Switzerland

Era Stupendo Paolo Meneguzzi

Try as they might, there are some countries in Eurovision that rank among no one's friends. Like the gawky boy in the class who spends his entire school life staring out of the window, only occasionally on the same planet as his peers, they are outsiders, forming part of no definable group. Interaction is random, and even if they do sometimes show favour to a particular group or individual it is rarely returned. They are not quick to learn, and what they contribute often bears little relation to what everyone is doing. The fact that they turn up at all seems a matter of routine and is largely overlooked. They may show occasional flashes of brilliance, but these are seen as the exception to the rule and generally met with scepticism. At the same time, as the object of condescension, any attempts they make to apply themselves will usually be championed even if expectations are not high. And of the countries in the 2008 edition of the contest, none of them fits this bill quite as completely as Switzerland.

To say that the Swiss have had a chequered history in the contest since the introduction of televoting would be an understatement; prior to the introduction of the semi-final system they failed to end any higher than fourth last, and on its inauguration scored their biggest ever failure, earning a total of zero points from 32 countries for the ironically titled Celebrate! It would also overlook the fact that they have only made the top ten three times in the past twenty years whoever was voting for them. To an extent they only have themselves to blame, as they have chosen a number of dated and/or lacklustre songs over the years, but this in itself may be the result of constantly having to find a happy medium in a country where three major European languages and the people who speak them come together. Upsetting this balance is the fact that all but a handful of their top 5 results since the introduction of the douze system in 1975 have come from songs in French, making their choice of an entry in Italian this year - a language with which they last made the top ten 17 years ago - somewhat surprising.

That this could even come across as a bold move says a lot about the reputation Switzerland has in the contest, as does the incredulity among people regarding the support Paolo Meneguzzi and Era Stupendo continue to enjoy. The first of this year's entries to be announced and one of the earliest to be unveiled, it took no one by surprise for being old-school Eurovision, but rather for how solidly and pleasantly nostalgic the whole thing is - and while no one really expected it to be making much of an impression once the other 42 entries for Belgrade were known, it is still doing well for itself in fan polls. This, needless to say, is a double-edged sword: on the one hand, it suggests that there is something comfortable and inoffensive about the song, lending it a broad popularity across the continent which may translate to the contest itself; on the other, it is receiving more or less the same level of endorsement as the 2007 Swiss entry, Vampires Are Alive, which in the circumstances could be considered the kiss of death.

But then what do fans know? It's the mobile-wielding televoters of Europe who count, and whether or not Era Stupendo seems quite as wonderful to them as it does to many contest aficionados remains to be seen. In fact it may be those to whom mobile technology remains a mystery who decide the song's fate: not the most modern of entries among this year's bunch, there is something timeless and sincere about it, and very 1970s Eurovision for its childhood reminiscence and general sentiment. Then again, the efficiency of its arrangement, which makes the song very easy to listen to, may earn it kudos among those who like their music straightforward but still involving. What allows the song to be both - and what represents its greatest advantage over its nearest rival in the second semi-final, the equally dated but much more prim Hungarian entry - is its transformation from piano-led ballad to uptempo pop rock, which is well-timed and effected without any fuss.

Key to the success of the Swiss entry in Serbia will be Paolo Meneguzzi. Though far from the daydreaming dweeb everyone shuns, with smouldering and yet still boyish good looks that should provide three minutes of attractive television, he is nevertheless something of an unknown in terms of the performance he is likely to turn in. In Era Stupendo I feel he has a song that could easily take him places provided he gets it right, but by the same token its naive charms aren't likely to rub off on anyone if he gets it even slightly wrong. On the assumption that he earns his country a ticket to Saturday night's final I would expect the song to receive virtually unanimous backing among fans. I doubt he's in with much of a chance of being crowned head boy, but he may shake off Switzerland's well-worn image and find himself being voted most popular boy in the class.

Albania

Zemrën E Lamë Peng Olta Boka

One of the most interesting aspects of the run-up to Eurovision is witnessing the evolution of its entries and debating how a rearrangement here or a new set of lyrics there will affect the songs' chances. But as the flood of national final winners are revealed, there is always one that can be discounted from the get-go: the winner of Festivali I Këngës. Albania occupies a unique position in the contest by being the only competing country who gets to unveil its entry twice every year. Generally it is the earliest to be decided, in the dark days of winter, and then the last to be disclosed in its competition form, which is almost always the ESC definition of an extreme makeover. It's like discovering a completely new song.

The Albanian entry in Belgrade, Zemrën E Lamë Peng, bears a number of similarities to its predecessors in terms of how it has been redressed for the contest. Each over the last five years has ended up with a higher BPM than its original as a result of the three-minute rule - which has been expedient in its way, since the composers of all of the songs have been forced to look at them and decide how best to restructure (and in some cases rescore) them to convey the same message more succinctly. The 2008 entry has benefitted from this, with a clearer musical focus and a new vocal delivery that are more attuned to the lyrics. While the backing vocals and the harmonies of the original version were lush, stripping them away and placing the emphasis entirely on Olta Boka makes much more sense and adds a certain fragility that suits the song well.

Composer Adrian Hila and lyricist Pandi Laço will be hoping for more success with Zemrën E Lamë Peng than they achieved with their previous entries, 2005's Tomorrow I Go and 2007's Hear My Plea, and if qualification for the final is the extent of their aspirations they may well come away happy. Taking to the stage straight after the somewhat ham-fisted Lithuanian entry, which itself comes after a run of uptempo rock and pop, and immediately followed by a variety of more pedestrian offerings, the Albanian entry stands out. It has very little direct competition in the second semi-final; its nearest rivals - Hungary's Candlelight and Portugal's Senhora Do Mar (Negras Águas) - are both at the other end of the draw and arguably neither as subtle or sophisticated, something juries may notice even if no one else does. A lot of course will depend on the performance and how naturally and sincerely Olta comes across.

There are two factors though which suggest Zemrën E Lamë Peng may be in with a decent chance of a Saturday night encore, with or without jury support: 10 of the other 18 voting countries in the second semi-final have sent double figures Albania's way over the last four years; and Serbia's victory in Helsinki last year proved that you could still sing a powerful [if in this case more understated] ballad in a language other than English at Eurovision and triumph. In the event that they are rewarded for their efforts with one of those ten envelopes at the end of the second semi-final, the makeover will definitely have been worth it.

Lithuania

Nomads In The Night Jeronimas Milius

Pointless though it may be, analysis of the draw for the running order is as much a part of the Eurovision experience for many fans as the contest itself. We extrapolate the statistics to within an inch of their life in an attempt to determine who's sitting pretty and who's been given a bum deal, despite the fact that it is only one of a number of variables and can never truly be relied upon in predicting how an entry will fare. However, it does show that a song's chances of success in Eurovision often come down to context. One of the biggest "how did that happen" moments since the introduction of the semi-finals was the unenviable downfall of the Dutch entry Without You in the 2004 final: having qualified in sixth it then plummeted to 20th place, shedding all but 11 of its original 146 points in the process. Some would say it was the result of performing early in the draw rather than last, but it probably had more to do with the German entry that followed (and trounced) it. Either way, it didn't work in context. And if any song in 2008 is certain to suffer a similar fate, it is the Lithuanian entry Nomads In The Night.

The reasons here are nevertheless slightly different. Whereas it was pure bad luck that Re-Union found themselves back-to-back with Max and Can't Wait Until Tonight, an entry that fell into roughly the same category as their own (and was clearly considered more voteworthy), Lithuania's problem is that Jeronimas Milius winning any kind of televote only really made sense in the context of the national final. Despite only beating Aistė Pilvelytė - who would likely be performing Troy On Fire in Belgrade in place of her former backing vocalist had she not fluffed the ending in the LRT TV studios in Vilnius - by a couple of hundred votes, there was something about his performance, combined with the lighting and stage design, that made it stand out. Transplanted to the contest itself, however, it is highly doubtful whether it will have the same effect, and not least because the only Lithuanians who might be tempted to vote for it out of duty are stuck in Ireland in the first semi-final.

