01 Poland
B: Perhaps more than any other song in the contest, Sama reads like poetry set to music. Poetry inspired by a painting, or perhaps some grainy black-and-white portrait taken by a photographer highlighting the darker aspects of city life. The only slightly disappointing thing about it is that the brevity of the title, though apt, robs us of something more left-field like By pchłą stać się małą.
A: Haunting, complex and arresting. If it were saying anything else it would get my back up for being so pretentious, but the artistry is undeniable.
V: Not the best start, it has to be said, although I love the stance Justyna adopts. It sounds a bit ragged in places.
02 Ireland
B: Ideal choice of words and images to match the rhythm and feel of the music.
A: Had the juries made a conscious decision (or been begged by RTE!) not to vote for Ireland in 1995? I personally feel this is head and shoulders above any of their trio of winners: I fall in love with it from the opening bars every time. It’s a true marriage of music and lyrics, with vocals that are perfectly matched and perfectly pitched.
V: Alas, there’s none of the subtlety of the studio version here either. The strings are severe.
03 Germany
B: I hope the ignominious fate this fetid ode met answered Cheyenne’s question “Ist mein Leben endlos leer?” – but knowing the likes, it will have been water off a duck’s back.
A: German is not a musical language at the best of times, let alone with a voice like that. Strip the song of it (and the sycophantic lyrics) and you actually have a composition and arrangement I admire, even if it’s not very adventurous.
V: Would it be unfair to say that only Germany could vote something like this to victory? Even Christian Belgium would think twice. Talk about rough around the edges. Everything post-key change is a disaster.
04 Bosnia and Herzegovina
B: Tortured love song and social commentary in one. I love the line “Kad životu puno damo on nas pojede”.
A: The first 30 seconds of this are so promising, then it dissolves into your usual Bosnian keyboard production and I struggle to maintain my enthusiasm for it, especially when it drops into the chorus so abruptly. Bits and pieces of the arrangement I like, but not enough for the song as a whole to win me over.
V: Finally a performance where the music doesn’t sound overbearing and intrusive! Nice vocals.
05 Norway
B: Given that the lyrics here were only added so that there would actually be some, they’re very effective.
A: There’s no disguising the beauty of this composition, but I still have misgivings about what is essentially little more than soundtrack music winning Eurovision.
V: What with the fiddler being Irish and the fiddle accounting for more than half of the song, this is basically a fourth consecutive Irish victory. It’s immediate and yet understated, so you can see why the juries went for it.
06 Russia
B: These lyrics are rather clever in their way; I especially like “Spi ugryumiy velikan, spi nyedryemlyushiy vulkan”. If it’s all one big metaphor though, it’s lost on me. Unless it’s for Philip Kirkorov’s ego and the writer was trying to tell him something.
A: Bombastic from the off, if not exactly volcanic. I would have liked the arrangement to exhibit a bit more variety, reflecting the quieter and more imploring moments in the lyrics. Having said that, the production is very professional.
V: Oh lordy, that hair! It’s scary how much Philip looks (and stands) like Alla Pugachova. He gives a strong performance, but the song goes nowhere. Nice touch using both the Cyrillic and Latin alphabets for the name at the beginning.
07 Iceland
B: The only thing reading these lyrics makes me think is ‘all talk and no action’.
A: Another of Iceland’s piano-led pop-rock ballads. There’s certainly nothing wrong with it. The backing vocals are divine.
V: Eurovision in the mid-’90s really was the province of the middle aged, wasn’t it. Bo is dressed like some 19th-century pastor who couldn’t get the other buttons on his Paul Smith jacket to do up. As presented, the song just sounds boring.
08 Austria
B: Uplifting lyrics by Austrian standards, although calling someone “Akrobat ohne Seil” as a term of endearment sounds odd.
A: At long last, a bit of character from Austria which they haven’t slapped on in desperation! German sounds much better set to this kind of music. The bridge makes an ideal lead-in to the chorus, which is one of the catchiest and most feel-good the country has come up with in the contest. It has me bopping along to it every time. The key to the song’s success, however, lies in its authenticity.
V: Oh god, the obsession at the time (well, dating back to the late ’80s) for women saxophonists in revealing outfits. Great vocals from everyone, although Stella’s are a little exposed at times.
