2010

A lacklustre year musically, but one which reinforces that: 1) however good a job the 50/50 voting does of jettisoning the dross at the semi stage, the draw in the final still plays a huge part in a song’s chances of success, relative or otherwise; and 2) performances are as capable as ever of lifting or sinking a song’s chances, however good they are to begin with.

01 Moldova
B: Unbending, if clumsy, these lyrics.

A: Which belie the upbeat way they’re encased, to some extent. This is not an entry to dispel the idea that Eastern Europe is at least 20 years behind the Western world: it sounds like something Guru Josh would have released as an unsuccessful follow-up to Infinity. There’s very little that’s intrinsically attractive about it, bar the harmonies.
V: Blue eyeshadow was a good idea in the ’70s, and it’s the only thing from another era about this stage act that still more or less works. It goes without saying that they “have no progressive future” when they’re dressed like that. The vocals are fine but nevertheless sound rather flat.

02 Russia
B: I like the fact that this just repeats itself over and over, in much the same way as the tormented thoughts that bounce around your brain in such situations. The “What are you doing, man?” interlude anchors the melodrama in a moment of reality before it spins off again in its whirlwind of emotion. Not that they probably thought about it in that much depth. Mind you, the best parodies are those that are the least distinguishable from the original.
A: Lush vocal and instrumental arrangement here, which is only something you’ll appreciate if you can surmount the sheer oddity that is the song and its purpose in life. There’s nevertheless something authentic about it, and it has one of the best final minutes of any entry this year.
V: Sounds great. If only they’d made more of the ‘photo’.

03 Estonia
B: Unlikely anthem. Largely autobiographical, too, I’d wager.

A: What a glorious oddity. It’s a bit of a cacophany in the studio, and you can understand why most people would just be perplexed by it, but you’ve got to admire its integrity. The fact that it is what it is and does what it does without any concession to the medium it’s being broadcast in can only be a good thing for the contest, whether or not you actually like the song.
V: Very much a performance song, this: it transforms on the stage in a way you never expect it to. But whereas they got it spot on in Eesti Laul, here they overegg it – probably from having gone through the motions so many times – and overact their socks off. Incidentally, I was stood next to Robin in the post office the other day. He looked like Flat Stanley with yellow hair: two metres tall and half an inch thick.

04 Slovakia
B: I’m not sure I get what this is all about. I’d be tempted to suggest an environmental message, given all the greenery, and the oddment in the music that is the little porpoise squee post-middle eight, but by then it’s gone all ‘haleluja’ on us. So is it a Garden of Eden thing? Kristina herself admits “Na tráve ležím a snívam / O čom sama neviem” though, so it probably doesn’t warrant a furrowed brow.

A: I once described this as “the song this year most likely to win the award for forgetting to actually be one”. Which is possibly a little harsh, but I stand by it. You can see where it’s going, and why it wants to go there, and what it wants to achieve in getting there, but it never does. Its minimalism is effective for what it’s saying as a song, which is why I have more time for it than some other 2010 entries, but it remains little more than some synths and percussion barely held together by a vocal arrangement of which you’ve heard everything you’re going to within the first few bars.
V: Remarkably consistent vocals from Kristina, considering she’s not a particularly good singer. The routine patently wants to be more effective than it is, but I don’t know who to attribute the blame to. The stage is rather dark again, which doesn’t help.

05 Finland
B: This one’s a bit of a head-scratcher, too, but showcases Finnish in all its agglutinative glory. Who else would or could give us lines like “Sadetta ja myrskysäätä ylle kaupungin / Reikähousupelimannille pennin lantin”? (The latter of which is the first indication lyrically of the year’s multidisciplinary datedness.) The entire fourth verse – “Mitä minä laulan kun… / Mietin miksi aina uutta laulua mä teen” – could be a scene lifted wholesale from the deflated haze of non-qualification.
A: There’s something judderingly twee and off-putting about this song, not helped by the fact that it’s being sung in one of the least attractive languages on offer in the contest. I’m not qualified to question its Finnish folk credentials – there would be very little point in doing so in any case – and I’ll happily admit that it does make me want to clap along every time I hear it, but that pull is only as strong as the desire to simultaneously punch the song in the face.
V: It’s like finding yourself in the midst of some bizarre country wedding. I’m glad they drafted in the backing vocalists-cum-dancers. They all look and sound like they’re having fun, but I’m not convinced many of those watching would have been doing anything other than shaking their heads and frowning.

06 Latvia
B: “What for are we losing? / Only Mr God knows why.”
A: This is mesmerising musically, to such an extent that even the vocals (or at least the lyrics) tend to pass you by. I’m particularly enamoured of the way the accordion here is used so completely differently to the jolly outing it’s taken on in Työlki ellää.
V: Mr God’s phone isn’t the only thing that’s off the charts here, and the explanation is entirely mundane. By rights it should be a triumph, but we all know it’s not, and we all know why: Aisha can’t sing for toffee. You might argue that this is in keeping with the naivety of the lyrics – which she milks for all its worth in her performance – but if that were the case, why’s the studio version so polished?

07 Serbia
B: The assertion “Ljubiš me k’o balavica” implies at least two interesting things about Milan Stanković: that out of context, at least, he should be kissing a boy when saying it (why else make the distinction?); and that he’s kissed enough girls to be able to make the comparison in the first place. One of these seems less likely to me than the other. Even if it is just a case of personification.
A: I never thought farty synths would come as such a welcome change. Every Eurovision of late has had this kind of song, destined to finish mid-table in the final because its feelgood factor only extends to selected households beyond the Alps. Accomplished in its genre, but rather limited in scope.
V: You can dress this up any way you want, he’s still off-key. Not that it really matters: it’s that kind of song. It’s also the first one to make (or be granted) full use of the possibilities of the stage and lighting, and would’ve caught the audience’s attention for that alone – never mind the queer theatre playing out on stage.

08 Bosnia and Herzegovina
B: Given the rocky nature of the relationship at the heart of these lyrics, which are really rather good and much more multi-layered than they initially appear, there’s a remarkably subtle shift in tone between the studio version and live performance which changes the balance of the thing entirely: “Say just one more word” becomes “Say another word”, and suddenly Vukašin goes from being the hopeful but resigned figure of the original who will back down on the say-so of his ‘better side’ to a more forceful presence saying “we can make this work, but drop the attitude, or I’m gone”. I have no idea whether this was Dino Šaran’s intention in changing the words, but I’d like to think so.*
A: There’s stuff to like here if you pick it to pieces and sift through them, but overall it’s less than the sum of its parts. I think its biggest problem is that for a song called Thunder and Lightning it’s surprisingly backwards in coming forwards, even with the makeover. Great ending though.
V: *Since it fits the harder, more together and less compromising edge the song brandishes on stage. This is the first and possibly only true contender for the 2010 Silk Purse/Sow’s Ear award, with some very attractive backing vocals (and vocalists) and effective lighting. I was happy to see Vukašin ditch his original stance there at the end, where all through the rehearsals it looked like he was itching to pick his nose.

09 Poland
B: “Morał z tego taki jest że / Nie spodobał się rycerz jej” – hardly a moral, more a statement of the bleeding obvious, and one which underscores the slight creepiness of the song at that. I don’t think we’ll be seeing The Legend of Peacock Feather in the Little Golden Book series any time soon: it’s aiming for fairytale, and more or less gets there, but it’s grimmer than Grimm.
A: When it’s all medieval chanting and women wailing, this is great. There are also some lovely individual moments of strings, woodwind and acoustics. But Poland should have learnt from Time to Party that awkward changes in pace mid-song don’t work for them, especially when they’re structured around a largely tuneless mess they throw everything at to distract your attention from. Under any other circumstances a Eurovision entry with five key changes – count ’em! – should see us wetting ourselves, but no.
V: How... mysterious this all is. Our lead looks lush, the outfits are gorgeous and the whole thing’s a vocal triumph. But then the direction, both literally and metaphorically, gets very strange and you don’t really know what you’re meant to do with it. I love the way Marcin screams and jumps up and down in the green room afterwards like a kid who’s had too much sugar.

10 Belgium
B: A set of lyrics this indulgent should irritate me, but the message is too honest and artlessly presented for me to take against it. It also surprises that something this egocentric is so accessible, as summed up in the line “There’s so much more to life”.
A: There’s an interesting parallel thing happening between this and the entry that follows it, in that essentially they’re both about the performer being self-important, and yet they never overlap. Malta’s take on it is all big strings and swirling orchestra; Belgium’s is him and his guitar: much more subdued and therefore much more palatable. And none the less accomplished for it, with beautiful acoustic and string lines that complete each other. Even the Walking in Memphis bit feels right in context.
V: The gentle orange glow suits this perfectly. Tom seems sweet and genuine; there isn’t a hint of conceit about the whole performance. The song sounds great, so it winning its semi comes as no surprise. The patented Olsen Giggle in the final is lovely.

11 Malta
B: It’s interesting (or perhaps hypocritical on my part) that I have less time for the more obvious anthem when it follows on the heels of the Belgian entry. And I think it’s because My Dream isn’t couched in the same personal terms, ironically. The intimacy which draws you in to Me and My Guitar is missing here, and the result is just meh.
A: Meh with the requisite symphonic pretensions.
V: Meh with a seagull. That said, I was sure Thea had sung this into the final: she’s note-perfect, and does this endearing little thing whenever the opportunity presents itself of squinting her eyes and giving a little smile at the end of a line. Even the pyrotechnics are effective for being so understated.

12 Albania
B: Two years in a row of mid-to-low-table results with made-to-measure English-language pop might see them change their tune on the “Don’t wanna ever go back / Never ever go back” front. (Unless that’s the point they’re making and they have no greater ambition than to keep qualifying and coming 16th in the final.)
A: Within its opening 30 seconds, this has all the hallmarks of something that should be really annoying for slavishly following the Europop rule book, and since it isn’t all that astounding an example of it, it should fall a lot shorter than it does. But there’s something about Albania doing this kind of thing, for whatever reason, that makes it work.
V: I don’t know how much it cost them to ship this new line-up of The Rounder Girls in from New York, but they’re worth every cent: best backing vocals of the contest (and almost the only ones heard in the final until they adjust the sound mix). Ms Pasha is more dependable vocally than her hairstyle is aesthetically, and sells the song with ease.