Preceded by four songs and performances we can only assume will be much more immediate, Nomads In The Night is simply too awkward to earn widespread appeal. It takes more than two minutes to come together, coinciding with Jeronimas' voice being drowned out most effectively by the music; up to that point the vocal arrangement, though quite complex, just comes across as ungainly. Although some notes do tail off, he is never actually off key, and yet given how difficult it is at times to tell the difference it's much easier to presume that he is - as many people have done to date and are probably likely to do again on May 22. It doesn't help that the emotional tug of the song is overwhelmed by the (unintentional?) sense of it looking and sounding like a minor number from a forgotten 1980s musical adaptation of some obscure Brontë novel.

Not that I'm saying there's no room in Eurovision for minor numbers from forgotten musical adaptations of obscure Brontë novels -not if they're done better, or at least more accessibly - but as niche markets go in a contest designed to find a song everyone can relate to it pretty much takes the cake. Nomads In The Night wouldn't have felt out of place as Lithuania's debut entry back in 1994, but even then it still would have come across as dated. I certainly can't see it winning the jury wildcard (with all those synths? are you kidding?) and apart from a scattering of points thrown its way by Lithuanians who have wandered across the border into Latvia or Belarus I can't see it picking up support anywhere else either. In fact I wouldn't be at all surprised to see it earn them their second semi-final wooden spoon in four years - which in the context of the expanded contest is, I suppose, an achievement of sorts.

Ukraine

Shady Lady Ani Lorak

Some newcomers are much quicker off the mark when it comes to Eurovision than others, getting the point of it or figuring it out with a speed that contradicts how green around the competition gills they are. While some countries have started well and faded and others are yet to make it out of the blocks on their umpteenth attempt, one has exhibited noteworthy nous in picking a formula that relies less on a winning song and more on a winning performance: Ukraine. Apart from their misfiring debut - which was about ten years and several shades of eyeshadow wide of the mark - and the political inevitability of their 2005 entry, each of the country's top ten results, while musically disconnected, has been delivered by a confident female (or female impersonator) you are no more able to take your eyes off than the stage act going on around them.

This bodes well for Ani Lorak and Shady Lady, the Ukrainian entry in Belgrade, as she cements the tradition started by Ruslana in 2004 and continued by Tina Karol two years later of sexy women with mighty lungs belting out catchy if not especially challenging songs. The advantage Ms Lorak has is that she will arguably be presenting a catchier number than either of her predecessors, so it will be interesting to see whether she is able to fill her three minutes to capacity and provide as visually engrossing a performance as Wild Dances or Show Me Your Love. If experience is anything to go by it is guaranteed to be slick and professional, but whether it has that certain something (apart from the performer herself and her ample attributes) that keeps the audience glued to their screens remains, quite literally, to be seen.

Whether the televoters take to what they hear is a matter of taste, but anyone with an appreciation of how a good arrangement works will recognise that the song boasts a clever one from composer Philip Kirkorov - proving he can produce decent music rather than just endless covers of other people's Eurovision songs. Its build and energy is relentless, peaking in the crescendo of the last 30 seconds of the song and having undergone about half a dozen inconspicuous key changes in between. The bass, meanwhile, bubbles away throughout the song, both shadowing and eclipsing the main lines in the music in a neat nod to the theme of Karen 'five former Soviet states down, very few left to go'* Kavaleryan's lyrics, which suit the song perfectly and are very easy to latch on to.

Given it checks off every item on the shopping list of successful Eurovision entries, and that Ukraine has a solid track record with such songs, it is no surprise that Shady Lady will be going into the contest touted as a potential winner. I see it as a cast-iron qualifier from the second semi-final, and not merely because I like it: despite coming so soon after Iceland and Sweden, it pretty much stands alone among the 19 songs on offer, unlikely to be matched for vocal strength and pure glamness by anyone - apart, perhaps, from Charlotte Perrelli. The Ukrainian and Swedish entries may both qualify, but from where I'm standing Shady Lady knocks Hero into a cocked hat, and unlike its closest rival I feel it is assured of a top ten finish in the final (if not higher) whatever its starting position.

*What are the odds on a Kirkorov/Kavaleryan concoction representing Azerbaijan in 2009?

Turkey

Deli Mor Ve Ötesi

As a musical arena, Eurovision is not a place where many countries do different for the sake of it. When they do pop up among the schlager and the ballads and the ethno pop it usually coincides with an injection of artistic integrity and a leap of faith on the part of broadcasters or their viewers that a square peg has just as much of a place in a round hole. The odds are often worth the gamble: Finland decimated the field in 2006 with Hard Rock Hallelujah; Moldova made an impressive debut in 2005 with Boonika Bate Doba; and Russia earned themselves a hard-fought podium finish in 2003 with Не Верь, Не Бойся. One of the most unexpected detours from the norm though came in the form of the infectious ska of the Turkish entry For Real, which brought the country a respectable fourth place on home soil in 2004. That success is something Turkey will be hoping to repeat this year, with TRT having once again employed lateral thinking in sending the alternative rock band Mor ve Ötesi to Belgrade with Deli.

Though its impact in testing the limits of the Eurovision format may have been diluted by the styles that have crept into the competition in recent years, the song is perfectly placed to stand out in the second semi-final, preceded and followed by two of the 2008 edition's biggest favourites, which are largely in competition with one another more than anyone else and represent a more standard pop genre. Bar the faded denim rock of the Belarusian entry, Mor ve Ötesi will also stand alone on the Thursday night in musical terms, and given the right production values I can't see how it will fail to impress. No one seems to be doubting the abilities of the boys from the band to deliver live, so unless they introduce something very odd to their performance it should be a very solid one. It's the kind of song where they only really have to stand there, sing and play their instruments, after all.

Which is not to insinuate that the song is in any way simplistic or unimaginative. On the contrary, it boasts an arrangement that cleverly reflects the story that unfolds in its lyrics - the bass and electric guitars and synths almost interpreting the turmoil spilling from the lips of disarmingly seductive lead singer Harun Tekin - and one of the most solid structures of any of the songs competing in this year's contest. The uncompromising quality of both is stark when compared to the paint-by-numbers approach of the Swedish entry, which the audience will hopefully be only mildly dazzled by before Turkey perform and reinforce for the audience that you can actually do a song for Europe without adhering to a very tired formula.

In a perfect televoting world this should be enough to see Turkey qualify, but Deli has two things working against it. One is the fact that half or more of the people who normally pick up their phones and dial the maximum 20 times for the country - which is to say Turkish expats - will be having to make do with Azerbaijan in the first semi-final, significantly reducing their chances of otherwise virtually assured qualification. (In the event that the massed viewers of Europe prove to be philistines where good music is concerned and the song fails to finish in the top nine of the semi-final, I place my faith in the back-up juries to see them through; nothing else really touches it in the second semi-final.*) The other is the language question, although I'm clinging to the hope that Molitva winning for Serbia in Helsinki is a sign that it's really not an issue.

As much as anything else, Deli stands out as one of very few songs in the second semi-final that doesn't make Eurovision seem preoccupied with sounding like it's from any other era than the present. *As you have probably gathered, however, it is one of my favourite 2008 entries, which means that maintaining any sense of objective composure in regard to it is more of a challenge. Still, I feel eschewing the path of least resistance is something it should be rewarded for, especially given the country we're dealing with. It may represent something of a square peg, but it is one of the most well-rounded songs in this year's contest.

Sweden

Hero Charlotte Perrelli

Never a contest of cutting-edge music, Eurovision is great for nostalgia. Penning reviews of the 43 songs competing in it this year, all of them designed to serve much the same purpose, has taken me back to my junior high school days and endless English classes on essay structure: motivators, theses, topic sentences and clinchers, plus the all-important art of paraphrasing. If you want what you're saying to stand any chance of convincing your audience, you have to have all of these things and know how to put them together. If you have several things to say and they all need to come across, you should also be skilled in masquerading rehashed material in a way that is authoritative enough to outweigh any sense of it having all been heard before. Not that the approach is unique to writing; the same applies to music, especially to Eurovision, and to one country more than any other: Sweden.

“Everything has a beginning and everything comes to an end,” sings Charlotte Perrelli in the opening lines of Hero, the Swedish entry in Belgrade, and the country's obsession with systematic schlager is the exception that proves the rule. As one of the more consistently successful nations in the contest in recent years it is easy to see why Sweden would want to stick to a winning formula, but at the same time that success tends to disguise the fact that they have not sent anything remotely resembling modern music to Eurovision in a very long time. Not that they are required to, of course, but it is particularly obvious this year when they find themselves in close quarters with the equally uptempo entries from Iceland and Ukraine and will be followed on stage in Belgrade by one of the few songs in the 2008 contest that proudly wears its individualism on its sleeve.

