struggling to land any of the lines, but comes into
his own once he’s able to let rip. (He’s stretched noticeably thinner towards
the end in the final, however.) His hair makes him look like he’s been pulled
through a hedge backwards.
19 Israel
B: “And if you’re
asking who’s gonna take it all / You know I am”. It was a rhetorical question, honey.
A: I’m not sure what’s
most irritating here. I think it’s the Middle Eastern™ interlude,
but the useless piccolo (or whatever it is) they added to the non-event of a chorus
comes a close second. And the coy tee-heeing an even closer third. Overall, as
a composition it’s only slightly ahead of Albania in terms of how it’s been
cobbled together from so many disparate parts.
V: Before
this won X-Factor I said it would make a fun addition to this year’s contest
provided they Drag-Raced the shit out of it in Turin. They didn’t, and however good
a vocalist our Mr David is, there just wasn’t enough for juries to vote for,
and insufficient spectacle – or perhaps a surfeit of it, but none of it sufficiently
engrossing – to garner it the televotes to counter that. The whole thing is one
massive arched eyebrow. (Which is what Slavko thought he was serving back
in 2017, without ever coming close.)
20 Serbia
B: “A critique of the Serbian healthcare system and a
satire on unattainable beauty standards,” In corpore sano is a safe bet as the only Eurovision entry
that will ever mention that most overlooked of internal organs, the humble spleen.
‘Biti zdrava’ makes for an unlikely but very effective hook.
A: This definitely
has interesting things to say and a very strong artistic concept underpinning it.
Ana Konstrakta’s
architectural background is perhaps reflected in the composition, which is very
much at the modern, more innovative end of the spectrum. Even if the language
failed to pinpoint it as emanating from the Balkans, the backing vocals certainly
would. The echoing elements work well, underscoring the questioning nature of
the piece, which has all manner of layers to it. It feels a tad bitty (…zdrava), but only because
your ears keep darting between the elements that are vying for your attention. Very
much a work of art, without tipping over into pretentiousness.
V: It’s funny
watching this back now; I can see why it grabbed people’s attention, of course,
but it’s not as clean a performance as I remembered it being. Certain parts of
it are a bit disjointed, and Ana herself, both vocally and in terms of the
performance, feels as though she’s going through the motions. As elsewhere, you
can argue that this is in keeping with the lyrics, but it does undermine the overall
effect. Not in a catastrophic way, as its result attests, and it feels slightly
less mechanical in the final in any case. In purely aesthetic terms, I wish
they’d displayed all of the ‘subtitles’ full-screen and that they hadn’t seemed
quite so random.
21 Azerbaijan
B: “Do you really
want no part of this?” he asked. “LOL, no,” said the televoters.
A: Better
than I gave it credit for on first listening, but it’s not a wise move to spend
80% of your allotted airtime teasing the audience and then going all-in in the
last 30 seconds. Juries, if they’re doing their jobs properly, are duty bound
to listen till the very end and judge accordingly, but televoters are under no
such obligation. What is there for them in an A-chorus so devoid of content
that the background hiss sounds like an instrument in its own right? Nadir’s
gravelly delivery of the word ‘weather’ also grates (especially the first time)
(and especially live) but makes more sense as the song progresses, while the spiralling
high notes at the end are eye-popping. It’s all rather overwrought, in fact. I
predicted it might end up giving the Azeris their second NQ, and it should have:
never has one of their entries been so roundly snubbed by the viewers. Nadir indeed.
V: Those high notes
are basically all this performance is about – regardless of the mirrored
theatre that’s playing out on the bleachers, the two minutes leading up to them
are very easy to pay zero attention to. The way Nadilbo Baggins addresses the final
lines to his dancer raises some interest questions, and if it’s a bury-your-gays
trope, it’s worth noting that it’s the Black guy who dies in the end. (I wonder
why the haircut before the final. Was it a bet or a promise that he’d shed his
locks if he qualified? Did they find a spider nesting in there?) “I need some
time to fix this” is surely what the HoD said before messaging his Sammarinese,
Montenegrin et al. counterparts in their ‘Usual Suspects’ WhatsApp group.