13 Greece
B: Politics! I wonder if “Plirosa oso hrostusa ke ta dhanika” falls into the category of ‘dream’ or ‘nightmare’. Probably both.
A: Everything I said about Serbia applies to this except ‘welcome change’ and ‘accomplished’, and even then they were only relative terms. There’s an undeniable appeal to this for what it is, in the chorus at least, but there’s next to nothing to it.
V: This is that amazing kind of camp you only achieve when trying to prove how macho you are, but (and?) makes sense pretty much immediately. Giorgos at times looks like he’d rather be anywhere else than on stage. The singing in Greek here is less of an issue than singing in Serbian, simply because of what the song’s saying.

14 Portugal
B: There’s both a lightness of touch and a complexity to these lyrics that offset the (almost literal) hand-wringing of lines like “Gastámos as mãos / Tanto as apertámos”. It’s fairly straightforward as wretched ballads go, but it has some pertinent things to say about relationships.
A: Even without the language giving it away, you’d be able to pinpoint this as the Portuguese entry without much difficulty. I’m not sure the literally plodding opening is a good idea when you’re confronted with Filipa’s vocal gymnastics – if they’re accomplished enough to be called that – in the opening bars. The way the strings carry so much of the song should see me doing cartwheels, but perhaps for the first time ever I don’t find them very attractive. The whole thing’s all too easy to overlook.

V: Funny how a smile, a pretty dress and some camera savvy can save you, isn’t it. The fact that it’s so pink and fluffy tends to draw your attention from the foibles of the song itself.

15 FYR Macedonia
B: “Studen kamen ti do mene si” certainly tops ‘ball and chain’ as a put-down!
A: This is another solid and unassuming slice of pop-rock from the Macedonians which was always going to go pfffft on the scoreboard rather than set it alight. The rap works better than you might reasonably expect it to. Neither genre though is one with a good track record at Eurovision, and this would have to have pulled off a major coup to change that.
V: Which it’s obvious within moments of this performance they were never going to. Vocally it’s great, but the choreography (which at times seems to wonder what it’s doing) and the poleless pole dancers just make the whole thing seem sleazy.

16 Belarus
B: The imagery here is rather nice as songs of its ilk go, although the third line of the chorus is crying out to be “I believe our wings will open up”. It makes a nice counterpoint to their 2009 entry (“…thinking I would never fly / Then you looked and saw my wings…”); if only it showed the same grasp of language.
A: I heartfully wait for this to do something to surprise me, each and every time, but it never does. Which is not to say it’s not nice in its way, but it plucks at my strings about as authentically as it does its own: given what it’s pretending to be, the fact that so much of it is synthetic is unforgivable. If fitting.
V: Is Robert Wells in cahoots with the dictatorship, or just the Russian composer? Awful accents, but that comes with the territory. And fair dos to them: they get as close here to the proper pronunciation of ‘imagine’ as they’re ever likely to. If anyone had had any sense, or for that matter any say, they should have given the whole song to the Armenian one, since even when the five of them are at their best, they’re still not brilliant. But the wings thing works well enough, and could have been a whole lot tackier. And the stage looks lovely.

17 Iceland
B: These lyrics could have been a lot more perfunctory than they are. I rather like them. The chorus is a bit lazy.
A: As well as she intends, there’s little Hera Björk can do to lift this, the (very) poor cousin of This Is My Life. It’s many times better than the original, needless to say, but even the chorus sounds like it’s apologising for its own shortcomings: the plinkety-plonk of the piano seems to be saying “I’m doing my best here, but it really doesn’t get any better than this”.
V: This isn’t just diva disco: it’s gay diva disco with schlager stylings and the Scandinavian touch, right down to the choreography and the arrangement (and strength) of the backing vocals. Closing the semi, looking and sounding as solid as it does and getting that level of support from the crowd, it was a shoe-in for the final. Equally, once it got there, it was always going to come down to context, and stuck in the middle with It’s All About You for company, it was never likely to amount to much.

18 Lithuania
B: Now this is clever: superficially scathing and self-pitying, but ultimately tongue-in-cheek and self-deprecating, and bathetic for all the right reasons. For anyone who still doesn’t get it, the clue’s in the title.
A: No musical slouch, this: fun and brainless on the surface, poking fun at times, but underneath there’s a smart and effective arrangement.
V: They’re playing on much more than just words here. I love the backdrop. Uniformly good vocals, and I still think the routine works, although it does get a bit busy in the second verse.

19 Armenia
B: Eva’s mother must have been a barrel of laughs, what with all the embittered pontificating. “Mum, I’m hungry!” “Silence, child! Our world is cruel and wild. To make your way through cold and heat, love is all that you need… In the meantime, here: have an apricot.” It’s a slightly bemusing concept, even for an ode to the motherland – the ultimate diaspora song, really, given who it’s being sung by – but that also makes it interesting. I love the line “I’ve got an avatar of my love to keep me warm”.
A: Now this is a treat and a half if, like me, some acoustics, strings and percussion will do you. It soon retreats behind MOR ethnopop lines, and not coincidentally sounds exactly like Armenia’s debut entry, but at the same time it’s more all-encompassing than some of the stuff they’ve given us so far.
V: There’s way too much going on here: as if two metres of Angelina Jolyerevan and her layers of make-up weren’t enough, we have to contend with an old guy smoking a super-sized cigar, a fireworks display, a bubbling water feature, a guy dancing around holding an urn and a fortune cookie that erupts into a cherry blossom tree. At least the backing vocals are good.

20 Israel
B: It’s clear from the translation on Diggiloo that the poetry of these lyrics doesn’t, well... translate. There are some very distinct concepts that just seem a bit odd in English, although I’m sure it sounds magical in Hebrew. The bridge is very powerful for being less flowery in its honesty.
A: From the off, this has to work hard not to come across as overblown, and it’s only really Harel’s measured delivery of the vocals for the first couple of minutes that rein in the excesses it otherwise threatens to shower us with. And indeed I could do without the shouty ending, since there’s enough genuine emotion on display elsewhere. The orchestral arrangement, as orchestral arrangements tend to be, is captivating.
V: It looks like you could fry eggs on Harel’s forehead under those lights, by which he’s mercilessly outshone as he overreaches himself – twice – in his big moment.

21 Denmark
B: “Da da-da da da da-daaaa-da / Da da-da da da da daaaa / Da-da da da da da daaaa-da / Da da da da-da daaaa da.”
A: The blatant ‘referencing’ this does (not to mention the rather charmless duo fronting it) means I should turn my nose up at it, but you can’t deny that it succeeds at what it’s trying to do. It’s schlager at its most calculating and effective, and therefore least appealing.
V: Plod, plod, plod. The direction’s the best thing about this. Could two performers be any more off-putting? I don’t think we see either of them blink. I keep urging N’evergreen’s glass eye to pop out at some point as a metaphor for the fact that it doesn’t really look like he wants to be there and is just going through the motions, literally and vocally. It all gets very shouty towards the end in the final.

22 Switzerland
B: As if it wasn’t gay enough basically calling a song Golden Shower, it then drips with ‘secrets communs’ and ‘regards échangés’. Very romantic though, in every sense of the word.
A: If this was sung by a woman, or by a man who didn’t sound like one, I’m sure I’d find it far less annoying. There’s something about Mr von der Heide’s voice that simply makes me not want to listen to all three minutes of it, despite the song holding its own. The triangular balalayka thing is a nifty inclusion.
V: Albeit one that got them nowhere with the audience it was presumably meant to speak to. Because this is all just so utterly Swiss. The hair and fashion are from another era, and so’s the song. I don’t really get why the backing vocalists are there, since Michael sings over the top of them virtually every opportunity he gets. They only come into their own at the end.

23 Sweden
B: Load of bollocks, these lyrics. They’re aiming for deep and meaningful, but are very much in the shallow end. The only point at which they come close to doing what they set out to is in the middle, with lines like “I don’t wanna win, I don’t wanna lose / I don’t wanna play, I just wanna remember / …my name”.
A: Each time I listen to this I like it more – there’s certainly a lot to admire in the ingenuousness of its composition. But sometimes you just have to go with first impressions, and mine were that it was both a little bit dull and a little bit irritating.
V: Still, it deserved a place in the final ahead of at least a couple of other songs here on the strength of this performance, if nothing else. Red and black phasing to white makes a great colour scheme. Why do so many of the teenage girls this year look twice or three times their age?

24 Azerbaijan
B: In the pre-contest conviction among many that the Azeris were a shoe-in for victory, people were quick to discount Drip Drop as being deserving of just about anything, and yet lyrically at least it’s an accurate depiction of a relationship that’s falling apart. One line that’s been the subject of particular derision – “You smell like lipstick again” – strikes me as being very believable as reactions to the situation go. The bridge resonates, too.
A: Without doubt the entry trying hardest this year to sound like something you might actually hear being produced in 2010, but for all that – or possibly because of it – it’s a little underwhelming. It also suffers in its final 30 seconds from having to adhere to the three-minute rule, feeling cramped and awkward. Not in a way that detracts from how obviously well produced it is, mind.
V: Eurgh, that glove. The rest of it’s alright, although Safura’s vocals are tested by the routine as much as her balance is on that staircase, and the ending’s a bit of a mess, so it’s nice to see her smile finally. Their choice to soften the vocals on the ‘drip drop’ bit is an interesting one. The backing vocalists look like they were left over from a Spanish entry ca 1989.