As any writer worth his salt knows, structure is nothing without content. Whether you're putting together an essay or arranging three minutes of pop, the framework you use will only ever be as good as the bits you use to connect it all together. This is where Hero works best, at least in a musical sense: what expectations you might have of it are never subverted, and what it presents it does so with a self-assurance borne of knowing you pressed all the buttons in the right order and made it sound pretty good in the process. Granted, this is not the most arduous of tasks when, like all good authors, you pilfer the best bits of other people's work (the most blatant example here being the much vaunted key change, which is lifted straight from It's Raining Men).

Presentation-wise it's more of the same, but being the visual creatures we are, this could be the start of the song's undoing: slick to the point of robotic, it is performed with a consumate professionalism that lacks any kind of character or charm. It certainly doesn't help that Ms Perrelli fits the role of automaton so perfectly; she looks like the love child of Donnatella Versace and Kryten from Red Dwarf and only adds to the sense of the whole thing being far too plastic for its own good. Hero would also be marked down for its lyrics if anyone set much store by them, as they are some of the most meaningless of any song to compete in Eurovision in quite some time. On a superficial listening they give the impression that you're dealing with an anthem; closer inspection reveals nothing more than a series of largely disconnected maxims and rhyming dictionary economy.

But that's pop for you, which is why a song that should be one of the least appealing entries of the year works so well. Sweden have a knack of putting two and two together and almost always coming up with four, and while it still might not amount to much, it's enough for most people. The fact that Ms Perrelli is virtually guaranteed to put in a flawless vocal performance should be enough, in context, to see them qualify, even if half of their fan base has tickets to the Tuesday night show. A lot will depend on whether the televoters are happy to allow two big-voiced ladies with stomping pop numbers through or whether they will restrict themselves to the one, in which case I wouldn't want to bet on the outcome of a head-to-head with Ukraine. There is always one fan favourite each year knocked out in the preliminary stages, and I don't see why it shouldn't be the Swedes this year.

The good that could come of Hero ending up as the 2008 contest's most high profile casualty would be if Sweden were to start thinking about changing their strategy, and bringing something fresh to the table rather than wheeling out the same thing year after year. Whatever the composition, playing with the structure and mixing up your content often leads to better writing and lends your voice more authority. DIY schlager is an integral part of the Eurovision experience and a surefire crowd pleaser given who you're playing to, ticking all of their boxes, but taking both the audience and yourselves out of their comfort zone, even if only occasionally, can only be a good thing.

Iceland

This Is My Life Euroband

Given it's a contest designed to find a song that an adequate number of people identify with closely enough to bother to pick up their phones and vote it to victory, it's odd that anthems are so few and far between in Eurovision. All the more so when its biggest winner prior to the 2004 expansion was Love Shine A Light, a textbook example if ever there was one. Looking at the 2008 field, most are agreed that the nearest we come to such sentiment is Georgia's Peace Will Come, and yet after a basically anthem-free Tuesday night out, the second semi-final seems relatively bursting at the seams with them. It largely depends on what your definition of an anthem is: if it extends beyond the well-intentioned and means you can swap your lighter for a glowstick, you won't find a more uplifting paean in Belgrade than the Icelandic entry This Is My Life.

After the opening of the first semi-final with arguably one of the least exciting songs competing in it, the Thursday contest kicks off in the best traditions of '90s covers of '70s disco and will probably cement for many people what Eurovision is about. Very much in the gay-guy-and-fat-girl mould of anthem that tells an empowering story of triumphing over issues and seeing the fabulousness in life, it is as unapologetic as the contest itself in its intent and expression. Delivered with a sense of conviction that belies any insecurities and shortcomings, but also with a sense of fun that shows it's not taking itself too seriously, it steamrolls its way into your affections and leaves you feeling churlish if you point out how hackneyed it all is.

Iceland's biggest problem is that while its entries are almost invariably likeable, this rarely translates into votes. The total number of points they have received from countries south-east of the Baltic in recent years has barely made it into double figures, and considering it was the lack of support from this corner of the continent that scuppered Selma's chances of taking the title in 1999 with All Out Of Luck - a song broadly similar to This Is My Life - the likelihood of them earning it this time around is not high. True, they will have numbers on their side in Serbia, but not enough to make qualification any more of a certainty. They will have to hope that the occasional point sent their way by the likes of Belarus and Croatia translates into something more grateful for them having gotten the show off to a cracking start.

That's assuming your average televoter will have the wherewithal to distinguish between the glitz overload that is three quarters of the first four songs and still find in favour of Iceland. Its status sets it apart from the affectation of anthemhood and more straightforward pop of the Swedish and Ukrainian entries that follow, but the fact that it only truly speaks to a minority of the audience may nullify the impact of its message and see the country miss out yet again on a place in the final. Should life in the fabulous world of Eurovision prove not quite as fabulous as promised, let's hope for consistency's sake that Regína and Friðrik are sanguine in defeat.

Semi-final 2

The opening of the second semi-final is in some ways a counterpart to the close of the first, with a number of songs tipped for qualification all clustered together early in the run. But unlike the first semi-final, the draw for the running order here may not have helped them at all. If they are to qualify, they will have to make an immediate impact that outlasts the dozen songs that come after them.

The benefit, of course, is that the opening salvo represents a very upbeat start to the second semi-final. It will be interesting to see whether the likes of Sweden and Ukraine work with or against each other, and how the energetic launch to Thursday night will affect the chances of more sedate entries such as Albania's.

I have a feeling that the countries that make it to the final will reflect the distribution of the songs in this semi-final. For better or worse, Latvia is fairly well placed to stand out in the middle part of the draw, as are the Croatian and Bulgarian entries that follow it, although their hopes could be dashed by commercial intervention.

Portugal will be hoping that their wildcard choice to go last will pay off, and in view of the kinds of songs and performances that will precede them, they may well earn their long-awaited place in the final. Denmark too could confound everyone in their choice of 13th. Whether inveterate qualifiers and fellow wildcarders FYR Macedonia are as lucky remains to be seen.

Predictions are no easier to make for this semi-final than the first in terms of who will qualify, although there are roughly the same number who seem almost certain to be back on Saturday. Beyond that the playing field is slightly more diverse and therefore even - but if I had to nominate which semi I thought was more likely to produce surprises, I would say this one.

Poll results

Before moving on to semi-final 2, a quick look at the results of the first poll. The question was: "Which of these countries do you think are most likely to qualify from their semi-final for the first time in 2008?"

Two entries clearly stood out. Almost two out of every three respondents believe that Senhora Do Mar (Negras Águas) from the second semi will see Portugal qualifying for the final for the first time in five years, while roughly every other person feels that the Azeri debut Day After Day is sure to qualify from the first semi-final.

Only one other country enjoyed the support of more than 20% of respondents (Iceland) while less than one in five placed their faith in the remaining entries. Things look especially bleak for the Czech Republic, Poland and San Marino, with less than one in ten expecting them to make the final.

As was rightly pointed out to me, Croatia qualified from both the 2004 and 2005 semi-finals, making their inclusion in the poll redundant. How I completely forgot both I have no idea. :)

With my review of the songs from the first semi-final now complete, the new poll is about the ten countries you expect (not hope) to qualify for the final. The poll will remain open until I have completed my review of the songs from the second semi-final. Happy voting!

Semi-final 1: an overview

Predictions are a bugger of a thing to make at the best of times when it comes to Eurovision, let alone when you've listened to each of the songs individually about a hundred times in an effort to be objective about each of them and can therefore no longer see the wood for the trees. Making them on the basis of the studio versions alone is even more foolhardy - however good the songs themselves might be, it's the performances that count. You can't even tell from rehearsals really how something is going to do; it all comes down to those three brief and often brutal minutes. You can gain a general idea of whether something's going to work, of course, but in a contest where rewarding quality is not necessarily very high on people's agendas, nothing is ever for certain. Nor should it be. And not that it should or indeed could stop us from making our predictions, however pointless.

Examining the songs in the Tuesday semi-final one at a time has shored up some of my convictions and made me waver in terms of others. Lining them up in order though and giving them one proper listen has produced its own surprises.