22 Georgia
B: The official bio, which
is kooky but thoughtful and tongue-in-cheek, raises a smile for so neatly reflecting
everything the band seems to be about. “Sonically unique” and a philosophy that
“lies in the complete neglect of musical frameworks” sum them up perfectly.
A: Kudos
to the Georgians for consistently doing their own thing at Eurovision and
bugger the outcome. This is likable enough for the principled indifference, but
it almost goes out of its way to give people reasons not to vote for it: the
verses, in all their iterations, seem wilfully one-note. (The instrumental
version reveals they’re about one-and-a-quarter-note, not that it helps.) The
chorus is a much more attractive prospect, and once you’ve heard it the first
time, you’re only really interested in returning to it and blanking out the
rest.
V: In one of my more
straw-grasping predictions this year, I said the televoters
might have more time for the overall package here if the boys from the circus
managed to sell it colourfully and convincingly enough. Sadly, “Trying hard
will not get you really far” could be the tagline for this performance. It’s a
total trip: bonkers, but incredibly slick at the same time, and a lot of thinking
has gone into it. It sounds and looks way better than I ever thought it would.
23 Malta
B: Trite lyrics. Most
people were happy to leave it, as it turned out. I know she thinks she’s being
an ally, but it just comes across as a pretty white girl blathering on about
the struggles of being privileged.
A: Jettisoning
a bland but competent placeholder in favour of an equally bland but competent
replacement was an odd move, but the Maltese clearly had more faith in this
run-of-the-mill anthem than they did in Out of Sight, however misplaced in
the end. I don’t think there’s a
single noteworthy thing about it.
V: To
be fair, it might have scraped a qualification if Emma had done it more justice
[than it deserved]. She’s never more than passable, exhibiting none of the
poise or power she did performing the song that won her the ticket to Torino in
the first place. This one tests her in unhelpful ways, resulting in three
uncomfortable minutes in which nothing is a disaster and yet nothing seems to
fall into place either. She urges the crowd on, no doubt because she was
scripted to, but you have to wonder whether she sensed that the audience weren’t
really engaging. On the plus side, her sparkly dress is a winner even if she’s
not.
24 San Marino
B+A: The
body ink, manscara and queer trappings do little to disguise what a banal list
song this is, both lyrically and musically. The only highlight of the former is
the description of Achille’s heart as a sex toy. The latter is so derivative
that it all but renders the thing void. There are some nice touches with the synths,
but they’re few and far between.
V: I’ve
learned to my cost that you should never underestimate San Marino’s ability to
find enough buyers for the tat it’s peddling, so I’m still mildly surprised
this didn’t make it, especially with the ‘home crowd’ advantage. Mr Lauro would
have had to try very hard to seem more bored by the whole thing in Turin than
he did in the national final, but while he’s clearly more into it, there still
aren’t many fucks being given here. Sure, all sorts is flung at the screen to
hold your attention, not least the mechanical bull – but that ultimately becomes
the perfect metaphor for the song and performance as a whole.
25 Australia
B: Peak irony: ‘not the
same’ is repeated 14 times.
A: Pompous,
self-important and yet astoundingly boring, this is an exercise in vocal gymnastics
in search of a song. Not even the orchestration or its audible squeaks can save
it.
26 Cyprus
B: The few lines in
Greek aren’t interesting per se, but they add a hint of flavour to the lyrics,
which otherwise have little to say for themselves.
A: I
don’t know which 20-year-old drawer they pulled this out of, but it’s
charmingly uncompetitive by recent Cypriot standards. The bridge into the chorus
– which is to say the bit in the studio version that sounds least like the rest
to me – is my favourite part of the song, but the pluck of the bouzouki (or
whatever it is) is pleasant, and Andromache has a nice voice. On the whole
though it feels like a leftover Antique album track. Not surprisingly, given that
it shares one of the band’s former songwriters… among the nine (!) it took to
write the thing. Did they take one instrument each?