25 Ukraine
B: This has come in for a fair bit of stick of its own, rather unfairly if you ask me. Alright, it doesn’t read like something a native speaker would pen, and lines like “Must you go on killing / Just to pass the time” jar, but the message is pertinent.
A: As much as this makes me roll my eyes, I have more time for it and the way Alyosha delivers it than the drowsy approach taken by Anna Bergendahl. Social conscience with loads of reverb: by no means a favourite, neither this year nor among Ukraine’s body of work at the contest, but I have a respect for it I doubt will shift.
V: Alyosha might write her own songs, but does she also run up her own clothes, or was her outfit cobbled together from whatever was left of the Ukrainian purse strings? It’s an unwanted distraction in what is otherwise a powerhouse performance – one that gets even better between semi and final – which looks amazing.

26 The Netherlands
B: If only the line in the second verse had remained “Of kwam het uit een café in zo’n straatje, we waren in Leningrad” the song would have been just as successfully carbon-dated by its lyrics as it is by its music.
A: Who would ever have thought, given the pedigree of the men involved and the similarities in the selection process, that the Dutch entry would end up being so much better than the British one? Not that that’s much of a yardstick. Why the TROS board thought this would be a good idea remains a mystery: it’s wrong in just about every respect. And yet there’s something about it that raises a smile, however grudging; “het gaat niet uit m’n kop” indeed. I was hoping it would qualify and then be drawn first ahead of Spain for the full 1973 effect.

V: Colourful, and Sieneke is surprisingly strong. But this performance, and by extension the entry as a whole, is summed up by the look on the face of the guy playing the clockwork drummer on the street organ. I hope this doesn’t prove to be the highlight of his career in light entertainment.

27 Romania
B: Tut @ fire/desire/higher, although “If we get together now, we’ll burn this place down” is the perfect lead-in to the chorus.
A: This is bombastic in a way that has become something of a trademark with Romanian entries, and is all the better for it, given the rest of the field. It may not be very challenging, but it’s solid, it’s immediate, it has plenty of hooks and it’s playing to an audience from Iceland to Israel.
V: Paula’s semi-final hair and make-up are a TV disaster: it looks like she just got out of bed. Her vocals, needless to say, suggest otherwise, as she nails the high notes. Together, she and Ovi (who proves to be the first of two Norwegians this year to take an interesting approach to their English) give a professional if rather static performance that’s more cohesive vocally in the final.

28 Slovenia
B: Well, it makes a whole lot more sense when you know what they’re on about.
A:k.a. the song that came second-last in the Yugoslav final in 1988. How it managed to win the Slovenian selection so overwhelmingly boggles the mind, although I suppose it has a certain charm. A bit like the Netherlands, it’s easy to sing along to because it repeats the same handful of notes over and over again, especially in the chorus. I like to strip it of its rock trappings and imagine it all in terms of Y así polka fabulousness.
V: Credit where it’s due: as wrong as this is on so many levels, it’s right on the rest.

29 Ireland
B: Without doubt the least palatable of the 2010 anthems: any set of lyrics that paints the performer as such a self-righteous saviour is going to get my back up.
A: It’s a bit churlish in Eurovision of all things to criticise songs for lack of originality, but come on, we’ve heard this kind of thing a hundred times before: you can’t help but line it up in your head against all the other anthems that sound exactly like this. The drummy bit at the start of each chorus is a mistake, adding to the excess of heralding.
V: Purple and orange never look good together, and neither does the mouldy cheese backdrop, although it seems somehow appropriate. Niamh looks like she’s strapped onto a board, and is not nearly as convincing vocally as anyone might have expected her to be: from the key change to the last note she’s as flat as a tack in the semi, and doesn’t quite get the big last note either time. The whole thing comes across as a pale imitation of what Ireland would have done much better about 15 years ago.

30 Bulgaria
B: More of a ballad than an anthem, but in any case it has the advantage over It’s For You immediately by being “Ljubovta ti go dokazva” rather than “My love proves it”. And for being so understated, given what it’s saying.
A: This builds superbly, and by the time the beat comes in you’re convinced it should be the best example of trashy pop of its kind you’ve ever heard. Then it forgets to have a chorus.
V: Miro could have gotten around this by using it as an excuse to invoke some audience participation, getting everyone to sing along to his challenging lyrics, but I suspect he was more concerned about his spray tan (when he should, evidently, have been concerned about his hideous hairdo and Elvis outfit). None of the oomph of the strings is lost in the performance, thankfully. The fact that the English verse is given a completely different vocal arrangement is a boon.

31 Cyprus
B: “I hope someday you’ll spot me in the crowd / Smile and say you miss me” is lovely for being delivered without a shred of bitterness. You’d have to hope most people have been lucky enough at some point to identify with the ‘make me immortal with a kiss’ thing.
A: Those backing vocals in the first verse thrust us back into the 1970s with aplomb, offsetting the more contemporary boyband sound of Mr Lilygreen’s delivery. But the whole thing, right down to the sentiment, is a throwback, so the vocal arrangement is just right. (And of course it also means that it fits in perfectly among the rest of the 2010 field.) The chorus does everything it can to persuade you to remain interested, and more or less does. Somehow the overall effect is to give the song a genuine emotional tug that most of its rivals lack.
V: Delightfully homespun. You just want it to do well, don’t you?

32 Croatia
B: Ouch: this has the honest precision of a self-inflicted paper cut. It’s pathetic, too, but in a good way, since ‘na licu mome piše izdaja’. The whole third verse – “Zadnjim snagama sad stojim tu pred tobom / Dušu razdiru mi bure nemira / Teže mi je riješit ovu bol sa sobom / Jer ti si prevaren a mene ubija” is a torturous triumph.
A: This pushes more of my ballad buttons than anything else on offer this year, but it’s quite clearly Molitva-lite. More modern in its approach, though, and neatly self-contained, which I appreciate.
V: The new one’s an effective anchor for Neda and Pamela, who tend to let their excitement run away with them at times, but in harmony they sound great. Pity about the croaky bit. A very pretty performance, and there’s another modern touch in the choreography.

33 Georgia
B: While this is probably the most accessible of the anthems on offer this year (albeit again without the personal touch of the Belgian entry), I’ve found myself wondering whether it isn’t a metaphor for the Georgian struggle for self-assertion in the face of Russia’s grandstanding. But then it was written by a bunch of Norwegians, so probably not.
A: This is far more attractive a prospect than Peace Will Come, precisely because it’s not being layered on with a trowel. Despite the standard approach, there’s a welcome contemporary edge to this that sets it apart from all of the other anthems being rolled out in Oslo.
V: Waaaaaagh, not the Eurovision wink! This is an engrossing piece of theatre otherwise, with sparkling vocals from one and all.

34 Turkey
B: Quite clever in the sense that you can interpret it just about any way you want, making it a perfect Song for Europe. Or at least Western Europe, when you consider who the majority of countries were who didn’t give it any points.
A: It’s For Real and Deli with the excesses – and let’s be honest, much of the character – stripped back to produce something designed to appeal to a much broader swathe of Europe than most Turkish entries do. And as contrived as it inevitably comes across, it still works; it just feels a little flat and lifeless in places when it should be anything but either.
V: They could be playing on a completely different stage. The lighting is just what the song needs/an epileptic’s nightmare [delete as appropriate], and the song itself sounds huge. Welding Woman and her robot antics are a bit pointless, however: the way her helmet falls off in the semi says it all.

35 Spain
B: Piles and piles of words, as is so often the case with the Romance languages. There’s a lovely rhythm to them in the verses. The way the ultimatum is delivered in the lines “En tus manos tienes la occasion / Hoy decides si quererme o romperme el corazón” is great.
A: This is another of the year’s many entries that transport us, unblinking and unbidden, to a bygone era. It’s rather good in its way, but with limited appeal both generally and in itself: beyond the first minute or so, there’s little to hold the attention bar the way the vocals spiral out of control.
V: Which indeed they do, both times, although Daniel is a consummate professional throughout The Incident. Indeed, no one even seems to notice there’s a dude in a beanie on stage with them. It makes the sudden appearance of the backing vocalist all the more exciting, especially during take two.

36 Norway
B: Although this does what it says on the tin, the effect is as dim and unreachable as the sunset behind that mountain somewhere.
A: Basically the Irish entry without the associations to the Titanic soundtrack. It does nothing you haven’t heard before, takes forever to even do it, and then doesn’t do it any better.
V: Didrik looks pretty, but he lets the occasion get to him to such an extent that what little the song has to recommend it is lost beneath his nerves. It was bound to be warmly received in the Telenor arena, but it’s honestly one of the worst host entries in the contest in a long, long time. And what’s with his diction? If it were any more clipped it would be circumcised.

37 United Kingdom
B: “I can feel it coming together / … / There’s nothing left to do now / … / And we can let the future write itself” and “Anything is possible to do” (and the sheer clunkiness of the latter) are so ironically appropriate they could have discarded the rest of the lyrics and left it at that.
A: Remember when we thought the demo version trotted out on Your Country Needs You was lame? This is sub-Jason Donovan B-side, and that’s saying something. It could, and should, have been so much better; instead, shorn of Matt Aitken’s talents – without doubt the true songwriter in SAW – it’s the worst British entry in decades.
V: Ikea has become so huge it gets its own entry in Eurovision. Josh is charmingly feckless and makes a decent fist of it on the whole, but the backing vocalists hit as big of a bum note at the end as the lad himself does.

38 France
B: “Prends-moi par le côté... / La la, ça va chauffer, je sens le truc monter” is worth a titter or two. Mmm!
A: I originally had this down as “probably the worst song Eurovision has heard since Celebrate”, but the competition for that title with That Sounds Good to Me makes it too close to call. At least Allez ola olé never gets ideas above its station or claims to be anything it’s not. But you’ve still heard all you’re ever going to within the first 30 seconds.

V: It’s like Verka, but not nearly as entertaining. Great colour scheme and lighting. The shirtless backing vocalist should have been given an on-screen credit (and been centre-screen a whole lot more!). Does Jesse actually sing at all?