09 Spain
B: The story here would be just another bleeding-heart tale of lost love if it weren’t for the casually inserted “ya te he pedido perdón” towards the end turning it on its head and making you realise that Ms Conde’s only got herself to blame. Might explain the screaming mess she’d devolved into by the time of La mirada interior.
A: I’ve never really seen the appeal of this song, mostly because I don’t much like Anabel Conde’s voice. Admittedly, its echoey insistence is effective in terms of what the lyrics are saying, and the structure works well. The underplayed ending is nice as well. But yeah.
V: Very effective orchestral arrangement. I much prefer the delivery of the verses than the chorus (and the other shouty bits), but it grabs you towards the end.
10 Turkey
B: “Haydi gel bir şarkı söyle bana” as the first line of what is ostensibly the chorus sounds like they just took a word from the title of every other Turkish entry and strung them together.
A: Lovely arrangement for the orchestra. It’s a pity that Arzu Ece’s vocals sound like they’re being dragged through the verses backwards with rocks in their pockets, but things take off nicely in the chorus. What’s most surprising about the song is how completely non-Turkish it sounds.
V: Surely that’s a wig? I’m not sure what to make of this mildly more upbeat version.
11 Croatia
B: Am I the only one to find nostalgia cloying? There are ideas here that the Huljićes would return to in Copenhagen in 2001.
A: It would be nice if the silent violin that was playing was actually playing silently. I’m always expecting this to turn into a comedy entry after that opening, and depending on your take on it, I suppose it does. The atmosphere the strings create is on target, but given I’m not fond of the trip-down-memory-lane thing, it does nothing for me. And all too soon the arrangement simply starts treading water. The final note is amazing but not actually pleasant.
V: The outfits are awful, and the eyebrows aren’t much better. Or the fringes. If you can overact with your hands alone, Danijela’s doing it. She sounds good though. The final note is still amazing, but still unpleasant, and in fact rather frightening.
12 France
B: My favourite line in this – “Je l’attends un peu comme le voleur attend son heure” – is precisely that because it adds a certain frisson to proceedings that the rest of it lacks. I keep waiting for the sting in the tail, but I get to the end and realise Ms Santamaria had her tail docked long before she took to the stage.
A: Murky and unimaginative. This fails to convince me on any level.
V: I’d vote for her culottes.
13 Hungary
B: Again I find the Hungarian fascinating, but I’ve little else to say about these lyrics apart from that there’s something about them that reminds me of their 1998 entry. [Checks] And indeed the writer is one and the same: the wonderfully named Attila Horváth.
A: The piano’s lovely, but boy are those vocals unattractive. It takes ages to build up any energy, and by then it’s far too late.
V: Atmospheric opening, helped largely by the direction. The vocals are easier to take when you see the way Csaba delivers them.
14 Belgium
B: There’s a fair bit of power behind these lyrics, getting it halfway to the anthem status it aspires to. I particularly like “Tu t’es pas levé pour rien”, although opening a song with a line like “La voix est libre de tout” leaves it wide open should Mr Etherlinck be anything less than perfect in the vocal department.
A: If the yardstick of the success of your melody is how easy it is to predict from one bar to the next, they’ve done fairly well for themselves here. Shame it’s not even slightly exciting. I’d say it’s at least 10 years out of date. The gospelesque backing vocals and acoustic climax are a boon though.
V: I’m irrationally annoyed by the uniformly terrible fashion happening on stage, and by the locks of hair jiggling on Frédéric’s brow. He’s taking himself far too seriously.
15 United Kingdom
B: This chorus is really simple and effective, and I love the line “Keepin’ me lost for words, yeah, I know how that sounds”.
A: When and why did the UK give up on successful, contemporary chart acts? This encapsulates a lot of what ’90s music was about. I love it. (And there I was saying I wouldn’t give nostalgia a look-in!)
V: Compared to Hungary, the camera direction here is terrible, but the music sounds fantastic. The guys’ vocals are pretty weak in the chorus. The rest of the contest up to this point could be from another decade.
