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: 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.
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”.
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.
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.
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: 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”.
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: 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.
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: 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.
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.
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.
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