39 Germany
B: Very neat, mixing the scientific references (which make very good lyrics in their own right: “Like a satellite, I’m in orbit all the way around you” and “…you got me / A force more powerful than gravity / It’s physics, there’s no escape”) with the down-to-earth stuff like blue undies and painting toenails.
A: Mainstream radio’s bread and butter, this. Given it’s Lena’s vocals and performance that sell the song, it’s refreshing to hear the song denuded of them and realise there’s a brilliant piece of music beneath it all that has just as much character of its own. I could listen to the instrumental version on a loop and never get tired of it.
V: For all the arguments about Lena’s accent, this is the most unaffected Germany entry – and indeed winner – in years. It’s a great song to have won the whole shebang, too, because that’s precisely what it is: just Lena and her backing vocalists on stage. No props, no gimmicks, no special effects. And it’s brilliant.


And so to the points...

1 point goes to Lithuania

2 points go to Ukraine

3 points go to Armenia

4 points go to Sweden

5 points go to Turkey

6 points go to Croatia

7 points go to Azerbaijan

8 points go to Georgia

10 points go to Belgium

and finally...

12 points go to...


Germany!


The wooden spoon goes to the United Kingdom.

2009

Production values up the yin-yang, and artistic merit to boot. Song-wise there’s plenty to like, but I’m not sure there are many enduring classics among them.

01 Montenegro
B: “Everybody’s talkin’ ’bout all the things I’m missin’” says it all really. Although the twist in the tale is quite a clever observation of relationships that aren’t good for you, it’s still a bit lame.
A: Two has-been Germans and a Spanish schlager queen do not a successful song-writing team make. The way the vocal arrangement is so tightly interwoven with the strings in the verses is annoying, given that (i) that’s the last thing either of them should be and (ii) they’re both far more interesting in the chorus.
V: Cheesy choreography, but this is a much slicker performance than I would have expected. The swivel chair makes it look as though Andrea’s about to conduct a current-affairs show interview. Her vocals are good, but eclipsed by those of the backing vocalists, which are fabulous. I wonder why they chose to hide them from public view on such an empty stage.

02 Czech Republic
B: There’s something very right about how wrong these lyrics are, especially when paired with the intentionally hammy, low-budget preview video.
A: Lots of innovative touches if you listen for them, especially when shorn of its vocals.
V: Much of this subtlety is lost in the transition from studio to stage, unfortunately. This has much more in common with Push the Button than simply going second in its semi: its worthiness is worn away by a performance that just goes on and on, nullifying any comic appeal (which is nevertheless brilliantly captured in the stage). Surprising depth to the vocals.

03 Belgium
B: I love the transition from “he’s too fat to rock ‘n’ roll” to “he’s too dead to rock ‘n’ roll”. The lyrics as a whole are pretty clever, although certain lines jar.
A: For a genre I was never part of and have never really gotten into, this is surprisingly easy to like from the get-go. I think it’s because of the obvious but unaffected feel-good factor. Bosnia and Herzegovina & co. have tried stuff like this many times and never gotten close to its authenticity or sense of fun.
V: If Mr Ouchène was going for that tail-end-of-career Elvis look – slightly greasy and altogether unappealing – he got it just right. He does pretty well for someone who clearly had the ‘Eurovision throat’, but is outshone by the glamorous and aloof backing vocalists.

04 Belarus
B: Lines like “Guide me through this barren sky” leave themselves wide open, yet this is arguably the best set of lyrics Belarus has given us so far. There’s a genuine tug to at least some of it.
A: Carbon-dated within the first few seconds of its life. I feel only Turkey has the right and the wherewithal to produce 30-second instrumental openings to their Eurovision entries, although the furrow this etches in my brow soon turns to a grudging admiration of how together it sounds. Kind of like In My Dreams, without being anywhere near as attractive.
V: The sheeted figure being blown about by the wind machine is intriguing but doesn’t add a lot to the performance. Petr has a touch of ’80s glamour about him that only leaves me wondering what happened to the shoulder pads. Vocally he’s not as strong as I thought he would be, but the song sounds better than it has a right to. I love the cat’s eye motif.

05 Sweden
B: Are we assuming Fredrik Kempe penned the English bits and Malena Ernman the French bits? Neither offers any interest, and overall these lyrics say just as little as Hero.
A: Discard the vocals here and you realise just how empty those verses are. The chorus is a more enticing proposition, but only because of the opera. The loveliest bit – the strings – is largely lost among the pop requisites.
V: Considering the Swedes were forced to think about their stage routine this year rather than transplant it in toto from Melodifestivalen, they didn’t do a very good job of it. Neon green? Midnight blue suits against a black background? And what, if anything, ties in with the supposed ice queen theme? It only starts to look good after the key change. Performance-wise there’s little wrong with it, but it fails to whelm me in any way whatsoever. Malena enjoys herself at least. The ghost bits at the start make me think we’re about to see the Eurovision debut of the Cybermen.

06 Armenia
B: Once again the lyrics in Armenian make me wish the country would give us an entry entirely in the language. The English verses are a bit perplexing, but make more sense once the song hits its stride as a simple invocation.

A: I always find myself prepared to dismiss this, but it redeems itself every time for its drive and energy and for actually having a sense of going somewhere. The purely instrumental version is a joy. By the time the key change kicks in, everything has come together perfectly.
V: “Fixed like a tree” is a more apt description of the performance Inga & Anush put in than their assertion that they wanna dance, which makes me wonder why their otherwise flawless vocals get so breathless. I’m glad they dropped the make-up for the final that made them look cross-eyed in the semi. I love the contrast of the modern feel to the backdrop with the very traditional elements of the music (which is nevertheless itself very contemporary in places). The laser show’s a bit rubbish.

07 Andorra
B: I suppose a lot of what is being said here could be seen as a metaphor for the principality’s participation in Eurovision. You can read a lot into it, anyway. “És el moment de corregir” kind of backfired on them.
A: I’m taking it with a pinch of salt that it took five people to compose this. Great poppy feel and rhythm, but where’s the ambition? (Q.v. “Where is Andorra?”)
V: She’s obviously enjoying herself from the off, and that’s the most endearing aspect of this performance. I don’t even mind when she messes up the big note, because the rest of the time she’s fine, and gorgeous. They might have wanted to turn the wind down, given it’s as audible as the backing vocals.

08 Switzerland
B: “May I have your attention please” is a great line. Pity no one took any heed of it. In this case though I’d certainly agree that “it’s always worth a try”.
A: I might be wrong, but I still think nothing else from 2009 sounded as contemporary and charty as this, despite the fact it comes across as rather New Order. I suppose, buoyed by Deli’s success the previous year, I foolishly assumed the likes of it would go down well with televoters. Harrumph. It’s still fantastique.
V: That is without doubt the most amazing backdrop we will ever see in Eurovision. I still fail to see what’s so affected or disappointing about the performance – his voice is meant to sound like that. Works for me.

09 Turkey
B: As if it wasn’t obvious anyway, the lyrics here both read and scan like they’re trying their damnedest to do a Paparizou. “No one can kiss like you do / As if it’s your profession” is quite good.
A: The few times I’ve heard this since the final I’ve tried very, very hard to see what the juries thought was so good about it that they allowed it to finish 4th. And I still can’t: a more workmanlike composition in this bunch would be hard to find. If they were voting for it on its international hit appeal alone I might grant them some sanity, but that doesn’t make it a worthy piece of music.
V: I love the way scantily clad belly-dancing women is all anyone ever expects of Turkey and yet that’s the very reason Turkey gives for censoring its own entries. Everything about Hadise screams overreaching underachiever to me, although I’ll concede it sounds great – despite the terrible sound mix (both times), and probably because she doesn’t sing half of the choruses. The whole performance is just unconvincing.

10 Israel
B: I love the way the Hebrew, Arabic and English work so well together, and not just in terms of not sounding awkward, but in how they manage to get the same ideas across in each and still make it so poetic. It makes it much easier to forgive the propaganda it nevertheless represents.
A: Wonderful acoustics and percussion, but the Hammond keyboard still sounds a little odd in parts. Impressive overall though, in the way the music ties itself together with the lyrics.
V: As amazing as the vocals are, they don’t blend quite as well as I’d hoped. The audience is loving them, but to me there’s something of an edge to both ladies’ voices that makes it seem like a competition between them at times. The remix here manages to be simultaneously significant and subtle.

11 Bulgaria
B: “It feels so wrong.”
A: Taken in isolation, the musical score provides any number of reasons to like the song. But put them all together – and, crucially, chuck in the vocals – and it just doesn’t work.
V: So many shades of wrong you can’t even begin to distinguish them, and it simply never ends. Give the wailing one who looks a bit like Wonder Woman her own entry!

12 Iceland
B: The lyrics alone fail to elevate this above the usual ballad fare...
A: ...but pair them with a lovely and very well-balanced arrangement...
V: ...and a note-perfect performance and the whole thing is taken to a level you might never have expected it to attain: perfection. (Apart from the dress.) The last minute is Goosebump Central. I wonder whether, in Norway’s absence, it would have won.

13 FYR Macedonia
B: There’s a frankness and openness to the words here that belie the in-your-face pop-rockiness of their delivery.
A: This is evidenced by the wonderful freefall moments opening the verses. As ever, I have some trouble deciding whether the composition is accomplished or not, but whatever its musical credentials, I like it. The “yeah yeah!” bits are the undeniably super glue holding it all together.
V: I love this performance: Stefan looks effortlessly sexy, and I find it hard to believe at times that that voice is coming out of him when he looks like he barely even has to try.

14 Romania
B: “I wonder if beyond this / There could be something better” is an appropriate question for something showcasing little more than girly drinks and dancing.
A: When it came down to the big reveal at the end of the first semi, I automatically railed against Romania’s qualification – mostly because of the song itself rather than performance, and despite the fact I’d had little if anything bad to say about it prior to the night. Listening to it now for the umpteenth time only makes me realise again that it’s rather good. For what it is.

V: I’m still not sure if the pixie theme works for this kind of song, but they all look great, and the cherry-blossom effect is nice. The vocals are brilliant when you remember there’s essentially only two people delivering them.