V: Andromache acquits
herself well enough vocally that skirting the edges at times isn’t enough to
derail them, but beyond that her performance is rather robotic, or at least
devoid of personality. Since most of the wavy-arm choreography in the bridge is
presented in long shot, the one close-up we get makes it look like she’s asked
the dancer to hold her microphone while she zips up her dress. The oversized
prop meets with mixed success: clearly inspired by Botticelli, it ends up
looking part cartoon octopus, part 3D model of uterus and ovaries, and the
projections used to light it create shadows that simultaneously complement and
obscure the movement the three lasses are giving us. In the end, like Malta,
the performance is more or less okay but never really lands.
27 Ireland
B: “Take your mirror
off the wall / Ain’t you getting bored of your reflection?” is a pointed
opening salvo in a set of lyrics that packs the punch it’s aiming for.
A: It’s
bizarre to think this is only, what, the second female uptempo number Ireland’s
ever entered in the contest? Kudos to them for doing so with something that actually
sounds contemporary, as reflected in both its minimalism (musically, the chorus
is barely distinguishable from the verses) and its attitude. I’m not a fan of
the ‘rap’, but it adds to the sass and leads into the most unapologetically
in-your-face bit of the song. I do like the floaty vocals backing the first
half of the second verse.
V: Though
they were starting from a good place in the semi, I doubted in Ireland’s
ability to capitalise on it – partly because there seemed to be something chavtastic
about Brooke that I wasn’t sure would do her any favours. As it turned out, she
put in a pretty strong showing, outclassing Andromache in the personality stakes
within about half a bar, even if treading too fine a line vocally at times herself.
Overall the performance is fine; not entirely convincing, but better than
expected, and it was nice to see the Irish throwing a bit of money at their
staging for once. However short-changed it must have left them feeling.
28 North Macedonia
B: Some things never
change, with these lyrics maintaining the Balkan tradition of getting to the
halfway point and then just repeating themselves. Which, I suppose, is more
appropriate here than it might otherwise be. “Can you stop calling me baby / I’ve
made up my mind already” presses the point home effectively.
A: A
second strong contemporary female number in a row, but as the line-up crystallised
it somehow faded into the background to the point of vanishing. Nevertheless, I
liked the angry, urban edge to it from the off, if for no other reason than it felt
quite different for Macedonia. It doesn’t evolve much in its three minutes, but
it does ramp up the tension.
V: Somehow, amid all
the cheese and chit-chat of our Semi 2 party, I managed to miss Macedonia
completely, despite being sat in front of the TV the whole time it was on. So
watching this now might as well be the first time – and what a revelation it is!
Andrea, that unknown quantity it seemed everyone throughout the on-season assumed
wouldn’t be able to sing her way out of a paper bag, absolutely nails it. The
song itself feels a little empty when she’s not filling the void with her
vocals, since there’s not a great deal happening on or around the stage and she’s
the only thing on it, but even so. What she’s singing about accounts for her permanently
downturned mouth, so it’s nice to see her crack a genuine smile at the end. Even
though she didn’t qualify, I hope that if she did get any shit back in Skopje
for that whole ridiculous flag thing that she turned around and pointed to this
performance and said, “Look at that, you fuckers, look what I did for you.”
29 Estonia
B: “We’ll be the last
ones breathing here.” It’s unforgivable! This is an unexceptional but
nevertheless uplifting set of lyrics for an affirmational anthem.
A: Stefan’s
strongest entry to date, in spite of his terrible diction, so I’m glad it was the
one that earned him the ticket to Eurovision. It does everything you’d expect a
song of its ilk to do, right down to the echoes of Ennio Morricone. It’s more
homage than pastiche though, even if it does feel like an exercise in ticking
things off a list at times. There’s an undeniable pull to it: it’s a real toe-tapper
and no mistake.
V: Sing your heart
out, boy! Great stuff.
