01 Spain
B: The lyrics are clichéd, but for a recognisable reason. ‘Music’ could be a euphemism for something else entirely in the line “Todo esto es la música que llevo tan dentro de mí”.
A: Serafin’s voice manages to lift his entries above the mediocre they may otherwise be labelled. The bridge in this one is the best bit of the song, followed by the key change. The late introduction of the (Spanish) guitar is a nice touch.
V: An oddly lifeless performance for a song that’s meant to be such a paean. And blind or not, there’s no excuse for that kind of quiff.
02 Belgium
B: I see façades were a recurring theme in 1992. These lyrics are interesting but nerdy – as if the entire younger generation of Europe wanted to put the brakes on progress.
A: Christ, there’s so much about this to dislike. Let’s start with the horrible synthesised everything and Morgane’s irritating voice.
V: Oh look, a close-up on the violins. 11 points was generous. Next.
03 Israel
B: I’m with Dafna when she says “en li shum ratzon lehityafyef”!
A: It’s two-faced of me to slag off one song for being completely programmed only to venerate the next one that comes along, but this is fabulous. The melody’s so easy without sounding lazy, and I love what it’s saying. Amusingly ironic that it came straight after Belgium. Great guitars (not synthesised).
V: Finland must have looked at this and thought, “Why don’t we try something like that in a couple of years? They got away with it.” Of course, they’d have been failing to overlook the fact that they only just get away with it: the music feels like it’s being held together with sticky tape that’s yellowing around the edges. Dafna gives it her not-considerable all.
04 Turkey
B: I love that the Turkish word for ‘storm’ is fortune.
A: “The next entry comes from... 1973!” The basset hound of ballads: hopelessly droopy, yet somehow still likeable.
V: Having said that, I’m not sure any of them realise quite how unattractive a proposition this is live. Not for a moment does Aylin convince me her heart’s in it.
05 Greece
B: I wonder what kind of questions Cleopatra’s children keep asking her that frighten her so and render her unable to provide satisfactory answers.
A: Bombast! Despite employing some musical trickery that was quite new at the time, this still sounds as old-fashioned in places as Turkey. I love the insecurity of the verses though, and the way the music cranks up in the chorus to match the change in tone. The electric guitar comes with the territory, i.e. Greek entries, so I can overlook it here.
V: Whereas Turkey was more 1980s telenovella, this is straight out of Falcon Crest or Knots Landing: Ms Pantazi exudes melodrama from every pore likes it’s the only way she knows how to breathe. She captures my attention in a way the music singularly fails to. (What’s with the orchestra this year?)
06 France
B: This isn’t a very challenging concept as metaphors go, but the way it’s packaged in lines like “Ou pé ké janme swèf” is quite beautiful.
A: When they’re not doing chansons, France isn’t too bad at innovation in ESC. There’s so much... finesse, I suppose, here. It’s mesmerising.
V: Fascinating performance. For most of it you’d swear they’re all hearing music we’re not. The contributions the orchestra make almost feel like an afterthought and are the only thing that remind you you’re watching Eurovision. This is a good thing, but probably explains why it didn’t rate higher with the juries: I’m sure at least some of them would have lost patience with it.
07 Sweden
B: I’m surprised she stayed as long as she did if the condition was “så länge spänningen finns kvar”.
A: Unless this was another misguided Melodifestivalen winner, Sweden can’t have been trying too hard to win at home. There’s nothing intrinsically wrong with it, but they could at least have erased the dots after they joined them.
V: Well, it gets the job done. Best backing vocals so far.
08 Portugal
B: “Peguei, trinquei e meti-te na cesta” is such a brilliant bit of imagery.
A: Music and lyrics very much on the same wavelength here. Just about every Portuguese entry is predestined to make the cut, provided they’re not about revolution or Portugal itself. Delightful, needless to say.
V: Portugal being overlooked at Eurovision, part ∞. Studio-perfect vocals.
09 Cyprus
B: I like the line “Se telio ashedio... / Na yinome mia ekriksi brosta sou” and equally realise that might be the overall effect of the song. Or lack thereof.
A: I could understand this being grossly misunderstood. The composition is imaginative, if rather spartan.
V: I suppose if any song was going to benefit from the odd sound of the orchestra this year it would be Teriazume, since every element of the arrangement is exposed. It comes across way more effectively than I thought it would, thanks largely to Evridiki’s command of the camera.
10 Malta
B: Typically mangled Maltese English, but it’s the thought that counts, however saccharine. The line “I’ve come to be tired of the scene” has to have been penned by a gay man, surely.
A: This sort of sounds like Love Shine a Light five years early, so I get why it did well for itself. Musically it’s quite competent, without actually trying very hard.
V: Wonderfully confident performance from Mary Spiteri without milking it for all it’s worth. It’s the second song in a row which sounds good, too. It just makes oodles of Eurovision sense.
11 Iceland
B: “Nei eða já? ... Aldrei mér tekst að tak’ af skarið.” I will: já!
A: Yes, all synthesisers again, but I’m sorry, it’s the second-closest Eurovision ever came to a SAW production – and one of their most competent and gloriously trashy at that.
V: Supremely blonde! Performance of the night, so far.
12 Finland
B: “Ajatuksissamme tuota laatikkoa muunneltiin” – if only in reality they’d modified the song.
A: Preferably by replacing it with something better, which, let’s face it, couldn’t have been that much of a challenge. There’s nothing wrong with the production itself, but it’s... still just wrong. The opening bar (and indeed pretty much all of the opening) is a blatant rip-off of Roxette.