15 Finland
B: I love the way a song called Lose Control marks the lowest point for Finland in the contest in years. Consecutive qualifications may seem like a victory of sorts, but their decline has been swift. “Is this my reality?” seems like a rhetorical question under the circumstances.
A: The Finns have a thing for doing the ’90s at Eurovision at a time when no one else is, and it’s never brought them any success. Which is not a reflection of the songs themselves necessarily; their timing, more than anything. There’s not a lot wrong with this, but as per Romania it’s a case of “such as it is”.
V: Excellent direction, and another very effective backdrop, but everything on stage looks (and sounds) a bit crap. There are moments when Karoliina Kallio bears a startling resemblance to Celine Dion.

16 Portugal
B: Easily the most romantic lyrics of the contest, and once again supremely Portuguese. The alliteration and elision somehow make them even more attractive.
A: How wonderful this is to listen to as a piece of music. It’s multi-layered and uplifting in a way that seems entirely natural.

V: Conversely, there’s always something about the way these kinds of songs are staged that makes them feel a little bit corny and forced, even though they’re neither. I’m glad Ms Varela gets to grips with her nerves during the second verse in the semi, even if her tears at the end suggests otherwise, bless her. She’s on song from the off in the final.

17 Malta
B: These lyrics sound like they should say something, but they don’t. What does “Mystify our wisdom in time” mean?
A: I do like the way the musical and vocal arrangements go off on their own tangents for almost the entire song and yet still work so well together. It’s a pity then that both the music and the lyrics strive for such import but never manage much more than trite.
V: I understand why they played with the vocal arrangement – let’s face it, how else were they going to make it more exciting? – but Chiara surprises me by overegging the pudding from the outset here. She’s as strong as ever, but for the first time fails to make that strength attractive. She clearly also has a limited routine: stand behind microphone ---> point a bit ---> Eurovision wink ---> take microphone from stand ---> wobble head ---> toddle forward. By the time we get to the final I’ve completely forgotten she forms part of the line-up.

18 Bosnia and Herzegovina
B: Lines like “Nemaš sutra, nemaš danas / Lako je, kad ti pjesma srce nađe” are more than enough to tell you that there are layers and layers of meaning to this. Not that you’d expect otherwise from a song of its ilk.
A: This wins my award for the most complex and effective arrangement of the year by quite some margin. Utterly beguiling.
V: I think I get the stilted performance, and it is a performance in the truest sense of the word, but the lead singer is clearly and somewhat shockingly riddled with nerves. He manages to camouflage it with some Belinda Carlislesque vocals, but it’s indicative of a routine that isn’t as together as it should be. It’s better in the final though, and the ending still sounds tremendous.

19 Croatia
B: Some delightful if bemusing concepts in the lyrics here which are very probably cultural and/or linguistic: turning tears into cotton? I love the delicacy of “Umorne oči odmaraš / Začaraš”.
A: The return of Mr & Mrs Huljić is well worth the wait. This is another charming composition from Croatia, and puts me in mind of You Are the Only One. Apart from the obvious exception, the Balkans have been producing some outstanding percussive numbers this year.
V: They certainly made Igor Cukrov look a whole lot more shaggable than he ever used to. He has an odd voice that always sounds like it’s half a moment’s distraction from going completely off the chart, which I suppose makes it all the more remarkable that he doesn’t. Andrea is lovely, but I’m not sure she adds much to this. (But then, I wouldn’t have chosen black as the colour scheme either, and it works.) Once again someone’s left the wind machine set on ‘gale force’ rather than ‘gentle breeze’.

20 Ireland
B: You can just see the American teen choreography playing out in unlikely locations around the high school campus as you read these lyrics. “I’ve heard that oh so many times” sums up the song and story perfectly.
A: Everything that’s right about this song is largely what’s wrong with it, too. It’s hard to fault, but harder to care about.
V: Vocally a lot better than I thought it would be, but nothing screams lack of television experience louder than Sinéad’s shifty eyes. Plus it all just looks a bit meh.

21 Latvia
B: A whole lot about this song is captured in the line “Nyeprastaya eta zabava”. It’s as clever and meaningful as it is complex and challenging. I still prefer the Latvian version, Sastrēgums, which if anything has even more depth; in particular the lines “Cik tad var no dzīves atteikties?” and “Tālāk tiec vien tad kad sakustas cits”.
A: Even if I didn’t love this song, I’d still recognise its quality; most people seem to be able to do neither, sadly. Their loss.
V: Like Mr Cukrov, our Intars is looking way tastier here than I’d ever seen him before, especially if you go for the whole man-having-breakdown thing. I can understand entirely why next to no one got this, but that doesn’t make it any less impressive. The hand thing remains fascinating for being so inscrutable.

22 Serbia
B: Great rhythm to the chorus here in a song whose lyrics show it to be far more than the novelty entry it’s presented as, even if it exhibits that typical Balkan economy in simply repeating itself once it gets to the halfway mark.
A: There’s a lot to like here. The bassline in particular is fab.
V: The nearest thing we get to a joke entry all year and it still has more character and more to say than all of last year’s put together. The backdrop is fantastic, as is the routine – but while I never get tired of admiring the scenery, the stage show and song soon both start to drag in a way that’s only rivalled by Aven Romale.

23 Poland
B: Sweet sentiment.
A: The composition’s a bit backward in coming forward given that one of the people behind it was called Mr Boomgaarden. The verses are very one-dimensional when you take away the vocals, but the chorus is nice. The orchestration, as it tends to be, is beautiful throughout, and by the two minute mark it’s all working together rather well.
V: Before she’s even reached the first chorus, you know Lidia won’t be putting in a performance that’ll surprise and excite, or even impress particularly. She’s by no means incompetent – some notes are very strong – but there’s just so little to it. She has one of the best dresses of the contest though. The white-gospel backing vocals are brilliant considering there are only three of them. To this day I have taken no notice whatsoever of the rhythmic gymnastics.

24 Norway
B: For all the light-and-airiness of this, the lyrics are very self-aware and paint an accurate picture of relationships.
A: This redefines what it means to be canny. The greatest strength of the song is its chameleon-like quality of coming from everywhere at once. Whether or not it’s especially good is another matter.
V: And in an instant, Poland is all but forgotten. The graphics are gorgeous, if a little too dark for me, and I still find Alexander strangely unappealing as a performer, even if I recognise the appeal he has for other people. The same goes for the song and performance, if I’m honest. I don’t begrudge it its victory at all, but I’m not sure I ever want to see or hear it again – because as good as it is, it’s still not brilliant. (Musically at least. The coordination of the dancers is amazing.)

25 Cyprus
B: The imagery in this works really well, matched with the whole little girl thing: sweet without being too sugary. I’m not sure about the logic in the lines “But believe me, it’s best to let go / Don’t just go with the flow”.
A: Not so much a piece of music as a sequence of sound effects for the better part of a minute, this is nevertheless surprisingly effective for its minimalism. In fact as an overall concept it works very well.
V: Talk about making a silk purse out of a sow’s ear. Cyprus honestly couldn’t have hoped for better from this performance.

26 Slovakia
B: As languages go, Slovak must be even more to the point than Estonian if it can fit a concept like ‘fly through the darkness’ into the two words leť tmou. It’s rather dark for such a powerful ballad, appropriately I suppose, but doesn’t do much to sway my view that the language is one of the clunkiest-looking and -sounding in the contest.
A: This is a striking piece of music with some bold instrumentation, but it fails to convince me in the way something like it should.
V: The sound mix here isn’t great, but it doesn’t affect the performance much. Kamil looks like he’s stumbling in having woken up in a gutter after his best friend’s wedding. Fantastic vocals, but they’re still not pretty. The art gallery effect is the first to make full use of the possibilities of the staging if you ask me.

27 Denmark
B: Many a great couplet here in lines like “I saw you beside me / You never saw me there at all” and “I never imagined I’d find you / And lose myself instead”. It’s true that the line leading into the chorus comes out every time as “I never had a picture of her nan”.
A: There is an Irish feel to this, but at the same time it could still be 100% Danish, so you’ve got to wonder how much of a hand Ronan Keating really had in it. (Did he even turn up in Moscow for the final as promised?) The guitars are great.
V: So much of this performance seems geared towards not exposing Brinck’s shortcomings, from his posture to the curtailed vocals in various lines of the chorus. His reaction upon completing the song in the final without completely fucking it up says it all. I chose to give him the benefit of the doubt after the national final, but as a performer he really isn’t very strong – which is a shame, because the song is. I see he was sitting on the Montenegrin office chair there at the beginning.

28 Slovenia
B: Six words: “Out of time, out of place”.
A: Is Andre Babić destined to become the next Ralph Siegel? If this Hooked on Classics also-ran is anything to go by, I suspect he is.
V: Dump the other three-quarters of Quartissimo and give me the shorter one now! I love the way the backdrop is flipping through pages of music as if seeking inspiration, or perhaps the source of the plagiarism. The bits in Slovene sound terrible.

29 Hungary
B: Never has a song been truer to its lyrics than here with admissions like “It’s an overload in a disco fantasy”. It’s so utterly and unashamedly camp. The line “In the middle of the night we dance till we get sore” would make a great (if obvious) blankety blank if you replaced ‘dance’ with ‘_____’.
A: I suppose if you’re queer and you’re going to pinch an intro from anyone, it might as well be Madonna; there are worse things to be accused of copying than Vogue. Mind you, there are more things that this song could be accused of plagiarising than just Vogue, too. But it’s discotastic and I love it, especially coming from a country I thought would never give us anything of the sort.
V: This suffers from the worst sound mix of the contest, but then very little about the performance works anyway, including Zoli’s Barbara Dex-winning outfit. In its own way, it’s as appalling a three minutes as Bulgaria. As much as I love the song, I can’t wait for it to end.

30 Azerbaijan
B: These lyrics are cleverer than they initially appear or indeed need to be. I especially like the lines “Suddenly you stand beside me / And I see a million burning stars”.
A: For an Azerbaijani-Iranian-Greek-Swedish mash-up, only one of these really stands out in the composition. It stood out from the first time I heard it, which is when it also convinced me that it would be in there with a chance in May, despite coming across in parts as dorky as Arash himself does. It’s still obviously missing a key change.
V: The song makes perfect Eurovision sense, sounds huge and earns enormous support in the arena. Arash is a dork, but at least he never gets ideas above his station. Collectively, they could be the generic Asian family out of Eastenders.

