In which the impact of the transition from weeknight to weekend was never more obvious and the juries by and large forgot what their remit was. But which nevertheless produced one of the strongest finals in years.01 Poland
B: A bit limp, these lyrics, even if the Polish makes it look as though you’ve fallen headfirst into a nest of brambles.
A: Lots of neat things happening in the production here, which I maintain was the first this year to show any sign of having a purpose in life. The vocals seem entrenched in a narrow range of notes at times, but the arrangement is actually quite complex, with some interesting harmonies.
V: Which is all well and good if you can get your levels right on the night. As the first performance in Düsseldorf, it’s uncanny at times how much this looks like it’s being beamed in direct from the Oslo stage. Messy and overly busy, and the camerawork doesn’t help.
02 Norway
B: Haba haba hujaza kibaba! Or not, in this case. Still, I like the message.
A: I also like the minimalism, with musical layers being added in a circumspect kind of way that adds to the whole rather than detracting from any of the other parts. Which is not to say there’s a whole lot to it, but then who says there has to be. As a piece of upbeat exhortation with no pretensions beyond putting everyone in a good mood, it’s really effective.
V: Hardly a vocal powerhouse, although no one expected her to be. And it still sounds good live. There’s no need for the matching outfits when everything else about the performance is so simple and straightforward.
03 Albania
B: “I dab my lips with your morning dew” is representative of the knack the Albanians have for knocking out a generally decent set of English lyrics to match or better their originals. “Nuk ka ngjyrë e nuk ka fjalë” is perhaps being a little self-deprecating, but then it’s hidden away with the bit that reveals it’s a Praise Jeebuz! song, so it’s all good.
A: This isn’t as far removed from the original as a lot of people perhaps hoped it would be, and yet it’s streaks ahead in terms of how effective it is when you strip it of the vocals and see what’s underneath. The only problem is that as atmospheric as it is, the arrangement comes across at times as almost threatening.
V: And the performance is certainly in-your-face enough to scare off a significant proportion of the voting audience. Powerful doesn’t even begin to cover it. Looks (and sounds) amazing.
04 Armenia
B: You can come up with all the explanations under the sun, honey: you’ll never add depth to anything this shallow. I wonder if they were saying “Let’s try to hold our spirits high” after failing to qualify.
A: The first example of several this year of otherwise surefire qualifiers settling on complacent as an approach and being punished for it. That said, I have more time for it knowing that it didn’t qualify ;-) Still pretty rubbish though. Which is a shame, because there are odd flashes that make you think it could (and should) have been a whole lot better. Primarily if they’d given it to a more competent performer than Emmy. And spent more than 10 minutes on the lyrics.
V: On this evidence, two years in a row without Armenia in the final could well be a good thing. Emmy’s fine until she actually has to do something other than park her fanny on the oversized fist. For a moment there at the beginning it all looks like some bizarre Dancing Santa routine. On the plus side, the animated backdrop works a treat.
05 Turkey
B: “Here’s your favourite song on the radio”, in hindsight, probably wasn’t the best line to open this song with, given how much of a pastiche it is. “Driving on with no map to lead me on” lends itself nicely to the performance, too. But as I said with Norway, I appreciate the message at the heart of the thing.
A: However cobbled together this is from the best bits of a dozen other songs, you’ve got to give them credit for the neatness of touch with which they did it: the production values are exemplary, and the Turkish elements are woven through it in a way that’s both very subtle and highly effective.
V: Starts well enough, but then the lads decide they have to ‘perform’ and it all falls apart. Vocally it’s fine, but they should have realised that’s all they needed to rely on. They should also have realised that Manga came second last year despite the silly robot woman, not because of her: the contortionist is the problem with this performance in microcosm.
06 Serbia
B: “Naša ljubav je zarazna” – as is this! Lyrics that suit the feel of the song perfectly.
A: One of very few songs this year I loved from the off. Brilliant arrangement that’s as authentic as they come.