For a start, one of the earliest songs to stand out stylistically is the Moldovan entry A Century Of Love, which could have a broader appeal a la Hungary 07 and do better than people think (i.e. gaining more than just automatic points from the likes of Romania). There is also something about San Marino's Complice that suggests a big, in-your-face visual presentation could see it achieving greater sucess than I expected it to as well. If it does, I suspect the Belgian ditty may get completely overlooked, especially with Azerbaijan on its tail.

The second third of the semi-final is where I feel the viewers at home will probably start to find more to keep them interested. Both the Norwegian and Polish entries come across well in context, complementing rather than working against one another. Irelande Douze Pointe has a more positive impact than at first seemed likely, while Bosnia & Herzegovina's Pokušaj towers over the entries that bookend it without looking down its nose at them.

Despite earlier sections not being without them, it is the tail end of the semi-final that seems to have the greatest concentration of songs that sound the way you expect successful Eurovision entries too. Coming after Armenia, The Netherlands' Your Heart Belongs To Me appears more inventive and inviting than it perhaps is, which could stand it in better stead than I would have given it credit for. But apart from that anomaly, I still feel the draw has done each of the last four songs the biggest favour.

For what it's worth then, the following are the countries whose names I predict will be in the ten envelopes at the end of the night. Personal preference doesn't come into it; it's based on the assumption that all 19 performances are equally good and equally attractive in their own right; I make no distinction between the nine that qualify through televoting and the jury wildcard; and they're in alphabetical order rather than any anticipated ranking.

- Armenia
- Azerbaijan
- Bosnia & Herzegovina
- Finland
- Greece
- Ireland
- Israel
- Norway
- Romania
- Russia

Publish and be damned I say, although I reckon I'm on fairly safe ground with about half of them. My own qualifiers would be slightly different, with Moldova and perhaps The Netherlands fitting in somewhere, although to be honest finding any more than a handful of personal favourites is a struggle. There's something polarising about the field this year, which is what makes it so open - none of the songs have nothing going for them, but that doesn't necessarily make them likeable. (Not that that's any different from any other year, I suppose.) Can't wait to see how the performances on the night change things.

Greece

Secret Combination Kalomira

Since the introduction of the wildcard system in the draw for the running order, all bar one of the lucky countries have elected to start in the second half of the draw, and generally as close to the opening of voting as possible. The rush on these spots is understandable: of late, the last part of the contest has produced more qualifiers, better results and more winners. When Greece was given the chance to pick their position in the first semi-final it was therefore no surprise to see them plumping for #19. However, the wisdom of choosing to go last is largely received; the record for the semi-finals is completely hit and miss, with two songs making it through and two falling by the wayside. What's more, the two that have made it through - given the tendency of qualifiers to dominate the top half of the scoreboard come the final - have then bombed, be it modestly or rather spectacularly. When you look at it, if you pay any heed to such things, you start to wonder what the Head of Delegation was thinking.

Kalomira and her orthodox Greek entry are also up against it in terms of their circle of friends having been reduced to a slightly misshapen hemisphere by the distribution of countries between the two semi-finals. With only a handful of major sponsors left in their competition, as well as a number who traditionally show little or no support, Greece qualifying for the final is not the foregone conclusion some might think it is. Secret Combination does fit the mould of the kind of song and performance that should appeal to a televoting audience - the aforementioned attractive young lady singing an upbeat song in English with a slick dance routine - but in a semi-final where she will not be alone in trying to win the audience over with such a routine, Kalomira will probably have to take it that one step further to secure the votes she needs to see Greece through to their eighth consecutive final.

The thing is, I'm not sure she has what it takes to produce anything other than a merely competent display of singing in tune and not messing up the choreography. While she hasn't put a foot wrong (literally and vocally) in any live version I have seen or heard to date, her range is clearly restricted, and there is something reedy about her voice that suggests the slightest pressure would see it snap. The conundrum is that although she may need to crank it up a notch on the night, she really oughtn't to try lest her limitations are exposed; and if she doesn't, all we'll be left with is a workaday presentation of a fairly average pop song.

Not that there's a lot wrong with either, mind you, and the fact that Kalomira is so easy on the eye obviously works in her favour. There's just a tangible sense about the whole thing having been done before, many times, several of them better, and in the context of the first semi-final there is little about Secret Combination that marks it out as being particularly stronger than the other entries. Since it is not necessarily any weaker either, the Greek delegation will simply have to hope that something about the performance grabs people's attention and holds it for the short space of time until the telephone lines are opened. I wouldn't be at all surprised to see them in the final, in spite of my reservations, but if the audience has already decided which similarly uncomplicated song to vote for by the time this one takes to the stage and they fail to make it through, they might question whether choosing to wait until everyone else has had their three minutes in the spotlight before turning it on themselves was such a clever move.

Russia

Believe Dima Bilan

It's very hard not to be considered a favourite virtually every year in Eurovision if you are a nation whose music industry dominates or at the very least spills over into a dozen other countries in the contest and the expats in those countries are large in number and generally very nationalistic. It is a unique position that Russia holds and has led many to assume that it is just a matter of time before they win. Indeed, under the televoting system and with their tendency to enter broadly popular songs in English it is not inconceivable that Russia will never finish outside of the top ten again, if not top five or even top three. This year though they will be hoping to do one better than their two first princess finishes to date, and the ingredients are there for them to do so: the return of Dima Bilan, one of the country's biggest stars, in a year where there is a fairly open field, with a textbook anthem crafted under one of the world's most successful producers. On paper they can't really go wrong.

As ever though the biggest obstacle Russia has to overcome is itself. We have seen in the past some of the odd decisions they have made leading to their undoing (2004's Believe Me being the prime example*) and if the latest developments are anything to go by this year's pudding may already have been overegged to the point of no return. Not content with what was a very solid foundation, the team behind Believe have built a gingerbread house on top of it, smothered it in sugar syrup, turned the duck pond into a skating rink and stuck a fiddler on the roof. Now as anyone who knows me will tell you, I am all for strings; introduce them to an acoustic arrangement with some piano and I will generally go weak at the knees. But in what seems to me to be a typically Russian lack of restraint, the makeover the song has been given has pushed the violin to the fore at the expense of the rest of the composition, and it is so much the weaker - and more overblown - for it.

Not that anyone who hears it for the first time on the night will know any different, of course. To them it may still come across as a perfectly decent anthem with a prominent violin. I'm just not convinced that the presentation will make it anything other than laughable. Everything - from the remix itself to the eye-rollingly holier-than-thou video accompanying the original version - points to an OTT performance that is as likely to turn people away as it is draw them in. The artist still known as Dima Bilan may have a hard time selling the song as heartfelt if he doesn't rein himself in; the troubled-star-overwhelmed-by-the-faith-and-trust-placed-in-him hystrionics of the Russian national final will have no place at the contest itself, and if there's even the slightest hint of them he can kiss his chances of victory goodbye.

Which is to say he will probably end up in the top five anyway. Mathematically (as boring as it is) there are just about enough countries in the first semi-final to guarantee Russia a place in the final, however off-puttingly grandiloquent the display we are treated to in Belgrade, and once it gets there I can't see anything to stop it attracting a dozen douzes like a giant magnet. And that's only on the assumption that the performance will be overweening: if it is actually tasteful and artistic rather than repellent and appeals to a wider audience it will be a contender for victory. If Lordi had been defrocked in Athens it is highly likely Dima would already have won once, so his appetite for it will be strong, and barring Charlotte Perrelli he won't have any competition this time round whose bodies are almost entirely prosthetic.

Moreover, to be fair to the lad, he and his team did err on just the right side of pretentious in 2006, so there's nothing to say they won't do so again this year. Plus Russia seems to be itching for the chance to host the contest in order to show Europe what it is capable of more than any other country (apart from Malta), so victory with Believe would be fitting in a number of ways. A modest wager on Moscow 2009 might not bring much of a return, but it has to be one of the safest bets of the year.

*Omen, anyone?