31 Greece
B: How do two native speakers of English come up with lyrics this banal?
A: They must have heard the music and decided it wasn’t worth their while overextending themselves. I loved the way the deluded Greek fanboys defended this to their last breath as the most fresh and modern-sounding song in the contest.
V: Titty dance! Alex Panayi was robbed of an on-screen credit here. The performance is genius, but then it had to be, since it was never going to have any other laurels to rest on.

32 Lithuania
B: I can see why the chorus might make some people roll their eyes, but I think the repetition works.
A: Piano! Brilliant arrangement. I suppose my one consolation is that this made it to the final when Switzerland didn’t.
V: Whether or not they got the backdrop they asked for, this performance suffers the moment Sasha abandons the piano, when it all starts to get very affected. And whether or not it’s his mother tongue, the Russian sounds nowhere near as good as the English, or even the Lithuanian for that matter. Bah!

33 Moldova
B: Well, the lyrics fit the feel of the song perfectly, but the English ones make it sound a little bit like a tourist board commercial. Has there ever been an Anglophone song that mentions anything like “foaie verde-a bobului”?
A: I’ve always had a soft spot for this. If anything’s going to make me get up and dance like no one’s watching, it’s this kind of thing: fun, spirited, full of character and with no ulterior motives whatsoever. Plus it’s a great piece of music.
V: 2009’s Qele qele opening and no mistake: once you’ve heard Nelly doing that, she seems a bit wasted on the rest of it. The backing dancers are some of the best-looking men on stage this year and consequently wearing far too many clothes, however appropriate and colourful their costumes might be. It’s not as fun as I expected it to be, but brilliant all the same. Has anyone deciphered what’s scribbled on her hand in the final?

34 Albania
B: “Edhe një çast nëse ti më mungon / Unë mbyll dy sytë të ndjej pranë” sounds so much more exotic than “...when you’re not here / I close my eyes / ...and I feel you’re there”, even though it says basically the same thing. Decent enough lyrics for the kind of song, I suppose.
A: I’ve never thought this remix works as well as the original arrangement. There’s not much wrong with it, and in some ways it’s more in keeping with the surrealism of the rest of it, but even so. Where it definitely improves on the original is in adding an extra chorus after the key change.
V: Distracted as I was by turquoise gimp man, I didn’t realise until afterwards that the two dudes in black were little guys. Kejsi’s vocals are tremendous. I love the way she screams like the girl she is when she qualifies!

35 Ukraine
B: The lines “The charm that I possess / Will put you to the test” were clearly prophetic. I quite like how sassy the whole thing is.
A: Trashy though it may be, the song has a lot to recommend it musically. The last half a minute is flawless.
V: Imagine the disaster zone a duet between Svetlana and Sakis would be, bereft of backing vocalists. (There’s even an element of the titty dance!) This looks amazing when you can actually see it: however strapped for cash they may be, NTU certainly know how to put on a show.

36 Estonia
B: Given how cold and dark the picture is that these lyrics paint, they radiate warmth and colour, to my ears anyway. They also flow beautifully. The translation on Diggiloo* isn’t half bad either ;-)
A: The mind still boggles that Sven Lõhmus produced something this good, although I suppose you have to wonder how much of the string arrangement came from him and how much from the girls playing it. Either way the whole thing works a treat. So much so that I’d say it was vying for the title of best ever Estonian entry.
V: I adore the way Sandra seems to be exuding the dry ice at the start there in the semi, like she’s just been woken from cryogenic sleep. The sound here is awful once again, and the vocals sound a bit thin, but nothing disguises the strength of either. It’s all marvellously ethereal. Celestial, even. The sequined blue dresses are a step too far for me, alas. (Incidentally, Sandra’s “Thank juuuuuuuuuuu!” has been hilariously lampooned ever since.)

*Although some pedantic Estonian who thought they knew better demanded that one of the lines be changed because my poetic interpretation wasn’t close enough to the original. D’oh!

37 The Netherlands
B: I suppose the lyrics are decent enough for this kind of anthem, but half of them produce a frown for one reason or another. The way the last line of the first chorus comes out as “there are too many men that fart” is good for at least one snigger before the fnaar-fnaar value wears off.
A: It might have been just about passable in its original form.
V: This immediately sounds like it’s going to be massive, but then they start singing and it plummets head-first off a cliff. Rightly or wrongly, it’s far too easy to perceive as just a bunch of sad old queens camping it up. The backing vocalists are great.

38 France
B: Wonderful lyrics, as is almost always the case with the French entries. “Je veux bien tout donner, si seul’ment tu y crois” illustrates the fine line the song treads in testing the televoters’ limits of interest and appreciation.
A: Well it’s tremendous, obviously. A bit aloof. Like someone you have a great deal of respect and admiration for without liking them particularly or having much in common with them.
V: As mesmerising as this is, it only shows how much more successful France could have been with Patricia Kaas at the helm if they’d chosen a more accessible song. Charmingly, she looks amazed at the reception she gets.

39 Russia
B: It’s never struck me before how thematically similar this is to the similarly-titled Belarusian entry from 2006, albeit with the protagonist having been wrung out the other end of the relationship.
A: You’ve got to love Russia’s entry in Moscow being penned by a Georgian and an Estonian and performed by a Ukrainian. Composer Konstantin Meladze is a pretty big name on the Russian music scene, moving in the same circles as Alla Pugachova’s other yes-men, so it’s no surprise he came up with something like this: the Russian music and entertainment industry in microcosm, where the melodrama is slapped on even thicker than the make-up.
V: She can’t sing for shit. But the show – and the fact she really does look like Jennifer Ehle playing Lizzie Bennet in the BBC adaptation of Pride and Prejudice – is amazing, and certainly makes for a memorable home entry.

40 Germany
B: From the very first line this annoys me. Who says “let us [do anything]” rather than “let’s”?
A: Any credibility this has as a composition is synthesised to within an inch of its life. It only surprised me to see it received the support it did to the extent that it came from countries where, as some had predicted, this kind of Dancing with the Stars fodder remains popular.
V: I suppose if we couldn’t have Zoli camping it up in the final, at least we got Oscar, although he comes a very poor second. (Lamé trousers?!) The stage looks amazing. No wonder Dita von Teese barely moved in that outfit – the fact she could even breathe in a corset that tight is a miracle.

41 United Kingdom
B: I still struggle to see this as anything other than a metaphor for the UK’s bad run at Eurovision and them saying: “Look what we’ve gone and done. Now, chuck points at us!” The lyrics are also rather lazy given who they’ve been penned by, but I’m guessing she spat them out in about half an hour if the clips from Your Country Needs You were anything to go by.
A: Whoever it was composed by, and however professionally, it’s still at least 20 years too late. The orchestration is top-notch, needless to say.
V: And it was all going so well until the key change. Still pretty good though, all things considered. The whole teacher-witnessing-pupil’s-coming-of-age bit is overdone: ALW really didn’t need to be there. I love the way Jade reacts to being nudged by the violinist like she’s been snubbed and wanders off.

42 Spain
B: I quite like the ballsiness to this, evident in lines likes “No importa si quieres o no, porque hoy mando yo”. And I like “Quiero clavarte en mi cruz”, too.
A: I don’t see why Turkey did so much better than this. Neither is especially good in my opinion, although I guess the market this is aimed at is slightly less mainstream. That said, there’s more to admire about this composition once you sift out the lazy and predictable bits.
V: They might have shipped in composers from Greece and Sweden, but wherever they got their choreographer from, I hope they kept the receipt. And I don’t know whether it’s just nerves, but Soraya doesn’t sound like she has much depth to her vocals. The performance comes across as one of the least rehearsed of the lot.

And so to the points...

1 point goes to Moldova

2 points go to France

3 points go to Portugal

4 points go to Israel

5 points go to Bosnia and Herzegovina

6 points go to Lithuania

7 points go to Latvia

8 points go to Iceland

10 points go to Estonia

and finally...

12 points go to...


Switzerland!


The wooden spoon goes to the Netherlands.

2008

More than 10 songs deserve to make the top ten, but it’s a year where more than 10 songs deserve to make the bottom ten as well. And as nice a show as they put on, the Serbs are responsible for the worst direction in the contest since I can’t remember when.

01 Montenegro
B: The line “Stojiš na ivici srca” adds a touch of poetry to these lyrics...
A: ...but it’s “Vrijeme za uzalud gubim” that sums up the song as a whole. The one good thing about it is that it shows Montenegro is capable of making something out of nothing, suggesting that if they ever do come up with a decent entry they should be able to turn it into something magnificent.
V: Good vocals from everyone, but Stefan reminds me of that kid from Weeds whose uncle teaches him the finer points of masturbation. Which makes him being fondled by the ladies in leather even less convincing.

02 Israel
B: I’m not sure whether these lyrics just don’t translate or whether they’re simply badly translated, but either way I get the sense of something very meaningful being said here, whatever it might be. They’re deceptive in any case: as words they lack beauty, but somewhere between the page and Boaz Mauda’s interpretation of them they transform into something heartfelt and romantic.
A: Those first 30 seconds are transfixing. There are layers of subtlety to the arrangement here that I missed completely the first time around.
V: Bit ropey on the timing, but what a strap of a man for such a voice to come from! The male backing vocalists and No Name jumping about work better than you’d expect them to, and I can forgive them the cheesy final tableau because of the strength of the rest of the performance.

03 Estonia
B: Pass.
A: Well, it’s not trying to be anything more than it actually is, if that constitutes a defence. It far outstays what little welcome it enjoyed.
V: Peeter Oja’s croaky voice suits the performance. Otherwise, this is appalling in every repect – apart from that it’s not taking itself in the slightest bit seriously.