30 Romania
B: In the wake of the
Australian entry, “Knew that I was different than the others” as an opening line
immediately puts me on my guard, but it turns out these lyrics aren’t nearly as
overwrought or self-obsessed, and in any case they’re packaged very differently.
“When you say my name / My world is crumbling” doesn’t quite say what it means
to, but the sentiment is sweet.
A: It
was about time the Romanians returned to their pop roots, considering where the
more brooding stuff got them. It’s fine for what it is, but pretty much just
there. I’m not sure what anyone on either side of the voting divide was meant
to see in it, but enough of them did, so there you go. The two-and-a-half bars
of salsa that pop up in the middle eight are an unexpected highlight.
V: Nothing camp about
this! The female dancers’ bellbottom catsuits are astounding, with just enough airholes
cut out of them to provide the male dancers with the croppiest crop-tops you’ve
ever seen. The Eurovision staple that is the costume reveal is much more
clearly showcased on the Saturday night, where the “beatmaker from Buzău” gives the contest its most engaging #2-in-the-final
in yonks. This is thanks in no small part to it being such an audience-participation
song, with the crowd very audibly hola- and llámame-ing along. I’m not
entirely sure why WRS is being shadowed throughout by a male backing vocalist,
since he sounds fine on his own. Perhaps they were just going for a
double-tracking effect.
31 Poland
B: “All that I’ve
done / Oh Lord, I’m done” is the only thing approaching a lyrical highlight
here, again for the play on words. Leaving instructions to be buried in your skin
is a bit weird. Would he rather be flayed first? I know it’s meant to be a
metaphor or something, but even so.
A: Hopes
were high for this, but I was never convinced it was going to live up to them. One
half of the song isn’t nearly as good as the other half, but that said, of the
various falsetto vocals in this year’s contest, Krystian’s are arguably the most
organically suited to the song they’re propping up. I like his voice more when
he’s not scaling the heights, however, such as in [most of] the string-heavy bridge
leading to the final chorus. Which is, incidentally, characteristic of the grandiloquence
that makes the song very hard-going in parts.
V: Then
there’s Ochman himself, who’s never once looked entirely comfortable or
engaging performing the song, technically excellent though his vocals may be:
he needed a charisma injection stat, but he didn’t get one. (Even the way he
thanks the audience feels stiff and insincere.) He is at least the still point in
a visual maelstrom – why lay on just one effect when you can lay on all of them?
– which takes away from the dancing whatever-they-ares, which in turn are a distraction
from Krystian in the first place. Perhaps they twigged that they’d need one: like
the horse and water proverb, you can’t get him to stare down the barrel of the
camera for love nor money. The resulting performance, paired with the song, is undeniably
competent but unavoidably aloof. Coming straight after the UK in the final does
him no favours either.
Addendum: The way he delivers the line “just float away” before the second chorus is amusingly camp, as is his diamante neckwear.
32 Montenegro
B: The alliteration
continues in the official bios, with Vladana styled as the “popstress from
Podgorica”. But what is she banging on
about? We haven’t had a set of lyrics this impenetrable in the contest for
quite some time. “In the clouds foam / You’ll keep the things to feel their
smell” is my favourite WTF moment in them.
A: Darko Dimitrov’s
hit-and-miss relationship with Eurovision continues. There
are plenty of elements here that suggest this should be a textbook Balkan
ballad (or, I suppose, anthem in this case), but all told it’s less than the
sum of its parts. It doesn’t help that the percussion feels quite laboured and workmanlike
throughout. Vladana doesn’t get a chance to let rip until almost the two-minute
mark, and neither she nor the song are interesting enough to that point to make
you hang around just in case.
V: Despite having a
prop on her back that makes it look like she’s Gemma Chan’s Marvel character
Minn-Erva and that her superpower is to transform into an airboat and take people
on tours of the Florida Everglades, Vladana somehow manages to make this the most
forgettable three minutes of the entire contest. I don’t think the Turin audience
even noticed when she switched to Italian, and they were sitting right there.