V: The rate at which this eats up the lyrics means Nina’s delivery’s a bit breathless in places – most of them in the semi – but she looks the part and is clearly having fun with it, so you tend not to care. And it would be stating the obvious to say the stage looks fabulous.
07 Russia
B: Oh. I thought the second line of the chorus was “I’m running, I’m gunning for you”. I’d’ve liked it more if it was. One less reason to be impressed then.
A: This being Russia, I imagine they tacked on the faux-ethno intro just to get the thing up to 3 minutes. It makes for an atmospheric beginning before the pop banality that ensues. You can certainly see RedOne’s fingerprints all over it, but equally, you can see why it ended up at Eurovision: it’s sub-sub-sub the stuff the likes of Lady Gaga have made a squillion out of. Add to this the fact that Mr. Vorobyov and/or his producers believe he has more natural talent than he actually does and voila, you’re left with one pretty unconvincing entry.
V: And then it’s all he can do not to drop the microphone from his quivering hand. The James Dean look is well-suited to his artificially inflated ego. Each and every one of his ‘ad libs’ is terrible, twice. The faceless backdrop is inspired.
08 Switzerland
B: Sunny, strum-along-a-sing-song. Thumbs up.
A: Utterly delightful. You can hear every string being plucked, every key being struck. It’s like being wrapped up in a musical bubble you never want to emerge from. Anna’s vocals match it perfectly.
V: Her diction’s a bit odd in places though; she sounds like she’s in need of a speech therapist. And she appears to be wearing her mum’s dress from 1985. But these are mere quibbles: it’s the very definition of charming. The camerawork during the na-na-na bit is great: a kind of slow-mo take on Siren.
09 Georgia
B: Hardly the most competent set of lyrics the Georgians have given us, but you get the point. I admire them for daring to include the line “I am lame”.
A: Nice underground feel to the whole thing. The arrangement and vocals seem to be holding themselves back during the verses, waiting to explode into the chorus. Ditching the original singer was the best move they made.
V: Knocks Turkey into a cocked hat before it’s even notched up a minute of screen time. Might as well be in Georgian though, for all you can understand the English. Sopho (are they all called that?) has great hair. It’s almost as impressive as her voice, which can’t possibly come out of a frame that petite.
10 Finland
B: “Peter is young, he tries to talk, but no one listens to him.” Perhaps they would if he got off his schoolboy soapbox. I’d give him a backhander, just one swift backhander, right across his soppy, puppy-eyed, save-the-planet face. And then shove a dictionary in it and tell him to look up ‘twee’.
A: Piano, guitar and strings. What more can a boy ask for? One of the least assuming and most successful compositions of the year.
V: Such boyish charm has our Axel. I admire his principles, but the recycled shirt still looks naff. Which stands in stark contrast to the backdrop – one of the simplest and most effective of the contest. It makes for a rousing opener to the final, and it’s lovely to hear the crowd da-da-dumming along with him for all they’re worth.
11 Malta
B: You don’t even know me, you say that I’m not livin’ right... The Maltese delegation should get “No lesson learned” printed up for themselves on T-shirts: they’d get good use out of them.
A: Glen’s voice and the very mid-’90s theme and production (particularly in the bridge) make this sound like it’s trying to be one of those anonymous club tracks that would have been remixed by Brothers in Rhythm. And actually made to sound good. Fab backing vocals.
V: ...from a bunch of women who end up looking like drag queens anyway. Maybe that was the point. Hair, make-up and wardrobe disaster across the board; the choreography’s crap; and it’s all far too dark. But apart from that it’s alright.
12 San Marino
B: I wouldn’t say no to “something so beautiful but hard at the same time” if anyone’s offering. I quite like these lyrics. “Tonight, can we pretend there’s no more time” makes a good hook (or the nearest equivalent this song has to one) going into the chorus.
A: For some reason I’d been expecting big things of San Marino this year, but when this materialised it patently wasn’t it. Which doesn’t mean it’s not accomplished, or that I dislike it. There’s something slinky and sultry about it, and about Senit, that presses all the right buttons with me.