04 Moldova
B: I love these lyrics: they have a well-meaning clumsiness about them in places, but then surprise you with lines like “All I need / Is to find... / ...the words I’ve never said / The words I need to touch your world / And your life, to breathe your soul”.
A: The 5.1 Dolby digital surround sound production is fantastic, bringing out every little nuance of the composition. I could listen to it on an endless loop and never get tired of it.
V: I love the smile when she almost falls off the sofa during the first verse. The ad libs are authentic, but seem only to be there to prop up a very exposed performance and some equally exposed staging. The stage itself looks glorious.

05 San Marino
B: Lord of the Rings leftover Nicola Della Valle clearly had his high school creative writing lessons in mind when penning the opening line here: “Mai avrei pensato a te come mia complice” makes you wonder immediately where the rest of it is heading.
A: Every time I listen to this, I find myself urging it on to greater things. They never come. It has all the elements to be the kind of powerhouse pop Muse have made a name for themselves with, but instead it chooses – for no obvious reason – to rein itself in. Having said that, it’s another striking debut.
V: The stage looks great again, so it’s a pity more isn’t made of the lighting. The vocals are more successful as the centrepiece here than they are with Moldova.

06 Belgium
B: It seems about right that something this twee should be a family affair. The imaginary language is irritating.
A: Scratch that – the whole thing’s irritating. The underlying problem is that it doesn’t seem to have a clear idea of what it wants to be.

V: This looks way better than it deserves to. They do their best to make something of it, I’ll give them that, although I don’t understand why everyone’s so breathless by the two minute mark. Soetkin needs to take fewer happy pills when she gets up in the morning.

07 Azerbaijan
B: Behind all the heaven and hell trappings, this is very gay.
A: Talk about unlikely debuts. This isn’t any more competent than the Montenegrin entry, but it diverts your attention from its shortcomings more successfully. The thing that does set it apart from Zauvijek volim te, however, is its ambition. Overreaching though it may have been.
V: Amazingly bad, with direction to match. I quite like Elnur’s hairstyle. I think it’s the tightness of his pants that’s making him go all falsetto.

08 Slovenia
B: If you watched the promo video for this knowing only that the first part of the first line meant “On the floor by myself” you’d have to wonder what was about to unfold. The lyrics are quite ballsy, as reflected in the title, which is a very useful one: To Hell with It covers a multitude of sins, especially if you realise your routine’s not working but you’re contractually obliged to go ahead with it.
A: Slovenia by numbers, albeit at the classier end of the scale. There are plenty of decent hooks in the arrangement (both vocal and musical), but it’s still a glass half-empty.
V: You just know they’ve fucked it up within the first five seconds. This is another example of singing which is perfectly in tune but completely off key.

09 Norway
B: These lyrics work better performed than on paper. I always hear the opening line of the second verse as “Love can go away forever if you bullshit”.
A: It’s still the way the vocals are delivered that makes this for me. Well, that and everything else.
V: It just sounds good, doesn’t it? Better than that, it sounds like quality, especially given the run of songs before it. The simple and attractive performance works a charm, and the vocals are fantastic from everyone involved.

10 Poland
B: Moments of this seem oddly un-nativespeakery until you realise her real name is Tamara Diane Gołębiowska and perhaps English isn’t her first language after all.
A: I must admit I’ve always liked this more than I felt it was perhaps right to. It’s very contrived, after all, and not very interesting. The piano and strings are enough for me though.
V: As odd as she looks and occasionally sounds, Ms Gee does seem to be giving it her all, and she even appears surprised at times that she’s pulling it off. Which, you know, props to her for that.

11 Ireland
B: A lot of what this has to say should be clever in a very self-deprecating kind of way. I can’t shake the feeling though that – despite the opening lines – it’s all one big, very cheap shot at everyone in the contest except Ireland, along the lines of “look what you’ve reduced us to”. And that, coming from a country with its track record in recent years, is beyond rich.

A: It’s a pity the Irish chose to give us something this upbeat as pastiche. That said, I’m no great fan of the composition, which is workmanlike at best. That, presumably, being the point.
V: You can actually hear that whoever’s got his microphone shoved up Dustin’s arse is singing in a box. Awful direction again – you’d be forgiven for failing to realise that the turkey on the trolley is anything other than a prop. The “did we win?” bit at the end raises a smile, but is immediately tarnished by what comes next. (The next thing he said, I mean; not Casanova.)

12 Andorra
B: Nothing spectacular, these lyrics, but at least they’re correct.
A: This is more successful at what it’s trying to do than Sweden if you ask me. Which isn’t saying much, admittedly. It lacks the key change it needs to be pure schlager, but credit where it’s due, they don’t go too far wrong.
V: Gisela makes the word ‘waited’ sound like it rhymes with ‘ferret’. The lower key the live version is performed in sounds terrible, but by the end that’s the least of their worries.

13 Bosnia and Herzegovina
B: I don’t know who Tim Clancy is, but he wrote a decent set of English lyrics to this. I still wish they’d used them for the chorus, if for no other reason than “I’m gonna try to wake you up but you’re acting like you already are” seems to fit better than “Pokušaću da te probudim a ti se pravi budna”, particularly with the Bosnian version almost coming across as pro-creationism. Either way, it’s a work of genius.
A: I love the way the acoustic and electric guitars are, for the most part, deliberately separated in the mix. But then I love everything about this – one of the boldest, most unorthodox, complex and complete works of art the contest has seen.
V: Seriously, it’s like the director’s working blind. (Did they ditch him for Saturday night or was he just a quick learner?) The performance is suitably bonkers. I’m glad they made more of its lighting in the final.

14 Armenia
B: The lines “Yes im hay hoghits / Eka berem / Hove sareri / Luyse arevi” and the music that accompany them make for an engrossing opening. Pity it all descends into utter banality.
A: Unlike the Israeli entry, this just falls away completely after an equally arresting opening. There’s nothing intrinsically wrong with it (apart from it feeling tired after about a minute and a half), and elements of the arrangement and composition are inspired. All things being equal it was unlucky not to have emulated My Number One’s victory, since it’s pretty much the same thing, just in a slightly rejigged format. Perhaps that’s why it sticks in my craw.

V: Although I can see the appeal, this strikes me as being very lazy. Sirusho looks like a two-bit tart and seems to know it. The colours and effects are fantastic, with pyrotechnics that actually do what they should.

15 The Netherlands
B: Clever lyrics in the way lines like “In my dreams I’ll fly so high I can reach the stars / I sit on top of a mountain / And scream when nobody hears me” capture the emotional all-over-the-placeness of this kind of situation.
A: I hadn’t realised Tjeerd van Zanen was one of the composers of this. You wouldn’t know. The pop sensibilities are all there, yes, but as an alloy I’m not sure it’s any more than the sum of its parts. At least they slot together neatly enough.
V: Somebody turn the lights on! Great performance, although as per 2007 I would have dropped the dancing tracksuits.

16 Finland
B: The chorus could be the start of a joke about New Zealanders (“Missä miehet ratsastaa / Siellä lampaat ei voi laiduntaa”). Huh! Hah!
A: This is almost as theatrical as Lordi, and equally camp in its way, even as a piece of music. The addition of the Finnish sees it come across as the apotheosis of the country’s hard-rock trilogy. There’s really nowhere left for them to go now along these lines.
V: They would have qualified on those first four bars alone, wouldn’t they? You can nevertheless tell from the muted welcome they receive in the final that once there, they won’t be going very far. Still, it gives us another chance to ogle semi-naked men, even if it is the peculiarly hairless, alabaster example typical of so many Finnish men.

17 Romania
B: The Italian works very well with the Romanian in a song like this.
A: Three minutes of music that do exactly what’s required of them. Needless to say I like the piano and strings and frown upon the use of the electric guitar.
V: I want to have Vlad Miriţa’s babies, preferably on tap. Nico’s arrival is the green light for the shouting match that ensues. What is she wearing in the semi? The slinky silver number in the final’s an improvement, but she still looks like his mum.

18 Russia
B: Dima Bilan’s alleged decent into debilitating drug addiction lends an amusing new dimension to lines like “I’m falling off the sky”. The whole thing could be a metaphor for being high. Confiscate the narcotics though and you still get a textbook anthem.
A: You can tell this comes from an American R&B stable because it’s so minimalist. I’m pleased to say its minimalism is effective – which is so often not the case with this kind of music. A bit like Romania, it does what it says on the tin, so there’s not much point in complaining about it. Or room to do so.
V: He’s clearly convinced of his own magnificence. He looks like an amputee when the spotlight comes on in the final. The performance is pleasingly understated by Russian standards until the ineffectual ice skating begins, after which it unravels at a rate of knots.

19 Greece
B: “Can you feel it – that I’m not a little girl?” Depends where you put your hands, I suppose. There’s something very teenage-girl-desperate-to-have-her-cherry-popped about this song.
A: Just as authentic as Believe, but not in a way that makes that a good thing. Whatever I said about Sarbel last time you could say about this, too.
V: I’m not sure why, but I just don’t like this at all. Astroturf hasn’t looked that tacky since it covered the lawn in The Brady Bunch.

20 Iceland
B: When you put together the performers, composer, lyricists and backing vocalists here, you get a team representing virtually every Icelandic entry over the last 20 years. So it’s fitting that they’re all in on an anthem called This Is My Life.

A: The lyrics seem to be saying: you want it to be better, but this is pretty much as good as it gets, so like it for what it is. And I do. But in purely musical terms, it still could be better.
V: This makes Sweden redundant on every level. Flawless vocals from our blond(e) duo.

21 Sweden
B: The lazy meaningless of these lyrics is summed up perfectly by the bridge: “Heroes can live on their own / But heroes never die alone” is not only unimaginative, but also repetitive, and while purporting to say something actually says nothing at all.
A: Tinny, very tinny.
V: Do you think anyone realises she’s not that colour naturally? Nothing else about her is normal. Her voice is strong, but not very pretty. How I wish this had never made the final.

22 Turkey
B: I love the lines “Beni büyütün, ağlatmayın / Sevginiz nerde, övündüğünüz” and “Direniyor, faili tutkunun / Kızmıș ve küçülmüș”, although I haven’t got a clue what the second one means.
A: Coming straight after Sweden only highlights further how progressive this is. Brilliant.
V: Perhaps it’s an echo, but the music almost sounds live. The lighting and colours here would make this stand out a mile from everything else even if the song itself didn’t.