Romania

Pe-o Margine De Lume Nico & Vlad

Eurovision by its very nature leaves itself open to allegations of identity theft. A contest that basically requires those taking part in it to come up with something an audience will be familiar and/or comfortable with in order to win means accusations of unoriginality are levelled at the majority of entries every year. Taken to its extreme this manifests itself in the frenzy of plagiarism slander of the national final season, which is almost always baseless. Nevertheless, like a watchdog with a bone, there is a subclass of fan who will monitor every aspect of the songs in competition and ruthlessly expose any breach of regulations. One of the countries plagued by both in recent years has been Romania, albeit generally on technical points. While the songs they do eventually send to the contest have by and large gone unscathed in the "that's a blatant copy of blah blah" stakes, they represent a more cunning form of larceny: Romania has become the new Italy.

Pe-o Margine De Lume marks the third consecutive entry from the country with lyrics in Italian. Fair dos, the few lines delivered in the language in the hotchpotch of tongues that was 2007's Liubi, Liubi, I Love You were unremarkable compared to 2006's Tornerò, but a pattern is clearly emerging. Whether it is a simple attraction to the language or some strange sense of responsibility for making it heard, Romania is taken with Italian. And quite right, too: it rarely if ever fails to work when set to music, and sounds as good here as anywhere. Of course, the song also marks two countries in a row that will be returning to their linguistic roots for the first time in a decade in Belgrade: the Italian is twinned with Romanian, and the marriage of the romance languages is a harmonious one.

Less balanced perhaps is the picture presented by the newlyweds brought together for the song. While many a fan would happily consummate the nuptials with Vlad Miriţă, Nico tends to come across both visually and vocally as the rich dowager who's hired herself a beefy young escort for the night (not that there's anything wrong with that). In a way though it works in their favour: Vlad's powerful tenor delivery is offset by a sense of fragility in Nico's, and the blend of their voices is actually quite successful. Besides, we need look no further than 2002 for proof that a superficially mismatched couple can deliver a song like this with more conviction, and more convincingly, than you might expect.

The similarities to Tell Me Why don't merely amount to the duo performing the song, needless to say. Pe-o Margine De Lume is another straightforward ballad from Romania, well-structured, with some neat and effective orchestration. It doesn't try to push the envelope, but at the same time it doesn't present itself as anything other than what it is. Even if it weren't in the same semi-final as Moldova, San Marino and Spain (three countries you would think were sure to send double figures its way) its lack of ostentation ought to see it picking up points left, right and centre. The contrast with the Finnish entry won't do it any harm either, so I am fairly certain we will be seeing it in the final - its rightful place, some might say, as Italy by any other name.

Finland

Missä Miehet Ratsastaa Teräsbetoni

Like buses, you wait ten years for a song in Finnish and two come along at once. ‘Mitäs nyt? Kesävalot nyt’ might not amount to much in the Estonian entry, but repeated four times it amounts to an entire chorus, and as such contributes to an unlikely first in contest history: never before have we seen such prominent Finnish twice in one night at Eurovision. The last time we heard any at all was back in Birmingham in 1998 with the triumph of lyrical minimalism that was Aava. At just six words, it presented the language with understated beauty, employing the same trick as Poland had some years previously of eschewing any of its harsher sounds in an attempt to make it more listenable to the average European ear. And now, a decade later, Finnish is set to burst back onto the scene in a way that bites the heads off minimalism and understatement and spits them straight in the audience’s face.

At least, that’s the impression Teräsbetoni would like to give us. The edge is taken off their entry by the fact that it is the third in a row from Finland out of the same stable. It is seen by many as little more than ‘Lordi without the masks’, and once you take them away what you are left with is men shouting. In this case it is men shouting in a strange language no one understands, and the Czech Republic’s debut last year proved that as flexible as Eurovision is, this is not something televoters are fond of without a bit of theatre to distract them. (The exception of course being Estonian televoters, but applied to Missä Miehet Ratsastaa the point becomes moot.) I fully expect the staging of the song in Serbia to be a showcase of pyrotechnic overkill, but I doubt it will prove very effective as a smokescreen. Most people who tune in every year will recognise that it’s all been done before, even if they don’t realise by the same country, and any initial explosion of interest may quickly fizzle out.

What the song does have going for it, and what may consequently keep that spark of interest alive, is a slightly camp sensibility that was entirely lacking in Hanna Pakarinen’s broody delivery of Leave Me Alone in Helsinki. The origins of the ‘huh! hah!’ hook can be traced back as far as the glamtastic days of the ’70s, lending the song an all too brief and presumably unintended air of Boney M vs any big-haired thrash metal group from the late ’80s. Not that the queer overtones start and end there: there is something hyper-masculine to the point (yet again) of homoeroticism implicit in the idea of a bunch of big brawny men mounting their steeds and rampaging their way across the land, even if it is to rape and pillage. Lines like “where men ride no sheep can pasture” raise an unexpected titter and add to the feeling that the song is an OTT triumph not to be taken in the slightest bit seriously.

If that’s the way Teräsbetoni play it, I would say the song stands a decent chance of qualifying. It is well placed to do so, coming at the tail end of its semi-final and standing out from all of the songs around it. While I’m not convinced it deserves a slot in the final on musical merit - it takes the carrot and stick approach, dangling it tantalisingly close but ultimately always out of reach - there’s no doubt it would add a splash of colour, if not the violent rivers of red it might aspire to. With a good draw it could even find itself doing OK. In any event, whether it is romps into the final or is reined in during the semi, Missä Miehet Ratsastaa will blaze a quintessentially Finnish trail across our Eurovision screens, and that’s a sight worth beholding.

The Netherlands

Your Heart Belongs To Me Hind

Just as there is more to Eurovision these days than the songs themselves, there is much more to Europe and its population than the nations represented in the contest. For a few years now - roughly since the time 100% televoting was introduced and the influence expats could have on the outcome became apparent -I have wondered why some countries haven't looked to activate the continent's residents from other corners of the globe to vote for them. (Something along the lines of Basement Jaxx's Romeo for the UK, aimed at the Indian population of Europe. That kind of thing.) In an age when a diaspora armed with mobile phones and willing to text for their country can make a big impact, it seems like a sensible thing to do. And whether or not that was the intent, it looks like the country that may benefit most from such an approach in Belgrade is The Netherlands. I suspect that NOS selecting Hind was not, in fact, a cunning move to unite the Moroccans of Europe, but it may yet have that effect.

The Netherlands has long brandished its melting pot credentials at Eurovision, giving us the contest's first black artist in 1966, but has never really reflected its cultural diversity in one of its entries. Your Heart Belongs To Me redresses the balance a little: a song in which the ethnic influences of the performer's father('s)land are layered atop the traditionally solid foundations of Dutch pop. The combination works, too. It could very easily have come across as a Turkish attempt to not be very Turkish, but the diverse elements of the arrangement are neatly interwoven, and although it sometimes sounds as if the instruments are speaking different languages, it is always with the sense that they are saying the same thing.

The fact that they labour the point is the song's biggest stumbling block. As one of the most uptempo entries in the 2008 contest it eats up airtime at an astonishing rate and feels like it should be over long before it is - an attribute it shares with Amambanda, the ill-fated Dutch entry in Athens, despite being a much more rounded song. In this sense it is also comparable to the entry that will immediately precede it in Belgrade, Qele Qele (more so than for any reasons of musical similarity, which are striking for their absence). Both songs tend to see my interest wavering, but it may be Your Heart Belongs To Me that comes off worse: regardless of whether it is a more deserving three minutes of music or how dependable a performer Hind is, the Armenian entry has something about it that suggests they will be able to offset the drag more spectacularly and therefore, in a contest that is now as much visual as it is aural, more effectively.

Hence my nomination of The Netherlands as one of the countries hardest done by in the draw for the running order of the semi-final back in my introductory post. My concern is that preceded by the textbook ethno pop of Sirusho and with Teräsbetoni rocking up for Finland straight after her, Hind will have to put in a performance that is vocally flawless and yet still eye-catching and entertaining to stand much of a chance of qualifying. It will be interesting to see whether the Moroccans of Europe - or at least those in the countries with Tuesday night voting rights - do throw their support behind her, although even with it my gut feeling is that they won't be given a second opportunity to do so.

Armenia

Qele Qele Sirusho

In a year in which there seem to be few certainties in Eurovision, with a fairly open field and no absolute favourite for victory, one thing most are agreed on is that Armenia is a foolproof qualifier from the first semi-final. The thinking behind this seems sound enough: this year they are following the winning formula of an attractive young lady singing an upbeat song with ethnic touches; they have finished inside the top ten in the final on both of their previous appearances, thanks largely to a text-happy diaspora; and a large proportion of that diaspora coincidentally happens to be voting in the first semi-final. You might think a Saturday slot is a mere formality, with the three minutes on Tuesday just another chance to sort out the camera angles and lighting prior to it actually counting. And you'd probably be right.