V: But as Eurovision entries go it’s also completely underwhelming. It doesn’t help matters much that it feels so disjointed, like none of them have actually ever sung or performed it before, or that Senit’s about *that* far off for the entire three minutes.
13 Croatia
B: “Put your hands up” works well in context, but there’s not a lot that’s worth celebrating here. Break A Leg with its ‘sack full of hoping’ might have been laughable, but given what we got it almost seems like an improvement. I love the way Diggiloo (at the time of writing) credits the lyrics to ‘N/A’!
A: As with many a casting show, the result is ultimately scuppered by the song the winner’s lumbered with. This is last-in-its-semi stuff from Dora about eight years ago.
V: Jacques Houdek might have saved it from total ignominy. The ginormous Daria does what she can, but the performance is both literally and figuratively about distracting people’s attention from the shortcomings in the song itself. The four backing vocalists look like they won some Singing Secretaries competition, and the magician’s a total creep.
14 Iceland
B: Þórunn Erna Clausen really delivers with these lyrics, straddling the divide between bog-standard ballad and a doffing of the hat to the song’s composer and making it seem both effortless and elegant.
A: I really can’t imagine anyone other than Iceland giving us Dixieland at Eurovision. And I wouldn’t want to, given how brilliantly they pull it off.
V: Lovely. They really capture the intimacy of the preview video despite being in an arena that’s about half the size of their country. I could’ve done with more close-ups of the guy on drums and his amazing chiselled features, but hey. The motif in the background manages to be both thematically and ethnically fitting, with a touch of the Norse about it.
15 Hungary
B: “Mit mondhatnál, mit mondhatnék / Elkoptunk rég, szemeinkből nézd, hova tűnt a fény?” I think it got eaten by the Hungarian lyrics, which here seem to be speaking with their mouth full. Rude. Kati prises herself out from under the thumb of her man like the would-be diva she clearly believes herself to be.
A: As well-produced as this is, it’s as dated as the concept behind it. There’s a sense that it would only have taken some minor tweaking for pretty much every element of the composition to sound contemporary. Still, it works. The last minute of the song is one of the best of any this year. In that sense, it’s very much more than the sum of its parts.
V: The lighting, the camerawork, the terrible outfits, the dancers... you’d swear this was from some late ’80s or early ’90s contest. Some weird mash-up of Lausanne meets Dublin ’94. Ms Wolf is the mould from which the hardest-bitten of all drag queens are cast.
16 Portugal
B: It’s an ode to revolution, but works just as well in the context of not qualifying. Win-win.
A: Minus the marching music, this isn’t a million miles from their 2009 entry, and is equally enchanting. Sans vocals, anyway, whose arrangement does what it says on the tin.
V: It’s not a struggle to enjoy this performance for what it is, but it’s not much of a joy either. I like the subtlety of the backdrop.
17 Lithuania
B: Je dis non. Uninspired, I know, but somehow fitting.
A: Better than their 2008 dirge, but the almost Armenian-sounding woodwind that pops up a couple of times is basically the only interesting thing about it.
V: So she can sing. Big woop. What jury in their right mind charged with the task of finding a song with widespread contemporary appeal would pick this as the winner of the semi-final? Still, it’s big and busty. And she does sign language. Just what the song needs.
18 Azerbaijan
B: The play on words in the title here is clever in a way that is never reflected in the lyrics themselves. I love the way the word ‘anyway’ has become a vocal comma a la that other favourite of Scandinavian songwriters in particular, ‘just’.
A: This year’s Drip Drop in more ways than one. There’s a clean edge to this that shouts ‘modern production’. Ell and Nikki’s vocals blend nicely, despite being unevenly matched in how good they are. Not the most exciting winner, on the whole, but not undeserved.
V: Looks stunning.
19 Greece
B: You can see why the Greeks went for this when you actually bother to read it.
A: You either like this or you don’t, I think. The aspect of the composition that captures my attention every time is the shift in timing once we hit the key change. From there on in it spirals beautifully to its conclusion.