23 Ukraine
B: There’s clever stuff going on here. I like the knowing and completely shameless nods in lines like “No one knows who I am / But I don’t give a damn” and “I am a brand new star that you’ve never known”, and the ‘screw you’ quality to “There is one thing I bet / You’re about to regret / I’m no longer your lover” and “Baby, don’t call me baby”.

A: Hero’s shortcomings are ruthlessly exposed when it’s overshadowed like this. Shady Lady mightn’t be quite up there with Deli in terms of artistry, but boy does it knock Ms Perrelli into a cocked hat. It barely puts a foot wrong.
V: I wouldn’t be surprised if Philip Kirkorov’s talents for songwriting (or -pilfering) and staging see him winning the contest in the not too distant future. This has absolutely everything it needs and deserves – except, yet again, good direction.

24 Lithuania
B: I suppose it’s romantic, if you can figure out what he’s going on about.
A: Forgotten number from an ’80s musical. And forgotten for a very good reason.

V: Piercing eyes.

25 Albania
B: I’ll have to remember the lines “Bora e zerit tënd mbi zemrën time ra / Mbuloi strehën e fundit të dashurisë” next time I find myself trapped in a loveless relationship. Ironically, this is the warmest and most beautiful Albanian has sounded in any of the country’s entries.
A: From the shorn, often fragile vocals to the delicate and rich composition, this is an absolute triumph.
V: Olta sings the hostile Serbian audience into submission. Fucking brilliant, and such maturity.

26 Switzerland
B: I really wish I’d never taken a proper listen to these lyrics, because it made me realise how quintessentially Swiss the whole thing is in being both (1) a run-of-the-mill anthem and (2) a soppy ballad tinged with childhood nostalgia.
A: This works a lot better as one song than two songs ought to, testament to the strength of the composition underpinning it all. It knows what to highlight, when to do it and how, and as a result produces the most together-sounding piece of music the Swiss have entered for a very long time.
V: This verges on great for every one of its three minutes, but still somehow manages to fall flat. Paolo is as cute as I hoped he would be.

27 Czech Republic
B: Ms Kerndlová might insist that the guys can kiss goodbye to Madame Palm and her five sisters when she’s around, but I’m sure plenty of them will still be going solo when she’s wearing skirts that short.

A: This has ‘unmitigated disaster’ writ large all over it. The fact that the bridge into the chorus is better (and catchier) than the chorus itself says it all.
V: She means well.

28 Belarus
B: “I’m gonna miss you, maybe” is quite good.
A: There’s a strange murkiness to the music here, and straight after the Czech entry it also commits the cardinal sin of having a bridge which is more interesting and accomplished than the chorus it builds up to. The song starts treading water well before the two minute mark.

V: His fringe quivers! Awful backing vocals, which pick one note and stick to it.

29 Latvia
B: If this was a Junior Eurovision entry, I’d still baulk at how puerile it is.
A: It took four people to compose this?
V: As if the Latvian accents aren’t bad enough, we also have to put up with Robert Meloni[’s].

30 Croatia
B: Romance in the truest sense of the world. Lovely.
A: This creates more atmosphere and exhibits more imagination and finesse in its first 30 seconds than the last three songs did in 9 minutes, and sustains it for the better part of two-and-a-half. Which is to say until it reaches its slapstick finale.
V: What a bemusing performance. It doesn’t work, however hard it tries, but it sounds good. The solitary dancing lady is as ineffectual here as she was for San Marino.

31 Bulgaria
B: The lyrics aren’t really the point, are they.
A: That shifts all of the focus onto the music, which is, partly, a good thing, since it has relentless drive and energy when it’s not changing gears. It’s trying to be something Eurovision never was at the time but also never will be, so as experiments go, it’s largely triumphant but also rather pointless.
V: This should work, too, but doesn’t. I love Metal Mickey thanking Europe at the end.

32 Denmark
B: “If your life is like a sad song maybe / You should try and celebrate it” sounds like a tactful way of saying “get over yourself”.

A: Very much a weeknight song. The Danes seem forever trapped in Monday to Friday where Eurovision is concerned of late – not that you can blame them, given that their only recent weekend outing was drag by name and drag by nature. Besides, they tend to do unobtrusive and cosy quite well, as here.
V: This is a bit affected, but still effective, and it couldn’t come from anywhere other than Denmark. I wouldn’t say no to the stubbly guitarist, who bears a passing resemblance to Bradley Cooper.

33 Georgia
B: “Are you still so blind to ask me why?” is amusing, overweening and tasteless. The claim that “the face of war is never true” is well illustrated by the grey areas surrounding Russia’s incursion into Georgia.
A: Bin the lead vocals and this would be perfectly palatable, droopy chorus included. The backing vocals are great.
V: Yes, all very insistent, and lacking any kind of subtlety. Kudos to them for the unexpected transformation, which is – conversely – pulled off very neatly and without fuss. Diana Gurstkaya (sic) has teeth that make me think she and Isis Gee had a pre-contest bleach-off.

34 Hungary
B: Some nice imagery here, but it’s still fairly faceless as ballads go.
A: There’s just no getting past how bland and old-fashioned this is. The way it’s composed is awkwardly disjointed in places.
V: Boring, but charming, and the stage looks pretty. Csézy appears to be wearing a hairy clam.

35 Malta
B: She’s a Camilleri? It all makes sense now.
A: This isn’t the pile of poo it appears to be upon first inspection, but it doesn’t amount to much.
V: Ruslana’s afterparty. Not the car crash I remember it being.

36 Cyprus
B: “Bam, vre manges, oli sas tin pathate” might be an exaggeration – with the exception of the thumb-spraining, text-mad Greek diaspora in the UK and Bulgaria – but when you actually look at the lyrics, the charm and sassiness that got the song to Eurovision in the first place is revealed, and takes it up in my estimations.
A: One glance at the scoreboard highlights the problem with – or, more generously, for – this song: having worked itself into a niche, it has no way of extending its appeal beyond Greekish circles, however accomplished it may be as a piece of music. But it is a bit annoying.

V: They’re not doing too well on the names in this semi, are they? They have her down as Kadi Evdokia. She’s rather impressive, but I have no idea what planet we’re on. Or what decade it is there.

37 FYR Macedonia
B: The rap bits are slightly too Moldova ’06 for my liking, but the chorus is great. And “the stars above glow like they’re making love” is a gorgeous line.

A: Let Me Love You is much more effective in urban terms than Ninanajna, which makes the fact that it didn’t make it to the final when its predecessor did even more unjust. It goes without saying that the orchestral arrangement gets my thumbs-up, but so do the vocals, which suit it nicely.
V: This certainly gets a gold star in its exercise book for being much improved. It sounds great, and the stage looks fantastic.

38 Portugal
B: It’s all a bit melodramatic, frankly.

A: If any song was going to get the Portuguese back into the final, this was it. The big-and-brashness of it overshadows some of the more moderate and attractive elements, but that’s pretty much the point.
V: Beautiful vocals from one and all. The purple hair is a choice.

39 United Kingdom
B: I wonder whether poor Andy was still ‘struggling to keep his feet on the ground’ when he saw the UK once again languishing at the bottom of the scoreboard.
A: Perfect for headphones, this song – there’s lots happening you might not otherwise pick up. It’s a very effective slice of the era it’s emulating, and I have a lot of affection for it, but you can’t ignore how unsuited it is to the televoting era.

V: Best British performance in a decade, hands down. All five of the guys on stage look like they should be driving buses. The backing vocalists are both brilliant and sexy.

40 Germany
B: Nice rhythm to the lyrics in the verses. They’re quite nice overall, actually.
A: This is not only unsuited to the televoting era, but to any competition in which you only have three minutes to impress. It would likely do better with juries, since it’s more than competent, but only slightly, since it’s still not all that engaging. It’s a well-produced song that works in its own right, just not for Eurovision.

V: I was worried about them sounding odd individually, but it’s their vocals together that don’t work. It’s the blonde’s fault, mostly. They should have disappeared in that puff of smoke at the end for the full effect.

41 France
B: Even with the biography of the song provided, does anyone know what it’s about? It has to be one of the most arcane things ever to hit the Eurovision stage. I like the line “toi et moi, c’est comme tu sais”, which covers all sorts of bases.
A: Rather like Pokušaj, you don’t have to understand this to enjoy it or recognise that there’s something to it. I doubt I’ll ever get it, however many times I listen to it, but at least I’ll enjoy myself in the process of failing to.

V: The sound mix here is appalling, and the direction is even worse. Luckily, the performance is so weird that it doesn’t make much difference. Full marks to the backing vocalists for a very difficult job well done.

42 Spain
B: I love the fact that they claim it took 11 people to write this.
A: This is a decent joke ruined in the telling: it should have been kept short and to the point. There’s little sense in deconstructing it musically.
V: Probably the most successful of the year’s novelty entries. It raises a smile or two. [Watches] Three, to be precise.

43 Serbia
B: This is basically just Lejla with the roles reversed, isn’t it?
A: Oddly, this to me has more in common with Molitva than either of Željko’s other works to this point, and that’s perhaps why it comes off worse in my estimations. It’s a classy offering, but seems less inspired and less inspirational than either Lane moje or Lejla. It makes for a fitting final panel to the triptych though.
V: Can she not see the dead people on the stage in front of her? The moon appears to be a laser disc. Lovely home entry, but they were lucky to make 6th.


And so to the points...

1 point goes to France

2 points go to FYR Macedonia

3 points go to the United Kingdom

4 points go to Moldova

5 points go to Norway

6 points go to Ukraine

7 points go to Israel

8 points go to Albania

10 points go to Bosnia and Herzegovina

and finally...

12 points go to...


Turkey!


The big wooden spoon goes to the Czech Republic, but in such a bumper year an honorary set of three smaller commemorative spoons is also awarded to the Baltic States – Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania – for their equally atrocious efforts.