There's only one problem. Why are we convinced of the qualification chances of a song we have never heard performed live? Why has everyone put so much faith in statistics and chosen to overlook the fact that for all we know Sirusho might make a total dog's breakfast of the whole thing, even if she does look pretty while doing so? We have seen in the past that traditional supporters of one country or another will not give their unconditional backing to an entry if it fails to live up to expectations, and surely where Qele Qele is concerned those have been built up to proportions that will leave an entire nation with its head in its hands wondering where it all went wrong if Armenia fails to be one of the names in those ten envelopes.

Mind you, there's nothing about Sirusho that suggests she can't handle herself on stage. She clearly knows how to perform, and choreography shouldn't be a problem. It's just that when you mime your way through a national final it does tend to set a few alarm bells ringing. It doesn't help matters that her voice - in the studio version, obviously - has an edge to it that makes me think she's only ever one overambitious dance step away from sounding unattractive for the two and half minutes after that arresting opening. It's for that reason (among others) that I approach the Armenian entry with a caution borne of expecting a Sakis Rouvas clone from Cyprus in 2005 and ending up with Ela Ela.

For there's no denying that while engaging enough in its own way, Qele Qele is one of the most calculated pre-fab songs in this year's contest. (This is especially obvious coming straight after Bosnia & Herzegovina's unconventional entry.) Not that you can blame them for taking the path of least resistance: the whole point of Eurovision is to find a mix that people like, and in this song Armenia pretty much has all of the ingredients it needs for a good result. Nor is it beyond praise: the blend of synths and traditional instruments works very well and produces one of the most rhythmic numbers we will see in Belgrade. I'm not sure it sustains itself the way it needs to, musically, although any gaps here are likely to be filled visually on the night.

In the end we can only ever make predictions on the assumption that all of the performances will be solid; start introducing variables and you lose objectivity. On that basis I imagine Armenia will qualify for the final, but after that their fate largely depends on who qualifies with them. If the rest of the field is free of upbeat girly songs, they should be in with a shout of bettering their regulation eighth place. If not, and the draw is not all that kind to them, they'll probably still come eighth anyway. If statistics are anything to go by.

Bosnia & Herzegovina

Pokušaj Laka

As fans of Eurovision we often do the songs that enter the contest a great disservice in our rush to label them. On the basis of a leaked demo version or raw staging on some late show months before the event we pigeonhole things as 'boring ballads' and 'join-the-dots pop' when they might in fact be engaging, well-constructed anthems or floorfillers that are much more complex than they first appear. Given their perceived prevalence this year, it is no suprise then that so many of the songs for Serbia have had 'joke entry' stamped all over them, but this is perhaps the most misleading and unflattering label of them all. 'Novelty entry' would perhaps be more appropriate, since it allows a much broader interpretation: 'novelty' as in 'fun and entertaining' and 'novelty' as in 'something new'. However, only one of this year's songs really goes left-field for reasons of artistry rather than laughs, and that is the entry from Bosnia & Herzegovina.

Start talking about artistry in the context of Eurovision though and you run the risk of being shot down in flames and either yourself or the song in question (or both) being subject to the further label of 'pretentious'. Thankfully, whatever their views of the song itself, most fans seem to realise that grouping Pokušaj with the likes of Leto Svet, Baila El Chiki-Chiki and Wolves Of The Sea is doing it an injustice. Recognising that there is something artistic happening in the song does not mean denegrating those you seek to separate it from; it just means accepting that the person who wrote it actually has something to say, whether we get it or not.

Pokušaj is one of those rare songs that works in both its native language and English*. The lyrics of both versions are far from the run-of-the-mill rhyming dictionary structures that usually accompany Eurovision songs, presenting the listener with ideas and images that will actually make you think, if you let them. Citing local musical lore, the chant that introduces the Bosnian version (and which is rightly retained for the English version) draws you into the song with the sense of a narrative about to unfold. And so it does, in both languages. I tend to prefer the English, at least for what is ostensibly the 'chorus', and though I have heard that the song will be performed completely in Bosnian in Belgrade, I hope the team behind it realise that it has something to say in English as well.

Some would say that the performance speaks for itself, but that is not as true of this song as others - what happens on stage is an interpretation of what the song is trying to say rather than the personification of it, which is why I feel that delivering part of it in English would stand it in better stead. There's the risk that if it's not, televoters will just see it as some kooky guy singing an unorthodox song in a weird language with bizarre staging. This could well press their buttons I suppose, if that's all they expect from Eurovision, but there is art aplenty in Pokušaj and it would be a shame for it to go unnoticed.

Having said that, my fears may well prove unfounded. One of the things that most struck me about the song when I first heard it was the dexterity of the composition and, from about the halfway mark onwards when it cranks up a gear, just how much it sounds like something Muse or Keane or some other British piano rock group might come up with. Whether or not I am alone in this association I don't know, but I'm hoping the music alone is enough to open the song up to a wider audience than a Balkan entry might otherwise receive. The arrangement is stunning and certainly worthy of recognition: a blend of individually subtle elements, the cornerstones of which - the piano, strings and guitar - are laid in the opening minute of the song before coming together to form a whole that truly is greater than the sum of its (nevertheless invaluable) parts.

Yes, I know, I guess I'm breaking my own rule here and getting a little too effusive to call myself 'objective', but Pokušaj is my favourite song in this year's contest precisely because it has so much quality to offer. I can't say I'm convinced this is something everyone will appreciate, although I am buoyed by the fact that despite having similar misgivings last year about my 2007 favourite, the Georgian debut Visionary Dream, I was largely proven wrong. I certainly hope to see Laka and Bosnia & Herzegovina doing just as well in Belgrade as Sopho did in Helsinki, if not better, as their song is really quite brilliant. I'm aware that's a label as much as any other, but at least it is a considered one.

*Another example that springs to mind is Karolina's Od Nas Zavisi, the English version of which is pure poetry.

Andorra

Casanova Gisela

Sad but true, good intentions are rarely rewarded at Eurovision. Any country whose Head of Delegation excuses the lack of ambition displayed by its entry with claims of it 'bringing quality to the contest' or 'representing their linguistic and cultural heritage' is bound to have a hard time on the scoreboard. Though fans often take to such songs as much because they are overlooked as for any reasons of quality, it doesn't change the fact that they're unlikely to get very far with the wider European audience unless they drop the agenda. One participating nation that has done just that is Andorra: after thinking outside of the box for their entry in Helsinki, they have ditched it altogether for Belgrade. And the transformation couldn't be any more complete: after three and a half years of misplaced values they have gone positively Estonian, shipping in a singer from a neighbouring country with a second-rate piece of schlager sung entirely in English.

Inevitably, the irony of replacing one rigid formula with another you presume to be closer to something that will actually appeal to people is that it has arguably produced the tiny principality's weakest entry to date. Casanova is pop trash at its most pure, and while it might eschew the key change it needs to make the leap to super-schlager status, it does everything else you expect of such a song. In fact for what it is it's rather good: it has a clearly delineated structure of musical signposts that never leave you scratching your head as to what's coming next, a catchy chorus and the requisite non-taxing lyrics anyone who bothered to listen to them would understand. (The one line in Catalan is odd, and would be better delivered in a whisper given the context in which it is sung, but then I doubt that anyone will either notice or care that such layers of thought and meaning have not gone into the song.)

If the measure of success of the entry is qualifying for the final, I suspect Andorra may once again come away from the contest disappointed. Sandwiched between two more memorable entries, Gisela will have to give the performance of the night to even stand a chance of making it through, especially when she's singing the kind of song that only seems to go down well when done (better) by Sweden. Then again, the obvious lack of ambiguity Casanova presents may stand it in good stead, tapping a vein of straightforward appeal among those who want nothing more from Eurovision than an attractive girl with a decent voice and a dance routine singing an upbeat song with a smile on her face.