V: If you’ll forgive the allusion, it’s like waking up with a boner and doing something about it, this performance. That’s the only way I can think to put it. Sleepy-eyed nine-foot-tall wolverine Loukas really ought to have fewer clothes on.
20 Bosnia and Herzegovina
B: I can’t claim to know what Dino’s banging on about here – it all gets a bit quasi-philosophical for me at times – but I do like the lines “We keep on running from certainty / But don’t know where to run from reality”. And the rhythm.
A: In keeping with the lyrics, this is deceptively simple. And yet the fact that it flows as smoothly as it does, deepening and broadening all the time, only goes to show what a proficient piece of music it is. The layers of the arrangement, including that of the vocals, mean you discover something new pretty much every time you listen to it.
V: Somewhere between Putnici and Pokušaj in terms of wackiness, and blessed with the vocals of both. Sparky enough in its own right that it doesn’t need the fireworks.
21 Austria
B: Spends three minutes teetering on a precipice that’s signposted <---Means well - Overeggs it--->. Doesn’t fall off, though.
A: As white gospel anthems go, I have a whole heap of time for this. It doesn’t do anything you wouldn’t expect it to, but what it does do it does with consummate professionalism, and actually manages to be rousing. The vocals, across the board, are excellent, and the last minute of the song is one goosebump moment after another.
V: There are few types of music harder to pull off with only a handful of people on stage than this genre, but Nadine & co. do a fine job of it. She looks a bit like Betty Boo, now that I come to think of it.
22 The Netherlands
B: Works better than Austria saying much the same thing, and you’ve got to applaud them for doing a decent job of maintaining the sentiment of the Dutch original. Even if “...there are golden gardens / At the sweet end of your trail” sounds like a very dirty euphemism indeed.
A: Supremely Dutch, in a good way. There’s a lot to like about the composition, but there’s no denying it’s backwards in coming forwards: it takes two minutes to reach a hook (the oh-oh-oh bit), and that’s of course two minutes too late.
V: We’re back on the Oslo stage here, with not much going on in the background, the lights being too low and blue being the default. The vocals are good without being very appealing, and what with the terrible outfits and the random wandering about, it’s all a bit of a mess. In other words: supremely Dutch, in a bad way.
23 Belgium
B: The Belgians are clearly far less abashed than their neighbours, if their ‘tugging each other into bliss’ is anything to go by.
A: The skill involved in this is admirable, and the vocal arrangement’s fantastic. All seems very ’50s though.
V: Good value, this: goes on forever. I’d just give the guy in the red trousers his own song. And then take his red trousers off and stick him in something that makes him look good.
24 Slovakia
B: I wonder if Veronika and Daniela walked through the fire to get to Los Angeles.
A: Arguably the most stripped-back entry we’ve ever had, and that’s coming straight after a song with no music at all. It’s a very American production, not dissimilar to Running Scared in its approach, but with even less happening. For all that, though, I rather like it. I normally rail against songs that exist within a range of about four notes and employ even fewer instruments in their composition, but somehow this one feels complete.
V: Honey tones are the colours to go for if you’re your semi’s minimalist US number, it seems. The girls are indescribably gorgeous. Their vocals aren’t quite as together as they are, but I was impressed enough to vote for it on the night, and I can still see why now.
[Addendum: Finally, a wind machine! Or have I just not noticed it before?]
25 Ukraine
B: In spite of having nothing to do with it, given it’s an out-and-out ballad, this comes across as little more than a rehash of their last entry if you pay the amount of attention I’d attribute to the average viewer or listener. Do you think the white crystals she’s referring to are crystal meth?
A: Not terribly exciting, perhaps, but no musical slouch – which is something I’ve come to expect from the country. There are touches to the chorus that are almost medieval, and the bridge is a little soundscape all of its own. Mika’s vocals have the requisite fragility without sacrificing strength.