She’s got a good voice, but she gurns her way through the entire performance,
which wipes itself from your mind while you watch it as if it’s covering its
tracks.
33 Belgium
B: “One day I’m cool
/ One day I’m cold” is a nice juxtaposition. More effort could have been made
with the rest of the lyrics, which are also rather repetitive.
A: Sexy
voice; pity the song it’s paired with is the less attractive friend. It’s nicely
made, but to me at least a bit of an unhappy marriage – I’m never really sold on
the hip-hop elements of it, which sound very dated (as, presumably, they were
intended to), whereas the rest of it, and in particular the orchestration of it,
is great. The overall impression is one of an objectively decent song that
nevertheless passes you by every time you hear it. As an aside, all 500 utterances
of the word ‘no’ sound like ‘now’.
V: “I’ve been trying
to erase my mind” – pity he missed Montenegro then while waiting in the wings.
Notwithstanding the fact there are four dancers on stage, not a lot goes on
here. Three minutes of frenetic choreography wouldn’t have improved things, but
the performance does feel stingy at times in terms of how much it’s prepared to give you. That at least shifts
the focus onto Jérémie’s vocals, which he
delivers very well (even if it is with a scrunched-up face on every high note, and
in slightly more beleaguered fashion in the final). At the end of the day, the performance
– like the song – just doesn’t really register.
34 Sweden
B: There’s a lot of
honesty here in lines like “You say it isn’t me but when did that ever help”
and “You say that you’ve never felt this way for anyone / and that’s why it
scares you to death”, and in wishing someone the best while at the same time
wishing you loved them less. It looks at the bad choices people are aware they’re
making and dissects that without an excuse – or airbrush – in sight. I
find it surprisingly moving.
A: Especially in
combination with the music, which builds perfectly. The first minute is
very effective for providing such a stark musical backdrop of almost nothing
but strings, yet as things ratchet up from that point onwards it makes more and
more sense. This is why the instrumental version is such a joy to behold, as much
as Cornelia’s smoky vocals contribute to the overall feel. It’s just such
textbook stuff, but without the sterility of many recent Swedish entries.
V: Not
quite a carbon copy of the MF performance, but I don’t think the pyro adds
anything to it. (When we first see the green thing she’s kneeling in front of,
it looks like she’s pinched Rigoberta’s oversized nork and it’s gone gangrenous
in the months since Benidorm.) The song steamrolls its way through the semi, as
it was always going to, before running a little low on steam in the final. Its
fourth-place finish there is more than justified but unfairly feels like it’s already
been forgotten, overshadowed by the three entries that finished above it.
35 Czech Republic
B: Shout out to what I
think is the first appearance of the expression ‘to ring the changes’ in a Eurovision
entry, which almost certainly has its roots in the band forming while they were
studying in the UK. “Sailing around in someone’s peripheral” is a nice turn of
phrase as well.
A: The
Czechs once again produce three minutes of solid pop with limited prospects. The
final version feels overproduced compared to the original, not that anyone but
us fans would have noticed. The Metal Mickey backing vocals you only hear in
the karaoke version suit the piece, and Dominika’s big note echoing away into and
floating around the B-chorus is a nice touch, given what that line of the lyrics
is saying.
V: Like with buses, the
Czechs waited ages for a pimp slot and then two came along at once. This makes
for an epic closer to the semi – the audience are mad for it – and a suitably
energetic start to the final. Since Dominika struggled to convince
anyone she could handle the vocals live, their ticket to Saturday night was only
in the bag if she pulled them off, but I guessed it wouldn’t do much once it got
there. She seems genuinely thrilled and amazed to have nailed it the way she
does in the semi, so I guess anything after that was a bonus. Visually the
whole thing is full of question-marks for me – why the Roman statues and their desecration?
what prompted those… interesting fashion choices? was the wet hair look really
the best option? – but as a package it works just fine. Needless to say the
in-built lights-off moment works a treat.