Ireland

Irelande Douze Pointe Dustin the Turkey

No song is likely to cause more consternation in the contest than one that sends it up and questions its worth simultaneously in a context that is played for laughs. At first it seemed unlikely that such a song would come from Ireland, the self-styled 'home of Eurovision', and yet it is entirely consistent. "Where oh where did it all go wrong?" Dustin the Turkey muses in the opening bars of this year's Irish entry, and well might he ask: for the past ten years all the country has given us is cod anthems, bland ballads, talent show fodder and misfiring folk music. Perhaps more than any other participating nation it is Ireland that has failed to come to grips with the evolution of the contest in the modern era.

All that is about to change with Irelande Douze Pointe: a song that sticks two fingers up at anyone who takes Eurovision seriously and maintains that it is a contest of musical quality in which everyone has an equal chance of winning. It is a swift about-turn for a country which has been guilty of both for so long, but if they were ever going to hold the contest up to a bit of tongue-in-cheek ridicule it was always going to be now. The writers behind the entry (and the majority of those who voted in the Irish national final) clearly feel that the emperor has no clothes.

The risk a song like this runs - as could already be seen in the mixed reception it received from its home audience - is whether anyone will actually find it funny. A little like the Estonian entry, I was amused by this when I first heard it, but only briefly, and was ultimately underwhelmed. This is not to say that it is not funny: some of its lyrics are true LOL moments and aspects of the performance are ridiculous enough to raise a smile. Working in its favour is the fact that it is much more immediate than Leto Svet and also that its humour has a point to it i.e. mocking the contest (as opposed to just being silly). Whether or not this offends your sensibilities is immaterial; it is the kind of approach that will likely see those who do appreciate it picking up their phones and voting for it as much because of as despite the fact that it is a load of nonsense. It worked for Lithuania in 2006, and there's no reason it shouldn't work for Ireland in 2008.

I doubt anyone would defend the song on the grounds of musical superiority (although having said that, the composition is perfectly alright), but even if they did they would be missing the point. Despite the rule about no animals on stage, there is more than just a turkey present in this song: there is an elephant in the room, and Dustin is not afraid to stick it in the spotlight. Rather like the small child pointing out the truth in the Hans Christian Andersen fairytale, there is something appealing about a handpuppet underscoring the problems inherent in the contest at present.

Then again, there are two ways of looking at everything, which is the whole point of The Emperor's New Clothes, and it is no less valid to suggest that Dustin reeling off a list of Eastern European countries is as much to gain their support as lay the blame at their feet. This brings us to the point of how well the song is likely to do in Serbia. Whether or not the song is a call for everyone behind the Iron Curtain to vote for it, I'm not sure they will; at least, not to the same extent as it is endorsed by Western Europe, who will probably have more sympathy for what it is saying. I wouldn't be at all surprised to see Ireland appearing again on Saturday, although under the new semi-final system with split voting its chances of getting there may have been reduced. Given it's a song with an agenda though it's pretty much a win-win situation anyway: proving one point by failing to do well or proving another as an exception to the rule by doing well.

In this day and age, the Eurovision Song Contest is about three hours of entertainment, visual as much as musical. Does Irelande Douze Pointe provide entertainment? Undoubtedly. It may not be everyone's cup of tea, but then people relate to humour just as differently as they relate to music, and on those terms the song has just as much of a place in the contest as the straightforward ballad and textbook schlager either side of it. If you don't like it my advice would be not to take it personally: Eurovision is teflon, and one song is hardly likely to have any lasting impact on it. Like the Emperor himself, it carries on regardless even when its bareness is exposed.

Poland

For Life Isis Gee

There generally aren't many countries in the Eurovision Song Contest who have started out as strongly and then lost their way as completely as Poland. Whether or not you actually like their early entries, you would be up against it trying to disprove their musical calibre, which is something you would be on safer ground claiming was lacking from more recent efforts. Some might argue that the downturn coincided with the switch to English, but in Poland's case that's not as clear-cut, with three songs in the last five years being partly or entirely performed in other languages. Nevertheless, the country's golden age (in critical terms at least, if not necessarily reflected on the scoreboard) was the mid-1990s, with three consecutive entries in particular - Sama, Chcę Znać Swój Grzech and Ale Jestem - standing out for their sheer quality.

The country's greatest success at the contest though remains its debut entry, 1994's To Nie Ja, a powerful ballad given a breathtaking performance, so it came as little surprise to see the Polish public plumping for a similar number in their national final this year after their third successive failure to reach the final and fourth mediocre result in a row in 2007. The logic - what worked once should work for us again - would be impeccable if it weren't for the fact that 1) goodness me how times have changed since the heady days of Edyta Górniak and 2) For Life and Isis Gee are but pale imitations of the song and singer whose success they will be attempting to emulate.

Well OK, that's perhaps a little harsh. As ballads go For Life is quite good, at least in a 'this bit then this bit' kind of way. The studio version is rather appealing, with attractive orchestration and an arrangement that does exactly what you would expect it to without being particularly inspired or inspiring. In that sense it can be placed in the same basket as the Slovenian entry; indeed, the ingredients might be different, and the end result might look different, but it leaves much the same taste in your mouth, and in such close proximity to one another I doubt either are going to be helped by it, however dissimilar the genres and performances.

Of course, Eurovision has shown us on more than one occasion that even the most pedestrian ballad can work a treat when performed simply and sincerely. Two recent examples came in the same contest for me when, in 2005, the Maltese and Israeli entries barely rated with me until I saw them live and they made perfect sense. Poland here might then want to pray for a Chiaraesque showing from Isis Gee: unless she has been holding back all this time, she is unlikely to provide us with a Shiri Maimon experience, let alone anything with the enthralling power and effortless intensity of Edyta Górniak.

While by no means a bad singer, Ms Gee is certainly one who operates within boundaries. She will not want to test them in Belgrade: even the slightest delusion of grandeur and the song will come crashing down around her. Her national final performance, though lapped up by the audience, seemed precariously perched on the verge of a nervous breakdown, and I'm not convinced she has what it takes to really project the song through the screen to the televoters without them thinking she's getting above her station. That said, I would be pleased for Poland if she brings it all together on the night and sees them through to the final. If she belts it out and makes it look like she means it, they may do rather better than anyone expects.

Norway

Hold On Be Strong Maria Haukaas Storeng

One of the most common mistakes that Eurovision fans make when forecasting the fate of the countries taking part is to assume that because a song stands out in a national final it will stand out in the contest itself. Overlooking the fact that the contexts are very different is easy to do, especially if you are enthusiastic about an entry and want it to do well. It's something I've been guilty of in the past: when asked to predict who I thought would win in 2004, for example, there were only two songs I felt had something about them I could envisage being reprised in a rain of glitter, and I was wrong on both counts. One was Sweden, which ended up 5th (so not far off there). The other was Norway's High, which brought the country its third last place - and worse, its first outright wooden spoon - in less than a decade. As predictions go... well, it speaks for itself.

And yet as part of the its national final, which was in fact a high quality affair that year, there was something to the song that I felt made it stand out from the competition, rendering a home victory perfectly sensible. And obviously a couple of hundred thousand Norwegians agreed with me. Where I tripped up was in assuming that the same logic applied once you stripped the entry of its national winner status and threw it in with the other thirty-however many entries that had made it to Istanbul. I had failed to realise that the quality of a song marking it out as the winner of a national final does not necessarily translate to the contest. It's something I've taken on board since though, and is the reason I am treading carefully this year: Norway has once again produced a winner I love, but which many others seem to either be left cold by or actively dislike.

As part of my more tempered approach I have looked at the song in the light other people are placing it in to see whether their arguments hold any water; suffice it to say that nine times out of ten they are so subjective they couldn't argue their way out of a paper bag. You can cast all the aspersions you like - the 'fact' that the singer is an "Idols reject" or has "big thighs" has nothing to do with the song or its chances of qualification and success. Still, having listened to Hold On Be Strong many times in order to keep things in balance and search for its alleged failings, I have never really found any. The closest I came to anything worthy of criticism was the line at the very end of the lyrics which seems to suggest the entire song is being addressed to some young slip of a thing by someone much older than Ms Storeng, lending it a sense of condescension that grates with the realism of the rest of the lyrics.