V: In its defence, the vocals are good. It does sound contemporary, too, if unoriginal. Amusingly, the title filters through as ‘crap crap’ in Estonian.
13 Switzerland
B: “It’s incredible – I really did not expect it / ...when I came all alone tonight.” Titter.
A: Switzerland were pretty rubbish at Eurovision for the longest time, weren’t they. This is so boringly predictable. I know it was never meant to make it to the ESC stage in the first place, but even so. I hope she was kicking her clothes off in borderline prick-tease/coquettish fashion throughout.
V: [Watches] Pity. I’m sure she wishes she’d taken up that pole-dancing job instead of settling on a Swiss banker for a husband, a couple of kids and singing show tunes in her knickers while hoovering.
14 Luxembourg
B: These lyrics are less than inspired, but I like the line “’T get end aner Welt / ... Iwwer on eege Grenzen”.
A: The music is less than inspired, too. In fact the same could be said of Luxembourg as was just said of Switzerland, by and large. Here at least they have a stab at an arresting chorus. Bland, but palatable.
V: The frustrated housewives keep coming. And like Switzerland, despite everything, they somehow get away with it: the whole thing sounds a hell of a lot better than it ought to.
15 Austria
B: Why is there half a line of Italian and half a line of English amidst the German?
A: That violin (or whatever it is) is wonderfully mournful, and the copious echo seems to fit for once. There’s a lot about the rest of the composition I should probably dislike, but the lyrics make it work somehow.
V: Who’s the supermodel playing the cello with her hair caught in the strings? Must hurt. Tony Wegas looks like the broad-shouldered lovechild of Scooch and Milli Vanilli. I like the final note, but the rest of the performance tends to pass me by.
16 United Kingdom
B: The only slightly clever or interesting thing about these lyrics is trying to pinpoint which of the protagonists is the eponymous step out of time.
A: Michael Ball’s clearly a talented artist, and there’s little about the music you can take aim at – it’s very together, with a great ending – yet it does next to nothing for me. It seems outdated even for 1992, and little more than an attempt to do a Johnny Logan. So I guess they came as close as they could in the circumstances.
V: Mr Ball’s mastery of the cameras is positively Swedish. His performance is consummate, but it reads all over his face and is something of a turn-off. I like the little swivelling-hips thing he does though.
17 Ireland
B: Now these lyrics are clever. I love the disbelieving honesty of wondering why someone ‘chooses to feel the way they feel about you’.
A: Beautifully composed. I love the way the idea embodied in the title is turned on its head, even though the music would just as successfully have carried something more negative or pessimistic. A clearer winner than In Your Eyes as I see it, without it (again) being a particular favourite.
V: Poised but understated in a way that makes Michael Ball look even more self-satisfied. It has W.I.N.N.E.R. stamped all over it. Flawless backing vocals.
18 Denmark
B: I was unfortunate enough to catch Kenny’s hair (and the fashion black hole it’s inexorably being drawn into) while getting these lyrics. I especially like the line “Det’ er om at turde, mens man tor det”.
A: It’s like three minutes of Benny Hill at Eurovision. Cheap as chips, but relentlessly and rather inappropriately boppy, given they’re meant to be worried about getting caught. It comes across as a spoof, but I’m happy to go with it.
V: Good harmonies, and great vocals generally, but neither of the leads looks like they’d be singing such a song if they had any say in the matter. The whole thing sounds forced, as though they’re sticking to the pattern just ’cause they know it’ll give them a decent result.
19 Italy
B: Amazing lyrics.
A: Mia’s voice, like grazed knees pitted with gravel, fits this perfectly: it’s like she’s bearing her soul. Strange (or not) that it could almost be an ABBA song.
V: Engrossing.
20 Yugoslavia
B: I admire the fact that the lyrics as a whole are one great double entendre/analogy/whatever.
A: Despite this being the kind of thing I’ve fallen head over heels for in innumerable Balkan finals over the years, to hear it as an entry proper is somehow shocking. It’s charming but can’t quite work, although it does get better as it goes along.
V: Love the dress. Love the performance, too, such as it is. That said, I can’t believe the bookmakers in the UK had this down as a favourite.
21 Norway
B: “Vi hoster bare det vi sar” indeed.
A: Clichéd. Twee. Very, very wrong. But at least it tries for an accessible melody.
V: The compact Ms Trøan produces some great vocals here. It’s astonishing how disco it comes across live once it all kicks off.
22 Germany
B: Granted, the lyrics here strive to be meaningful...
A: ...but the whole song is like one of those simulations where you can see what’s coming up around the next corner and prepare for it. Compare it and the likes of Yugoslavia and Norway to, say, Italy: it’s embarrassing they were in competition together, frankly.
V: They do with it what they can, but it’s just so lame.
23 The Netherlands
B: “Leer me te zien dat het anders kan” as the bi-curious husband said to the plumber while his wife was at her sister’s for a few days.
A: I feel I ought to like this more than I do, but it doesn’t hang together quite as well as most Dutch entries. While this kind of goes – unintentionally, I’d wager – with the lyrics, it’s a bit much by the end.
V: Nicely controlled vocals. Not sure about the choreography, but as part and parcel of the whole thing I can see how it found itself in the top 10 come the end of the night.
And so to the points…
1 point goes to the United Kingdom
2 points go to Greece
3 points go to Cyprus
4 points go to Israel
5 points go to Malta
6 points go to France
7 points go to Portugal
8 points go to Ireland
10 points go to Iceland
and finally...
12 points go to...
Italy!
The wooden spoon is awarded to Belgium.
No comments:
Post a Comment