16 Portugal
B: It would be crass not to endorse the message of these lyrics, especially when it’s presented in typically evocative style, with mel and canela and gindungo and açafrão. On paper it’s obvious why it would have won its national final, since it combines the Portuguese staples of patriotic fervour and lush poetry.
A: This just seems to reverberate for the sake of it. Tó Cruz has a great voice for the song, but the song itself never gets started. I can’t abide the ending.
V: Terrific lead vocals, but as much as I try to like it, it really is one of those songs that makes you wonder what they were thinking.
17 Cyprus
B: I don’t know what this means. Perhaps you have to be Greek [Cypriot] to appreciate it? Borderline wanky if you ask me.
A: Sexy voice. There’s timing here to rival anything Macedonia might boast, but without the accessibility. Still, it is powerful.
V: They’re missing a table for that tablecloth at the start there. Alex does a good job of losing any points I might have sent his way with that almost conceitedly OTT delivery.
18 Sweden
B: Pling does an impressive job with these lyrics: there’s lots of assonance and balance.
A: Jan Johansen doesn’t have to utter a word and he does it for me: I’ll look at him whether he invites me to or not. There’s something about his voice that sells this to you – an otherwise fairly unremarkable ballad – as though you’ve been waiting to find the like of it all your life and just never realised.
V: I wonder why so many Swedish songs feature the line “I stand here alone”. He’s got five backing vocalists, after all. The juries clearly went for the more restrained songs and performances on offer in 1995.
19 Denmark
B: There’s a real sense of maturity to these lyrics, elevating it above your ordinary ballad.
A: Denmark’s best ever entry?
V: Utterly wonderful.
20 Slovenia
B: Hyper-romantic. The words alone tell you that it’s from the same stable as For a Thousand Years, with lots of people inside other people and what have you. I’m not sure what it would actually entail, but the idea of someone ‘glimmering in you’ is appealing.
A: Pushes all the buttons it’s meant to, and therefore works, but mostly because it sounds like any number of other such ballads. It’s much more palatable than its stilted sequel, but Ms Švajger’s voice still makes the hair on my neck stick up here and there.
V: Kudos to her though: the vocals are flawless. It’s quite an achievement that they’re not swallowed up by the music.
21 Israel
B: We must be about due an Israeli entry called Kibbutz or Hannukah or something since they’ve exhausted the letters of the alphabet and religious references they can use as song titles. This is Verliebt in Dich to the power of n, with an inevitable dollop of shalom-el-ha’olam. Needless to say it sets my teeth on edge.
A: Acoustic heaven (no pun intended). The arrangement is truly Israeli in its sensibilities. Despite my lack of affinity for it, the whole thing just works.
V: Israel must have a style book when it comes to Eurovision choreography, and it must be one of the shortest books ever published. They clearly live by the tenet that if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. Fabulous backing vocals for once that make it sound like there’s an entire choir on stage with Liora.
22 Malta
B: The “don’t go to strangers” bit makes me wonder whether the song’s being sung for someone with a thing for sex workers. If only a Maltese entry were that interesting! The lyrics are rather good actually, in terms of not being full of the kind of English no one outside of the island nation would ever use. Having said that, “Just make it known that you’re mine” is clunky.
A: There’s a pleasing intensity to the vocals, but any points this may have earned for not sounding like your usual Maltese sack of sugar are immediately deducted for the synthesised mouth organ.
V: A bald pate works surprisingly well for Malta; they should try it more often.
23 Greece
B: Is this song about the Turkey-Cyprus thing? If not, then what? And if so, why now? The lyrics are impressive in their way, but with a sense of taking themselves far too seriously.
A: This sounds like Deep Forest at the beginning (and indeed all the way through). It’s certainly atmospheric. I’m still not sure what it’s trying to say, but I like the way it’s saying it.
V: This sounds gorgeous. Elena just stands behind the microphone and emotes, which is what Alex Panayi should have been doing instead of hamming it up the whole time.
And so to the points...
1 point goes to Spain
2 points go to Sweden
3 points go to Israel
4 points go to Greece
5 points go to Austria
6 points go to Norway
7 points go to Ireland
8 points go to the United Kingdom
10 points go to Poland
and finally...
12 points go to...
Denmark!
The wooden spoon goes to France.
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