V: You’ve got to hand it to the Ukrainians: one way or another they know how to keep you watching, even when there’s plenty worth listening to alone. If Ksenya Simonova isn’t Eurovision’s next Riverdance, something’s gone wrong somewhere. Cute (and more than capable) backing vocalist. The “Oh! whatever’s going on?” moment before the performance in the final adds a thrilling beat of uncertainty to a production that’s otherwise run like clockwork.
26 Moldova
B: More tugging. Nice irony in the title. “Winner, dusk to dawn sinner / Love traded in for lust, it’s emotions I don’t trust” make a great couple of lines.
A: Direct comparisons might be lazy shorthand, but this is no Boonika Bate Doba. It has plenty of individual character – especially alongside some of the year’s more faceless entries – but is playing with a diminished hand. And puts all of its cards on the table well before it’s reached the halfway mark.
V: Vibrant backdrop, reminiscent of a Very-era Pet Shop Boys video. These three minutes seem to last at least twice as long, but I’m glad it made the final: it would have been somehow diminished without it, despite its failings.
27 Sweden
B: There’s something grittily and unashamedly desperate about these lyrics which not only suits the song (and Sweden’s intent in running with it), but also rings true.
A: Nothing new from the Swedes, or indeed Kempe, who have been giving us these entirely disconnected but expertly welded together bits of schlager for years.
V: Worldwide television phenomena are based almost entirely on this kind of thing, so it’s no surprise it made the podium. Gets the annual Sakis Rouvas award for Best Supporting Vocals.
28 Cyprus
B: Love the cheery religious overtones of “Me stavroses, me matoses ki as pethena ya sena”. Quite a mature set of lyrics, really.
A: With the Greeks and Cypriots being the only ones to corner the ethnic market this year, it was always obvious who’d come out on top. This composition is more interesting on the whole, but also diluted – yes, electric guitar, I’m looking at you – and hard to get a hold on. Not unpleasant to listen to, though, with nicely (necessarily?) measured vocals.
V: The silk purse industry is clearly flourishing on Cyprus: this is about as good as it was ever going to get. The backdrop seems to depict a field of gently swaying tethered condoms.
29 Bulgaria
B: Similar to Albania this, what with its anthemic rock pretensions and ‘lest He smite me’ bridge. At times it just sounds like garbled English, which means fun times for all making up the lyrics. I’ve already taken to calling it No You’re Not.
A: Competent but hard to love, in that every time I listen to it I want to like it a lot more than I do. Not that I can pinpoint what it should do differently, if anything, to make itself any more integral.
V: It’s like a Bulgarian lesbian sect whose only point of reference in terms of fashion is Vanilla Ninja. Poly does them proud. In the bridge, one of her backing vocalists doesn’t.
30 FYR Macedonia
B: “Ma ništo ne ja razbiram.” What’s to understand?!
A: In its opening bars this hints at being the poppiest thing FYRoM’s ever given us, barring XXL, and in its way it’s not far off. But it doesn’t really deliver on that promise, and as uncomplicated as the fun it presents us with is, it never lives us to its potential. Vlatko Ilievski’s scratchy vocals complete the picture whilst being entirely unattractive.
V: I’m surprised how very Macedonian this performance is, while a) looking nothing like one in anything but the costumes on the dancers and b) being extremely camp. The backdrop’s phenomenal, and even Vlatko sounds good.
31 Israel
B: I’m not sure anything will bring Dana redemption after this.
A: The only nice thing I can say about Ding Dong is that there are moments that make me think there’s the potential for a decent song in it somewhere.
V: As if the original studio version wasn’t devoid enough of reasons to like it, they then go and use this one to wow the massed hordes of Europe. WTF? At least the backing vocals are decent, by Israeli standards.
32 Slovenia
B: How very uncompromising and unforgiving of you, Ms Keuc. And quite right, too.
A: Slow burner, this. Builds and builds and builds. The way the strings punctuate and characterise the opening verse, before being reintroduced at the close alongside the brass to the same effect, is astounding. No one does bombast quite as fabulously at Eurovision as Slovenia.