36 France
B: “In their songs, [Alvan and
Ahez] tell contemporary stories that reference the ancient myths of Brittany [and]
want to show that tradition is not something stuck in the past; rather, it is
constantly evolving.” The result seems to
be a devil-worshipping, probably substance-enhanced neo-pagan forest fête just begging to be the
setting for a slasher movie. The opening lines (“E teñvalijenn ar c‘hoadeier e tiwan an noz / Ar
stered a deu war-wel en hiboud direpoz”) are suitably atmospheric,
while the lyrics as a whole highlight how alien the language looks for its construction.
If someone said it’d been made up for a big-budget fantasy series, I’d believe
them.
A: An
intriguing song, but it’s not very good. Until just now, getting around to
listening to it properly for this review, I’d completely failed to notice that
it features what sounds very much like a didgeridoo. Which doesn’t seem very
French, regional or otherwise. The bongos and electric guitar quietly accompanying
the middle part of the song are more interesting than anything else the
composition has to offer, apart from said didjéridoo.
V: The
fanboys cried salty tears when Terra failed to win in Spain, so I hope
this provided them with some consolation. (It certainly gave them some serious
eye candy.) It’s not as uncoordinated or under-rehearsed as it looked in the
national final, but there’s still some disconnect, perhaps due to the ADHD
camerawork. The green colour scheme makes for a nice change from the predominant
blues and reds of the rest of the line-up. In one of those
not-a-major-issue-but-still-noticeable moments, or in this case two, Alvan seems
to be a fraction of a second behind Ahez, and lead singer Marine a fraction of
a note off, for most of the song. More obvious is the discord in the harmonies,
which start out okay before dissolving into a morass of sound. But then that’s
how the entry as a whole comes across, to be honest. It’s probably as good as
it was ever going to get, but had bottom five written all over it from the
start.
37 Italy
B: Yet another
grown-up set of lyrics from the Italians, and an undeniably and unashamedly
queer one at that. There’s much to admire throughout (putting lie to the claim
that “a volte non so esprimermi”) but nothing says it as succinctly as “Non lasciarmi così
/ Nudo con i brividi… / ti vorrei amare, ma sbaglio sempre”.
A: Gorgeous
but quite hard work at times, which is what my reaction to Mahmood and Blanco
would probably be if I ever met them. It’s a beautifully produced piece and no
doubt garnered attention for constituting the contest’s first proper ‘gay duet’.
Gasp! Which is what the acapella opening of the Eurovision version starts with,
sacrificing the far more effective opening of the original at the altar of the
contest’s three-minute rule. Again though, no one outside of the fandom would
have been any the wiser. What we do get puts the emphasis on the best bits of
the song, but it still feels truncated. Classy, but somewhat clumsily
condensed.
V: This
isn’t quite the pancake-thin disappointment I recalled it being, but there’s no
denying that both Blanco and (to a lesser extent) Mahmood are quite flat early
on. They get better as the song progresses, which has always been its Achilles
heel: every rendition feels like two minutes of them warming up followed by one
minute of them actually hitting the notes. Vocals aside, what the lads give us
on stage is, to me at least, disappointingly nonchalant. Mahmood shows more
discipline, perhaps because he bears the weight of 1) expectation and 2) launching
the thing, but then Blanco stomps onto the scene like a stage invader who
nobody’s bothering to tackle and just starts mouthing along and wandering
about. Sure, it’s never so insouciant that they completely throw the moment
away, but where’s the intimacy a song like this needs, and indeed demands? The
only thing that comes close to a goosebump moment in these three minutes has
nothing to do with the performance itself, but hearing the Italian crowd
singing along with every word.
38 Spain
B: “I sweeten your
face in mango juice” is an unlikely addition here, at least in translation; I’m
guessing it sounds perfectly normal in Spanish. There’s not much else to grab your
attention in these lyrics, which form a stream of words in thrall to the music.