V: Not sure the cherry blossom backdrop works, or the “I’m not a hooker, I’m an empowered woman who simply chooses to dress like one” outfits, but it doesn’t really matter, since this is all about the vocals. And here I wholly concur with the juries. (How could they get it so wrong in the first semi and so right in the second?) Maja would appear to have attended the Close But No Cigar School of English pronunciation among whose alumni Geir Rønning numbers. I’m tempted to say this is the best entry Slovenia has given us.
33 Romania
B: Come on, everybody! Together we can change the world! 8-/
A: Aah, the Denmark of the East. Perfect midweek fodder this, as evidenced by its (and indeed Finland and Iceland’s) nosedive in the final. What sets it apart from its Nordic counterparts, of course, is its production, which is workmanlike at best. It delivers, yes, but never more than it has to.
V: If anything needed changing, it was his outfit. And that awful backdrop. The vocals are as solid as a rock – (insert titillating reference to Mr Bryan’s sexcapades here) – if a little underplayed in the final.
34 Estonia
B: There is something surreal – almost dream-like – about these lyrics, but mostly in combination with the music. Apart from that, I can’t think of anything to say about them.
A: There’s a simple reason this didn’t do as well as either Popular or Lipstick: it’s not as good. It’s not bad, either, but just comes across as more generic (unbelievably, when you hold it up against Sweden). Better than most of the stuff from the Sven Lõhmus stable of shameless pop all the same, and perfectly suited to a vocalist like Ms Jaani.
V: Savvy and confident performance from Getter, making it easier to overlook the fact that she’s not much of a singer. But who cares when she’s having that much fun? Not the audience.
35 Belarus
B: I have no doubt they were forced to write this on pain of death.
A: Why would anyone vote for this? I mean really? And yet nine countries did. All of them from Eastern Europe, who should have even less reason to want to be seen to be legitimising such propaganda. I can only assume they were Russian.
V: Truly awful. She could be singing anything, anything else and it would at least just be another cheap, poorly performed and swiftly forgotten Eurovision number; this way the agitprop is completely undermined, which is exactly what it deserves. The pyros towards the end make it look like it’s self-destructing.
36 Latvia
B: What an odd amalgam these lyrics are. They give us decent lines like “Two world collide, honest and true / You’re my lullaby, passion for life, my starlit night”, only to anchor the chorus around clunkers like “Stare me with candy eyes, love me with luscious thighs”. Which in itself is classic stuff, but still.
A: Finds its level and sticks to it, so full marks for persistence, if not imagination. Lead singer Emīls has a surprisingly mature (and surprisingly sexy) voice for someone so young.
V: Well, it’s there. The guy on the guitar looks like a young Elvis Costello.
37 Denmark
B: More ‘you can do it’ than Romania’s ‘we can do it’, which as differences go is pretty subtle, but possibly helps to explain why it did so much better.
A: Of course, that has a lot to do with the packaging. New Tomorrow is the more obvious anthem of the two, and more obviously the one that is going to translate to a Saturday night audience. More palatable than their last entry, it’s nevertheless just as derivative, doing little in its composition that catches you unawares. But doing it well.
V: Look and learn, Safura – it is possible to run and sing at the same time!
38 Ireland
B: Lyrics that come ready-made for a crash-and-burn that never eventuates. “Sisters, let me tell you how it works” is only one indication of how queer this is.
A: Probably the most modern entry the Irish have come up with at Eurovision since joining in 1965. It’s clever in ways that only something aiming at commercial appeal needs to be, with some great hooks, and does a good job of disguising Jedward’s vocal limitations. Having said all that, it left me cold on first listening, which might explain why it didn’t do quite as well as expected.
V: Visually the most expansive and arguably the most impressive performance of the contest. Everything comes together for Ireland here in a way that it rarely has before at ESC, even if the vocals are no great shakes.
39 France
B: So which is it: “Cantu per a vittoria” or “mi lamentu”?* I’m glad to see that the pomposity and ultimate futility of the composition are reflected in the lyrics, which are riddled with hopelessness.
A: However genuinely gifted our Amaury may be, this is little more than marching music for the masses, and could be the first single off the back of a Susan Boyle-style Wherever’s Got Talent triumph (or indeed second place). An impeccably orchestrated one, but let’s be honest, there’s only so far that will get you.
V: I’m not sure who’s at fault here, but it all goes a bit tits-up for France, rendering Amaury’s mid-song “look at me, aren’t I special” wander away from the microphone redundant. *And from this performance it’s hard to tell.
40 Italy
B: “Se mi fermo un attimo, io non so più chi sei / ... / But someone hit me and I fell into your heart, my dear” is characteristic of the almost filmic narrative that unfolds here. I love the way the whole thing ends on the repetition of one simple word that says so much.
A: From the interaction of the instruments to the melding of the music and vocals, this is glorious; that goes without saying. But where’s the contemporary appeal?
V: I’m still amazed that Raphael came within a few douzes of victory without connecting with the camera at all: he’s no Michael Bublé. He can sing, of course, and that’s what sells it. The last note is phenomenal.
41 United Kingdom
B: Quite clever, really. The lyrics work on three levels: the relationship gone astray; the boyband reunited for one last shot at glory; and the UK picking itself up and pulling itself together after last year’s disastrous showing.
A: Classic example of the inverse ratio between how empty a song can be and how huge it can come across. It’s all synths and percussion, leaving almost all of the colour to be added by the vocals. Blue still sound good though, so that’s alright.
V: Lee – you are the weakest link. Goodbye. The decision to turn the first chorus into an early bridge is odd, four of them is enough without the LEDs and it isn’t as punchy as it needs to be, but it still holds its own, and is without doubt the strongest British entry as an overall package in a very long time.
42 Germany
B: I’m still trying to figure out if this song is about misogynistic violence towards prostitutes. Whatever: it’s a brilliant departure from the Eurovision norm. “Can’t help it if you like it ’cause I won’t be here tomorrow / No one ever told you that you wouldn’t be rejected” is one of my favourite pairs of lines in the history of music.
A: Shifting, seedy, sinister... there are all sorts of undertones to this, far and away the most original and non-conformist of the year’s compositions. It makes no concessions whatsoever. Love it.
V: Best home entry since Turkey 2004, and possibly ever. They clearly kept all of the Big 5’s graphics and lighting budget (and imagination) for themselves, and who can blame them. Lena getting her hes and shes mixed up in the lyrics only makes the narrative more intriguing.
43 Spain
B: “Y aunque sé bien que... me caeré / Sé que... he disfrutao de todo lo bailao.” That’s nice for her, isn’t it, as consolation goes.
A: Elements of the composition make this sound like the theme tune to Monarch of the Glen. And that is all I can think to say about it.
V: The backdrop to this song gives it a cheap cruise-liner feel which is both utterly shit and utterly spot-on. Vocally surprisingly solid (given the thing’s still being helmed by tousled temptress Lucía) but visually lame performance harking back to the cheesy choreography of the Operación Triunfo days. But let’s face it, that’s essentially what their national final was again this year. Just without much of the triunfo.
And so to the points...
1 point goes to Austria
2 points go to Serbia
3 points go to Switzerland
4 points go to Ireland
5 points go to Azerbaijan
6 points go to Georgia
7 points go to Italy
8 points go to Bosnia and Herzegovina
10 points go to Germany
and finally...
12 points go to...
Slovenia!!!
The wooden spoon goes to Belarus. With an honourable mention for Croatia.
1 point goes to Austria
2 points go to Serbia
3 points go to Switzerland
4 points go to Ireland
5 points go to Azerbaijan
6 points go to Georgia
7 points go to Italy
8 points go to Bosnia and Herzegovina
10 points go to Germany
and finally...
12 points go to...
Slovenia!!!
The wooden spoon goes to Belarus. With an honourable mention for Croatia.