I had to listen to the song half
a dozen times before I realised they were peppered with English, such is the speed
and intensity with which they’re delivered. Being ready to break both hips and
hearts sums the thing up nicely.
A: There’s serious song-writing
talent behind this, and I guess it shows. It’s not really my sort of thing, and
it feels very empty in places to me – especially when shorn of its vocals – but
I won’t argue against its effectiveness.
V: It’s the
performance that sells it in any case: as songs go,
it’s an astonishing three minutes of staging, with a [booty] hypnotic routine you
can’t take your eyes off. The crowd go nuts for it, and with good reason – I
dare say that technically it’s the most complex and best realised choreography the
contest has ever seen. Chanel and all of her dancers are on point throughout. That
she manages to maintain such solid vocals while pulling the whole thing off is
amazing. (She gets some not insignificant support from the backing track, but
even so.) She’s also aided by the clever changes to the live track, which ramp
up the Spanishness even further and give the end of the song the booming finale
it needed. “I will remember this for the rest of my life!” she cries at the last,
and rightly so: she’s given a truly world-class performance.
39 Germany
B: I struggle a
little with the nostalgia being pushed here when we’re being asked to
sympathise with it by someone in his mid-twenties. Then again, perhaps that’s
the reality for millennials these days. In any case, lines like “Wish there was a
way to know that we’re in / The good old days before we all just leave ’em” and the more universal theme of self-doubt still
resonate.
A: Malik
is a likeable performer, but the unprepossessing production here gives you very
little to latch onto. Even the impassioned rap feels tepid in studio. The guitar
and strings play into the soul-searching nature of the song; the rest is just
there to have something to sing along to. The final flourish makes for a brief
if rousing finale, but the stable door’s been open for two-and-a-half minutes
by that point.
V: I
hope Malik didn’t take his result too much to heart, since it’s no reflection of
his abilities: he gives a perfectly decent (if at first slightly croaky)
performance of a perfectly decent song. Therein, of course, lies the problem. His
rap gets the crowd going, but the rest of the song doesn’t, however pleasant it
might be. I said before the contest that I wouldn’t be surprised to see Germany
join France in the bottom five. Sometimes you just see these things coming;
sometimes it’s inevitable.
40 United Kingdom
B: There’s an intriguing
tug-of-war happening here, narratively, as encapsulated in the admission on the
bridge that “Gravity keeps pulling
me down / As long as you’re on the ground, I’ll stick around”. The title plays with the lyrics in a
clever way that will forever frustrate poor translators like me.
A: What
a turnaround from last year! It’s like a greatest hits of British music, with
echoes of Bowie, Queen and Elton John in a very catchy three minutes of pop.
Sam’s at first fluttering, ultimately soaring vocals are perfect for the song, given
its lyrics. The shifting backing vocals at the end, pushed right to the outer
reaches of the mix, tie in with what they’re saying and the overarching space
theme very effectively. Like quite a few entries this year, the bridge is the
standout, but here at least the rest of the song is just as good.
V: Mr
Ryder has fantastic vocal control, as his live performance attests, but he
tends to come across as a bit of an overgrown kid in his expressions and
movement. Credit where it’s due though, he throws himself into these three
minutes, owning the couture boilersuit, inhabiting the lunar module and making [the]
space his and his alone. Forced chuckle in the second verse aside, I have
nothing but praise for Sam and his staging – he’s far and away the best singer
(and this is easily the best act) the Brits have brought to Eurovision in a
long, long time. As with Spain, it benefits enormously from the last-minute
rethink to the live track, which in combination with the way it’s realised provides
some true spectacle in the best sense of the word. Its jury win is well
deserved, and we can only hope it inspires the UK to continue investing this
sort of quality in the contest from here on in.
And so to the points...
1 point goes to Latvia
2 points go to Ukraine
3 points go to Spain
4 points go to Estonia
5 points go to Lithuania
6 points go to Iceland
7 points go to Sweden
8 points go to the United Kingdom
10 points go to the Netherlands
and finally...
12 points go to...
Portugal!