Another aspect of the lyrics (or rather the way they are sung) that seems to be troubling a lot of listeners is the clunkiness in the opening bars. This was in fact one of the things that attracted me to the song in the first place: it seems to me to be perfectly in keeping with the tortured incomprehension of the story behind the music that the words would be given an almost stumbling delivery, tremulous, as if the girl is struggling to string her sentences together to express how she feels. Generally I feel that Maria's voice is just right for the song: if it were squeakier you'd just want to slap her one for being so self-absorbed and whiny. As is she has a kind of empathy about her performance vocally that lends the song weight rather than rendering it twee.

In terms of arrangement Hold On Be Strong is another song I would love to be able to listen to as individual tracks. The combination of guitar, strings and brass punctuating the bass, piano and percussion is economical but very effective and subtly works to produce a musical picture of what the lyrics are saying. Structurally the song is also one of the most solid entries this year: it has a clearly defined beginning and end (the latter of which at least the three minute rule means is often lacking in Eurovision) and natural progression that does not have to resort to a key change to effect or signpost its climax.

As the ham in the sandwich between Slovenia's Rebeka Dremelj and Poland's Isis Gee and in a mid-semi run of girly songs only interrupted by the unconventional entries from Ireland and Bosnia & Herzegovina, Norway may nevertheless struggle to make enough of an impression on viewers to see them through to the final. It is sufficiently different to the songs it is bookended by to stand out in that sense, but the strength of the field it will find itself among in Belgrade is arguably greater than its competition in the national final, and the audience altogether different. I hope the fact - or at least my contention - that it is a well-produced entry in the hands of a capable performer is enough to convince people to vote for it. It is, in my opinion, one of the most coherent songs in this year's contest.

Slovenia

Vrag Naj Vzame Rebeka Dremelj

There is little doubt that the most contentious aspect of Eurovision in recent years has been the rise of 'friendly voting' and its effect on the outcome and reputation of the contest. There is nothing about the phenomenon per se that makes it surprising: apart from the songs they actually like, people will vote for what they are familiar with, be it musical styles or artists popular in their cultural corner of the continent or expats favouring their fatherland. While it can reasonably be claimed that such voting tends not to play the deciding role in who wins the whole thing, it does skew the results and certainly puts some countries at a disadvantage. Those most vocal about the issue would say "yes, the west!", but this is not strictly the case.

Slovenia is a perfect example of a country that should benefit from this kind of voting but rarely does. As part of the 'Balkan bloc' you might expect it to qualify from every semi-final courtesy of its fellow former Yugoslav republics alone, and yet it has not; last year's Cvet z Juga became the first Slovenian entry to make the final since 2003, and even then without the overwhelming support of their neighbours. But whatever the reason for the country being largely overlooked by others in the region, it has still enjoyed greatest success in recent years (relative though it may be) when performing in Slovene - Alenka Gotar achieving a mid-table finish in Helsinki and Omar Naber coming close to qualifying in Kyiv. So with the contest being held in Serbia this year, it is no surprise to see the country choosing once again to perform in its national language.

Up until the last chorus at least, which is apparently going to be in English in a "we want as many people as possible to understand the message of our song" nod to the point of the contest being to find a song that all of Europe gets, not just a scattering in the south-east. The thing is, when the first three quarters of your song is in a language most people don't speak they'll either have gotten it by that point or given up trying. Don't get me wrong, I'm as partial to a bilingual performance as the next Eurovision devotee, but in most cases I fail to see the point of them. Ruslana got it right by starting in English and only then introducing Ukrainian with Wild Dances; the 50/50 split worked a treat for Shiri Maimon in 2005; but most of the time such transitions feel clumsy and tacked on. By their very nature they are afterthoughts.

It doesn't help that the English version of the Slovenian entry is so clunky, although this is admittedly in keeping with the overall feel of the song. It is also in keeping with the original lyrics: Vrag Naj Vzame presents Slovene at its least attractive, at least with Rebeka Dremelj singing in it. She simply does not have the vocal depth to render her performance anything other than hostile, and while in theory this suits the feel of the song, in practice it makes it hard to listen to with any conviction that she will be able to carry it convincingly. You need look no further than the less than impressive rendition she gave of discotastic fan favourite Pojdi z Menoj at the 2005 Slovenian national final to realise that she is a triumph of style over substance.

But then Vrag Naj Vzame is not a song with any pretentions to greatness. At its best it is three minutes of paint-by-numbers pop which does what it says on the box. It has a chorus you can hum along to and a suitably bombastic bridge followed by a bit without drums. As with so many songs like it, its predictability is its greatest strength - but also its greatest weakness. I wouldn't fancy anyone's chances of making much of an impression coming on straight after Azerbaijan, especially if they also have to counter the effects of an ad break, and the likelihood of something this prosaic doing so is, in my view, very low. Slovenia may be relieved to see that Bosnia & Herzegovina and Montenegro (the two neighbours who showed them the most support in last year's final) will be with them in Belgrade on 20 May, but I suspect that even this headstart will be insufficient to see them through to Saturday night. If so, let's hope Ms Dremelj is as resilient in taking it on the chin as she appears to be.

Azerbaijan

Day After Day Elnur & Samir

Speaking broadly, there are two schools of thought when it comes to Eurovision. One is the old school, all blackboards and state-sponsored milk, pining for the days when the contest was about a line-up of respected artists standing behind a microphone, singing songs in their native languages (or in the case of most of the singers who represented Luxembourg: French) and trusting to the fair play and expertise of the juries. The other is the new school, who recognise the fact that the contest has evolved and indeed encourage it to do so, putting the 'vision' into 'Eurovision', with less emphasis on the song bit; as one of the biggest television events of the modern age, it must provide spectacle. On this basis, one of these two groups is likely to be much more taken with Azerbaijan's Eurovision debut than the other.

If there's one thing Day After Day cannot be accused of, it is subtlety. Unlike their newly shod stablemates San Marino, the Azeris have looked at the contest and decided that what it needs, and what it takes, is three minutes of pure theatre. Had anyone asked me prior to this year's songs being chosen which country I thought would produce the campest entry of 2008, Azerbaijan would never have figured in my top 40, let alone my top 5. And yet look at what they are giving us: an OTT tale of elicit passion, with pop-rock sensibilities, a splash of ethnicity and a falsetto faux-opera prologue, played out by the archangel and the Devil himself. If ever there was a recipe for success in the Eurovision Song Contest in the 21st century, I'd say the Azeris have found it. However unintelligible it may be.

And that's whether we like it or not. Day After Day bears all the hallmarks of a song that will do well regardless of its musical quality; it is so impudent it simply must be rewarded. Which is not to say it suffers a lack of quality. The music, while unspectacularly well produced, knows which buttons to push and when to push them. As you might expect, the strings carry much of the melodrama, while the electric and bass guitars are put to good use in producing the underlying atmosphere. The general sense is of a composer very much aware of what he's there to do: produce a workmanlike backdrop of sound against which the histrionics can unfold.

As I mentioned in my overview of the first semi-final prior to these individual reviews, Azerbaijan is one of only a handful of countries in my view to truly benefit from the draw. (The fact that they do is all the more random given they chose to start from 7th, but then it might reasonably be claimed that they would have made a splash whatever their position in the running order. Having said that, they have done well to be separated from Finland.) Coming after a run of six unprepossessing songs, Elnur and Samir's homoerotic antics are bound to be noticed. Provided they can keep the audience's eyes on them for the full three minutes I can't see any way that they won't qualify for the final, however shouty and flustered the whole thing gets. It simply ticks all of the boxes of the kind of thing that will finish in the top 9 of every country that meets the televoting threshold.

I am very confident that we will be seeing Azerbaijan in the final, and wouldn't be at all surprised to see them coming top of the class in 2008.

Belgium

O Julissi Ishtar

For all the melancholy it inpires among fans who think the contest has never been as culturally worthwhile since it was reinstated, you've got to wonder whether the free language rule makes much difference in Eurovision. I assume the decision to allow countries to sing in whatever language they liked was a move on the part of the production team to turn the contest into something reflecting the fact that the vast majority of successful music across the continent is performed in English rather than an array of languages you would never otherwise hear, but with Molitva last year becoming the first winner in almost ten years to be performed entirely in a language other than English you have to ask: does language really play a decisive role in determining whether people will vote for a song in Eurovision, or will they vote for a song even if they have no idea what, lyrically, it is about?

There are plenty of examples to say that they will, if the song itself (i.e. the music and the performance) is memorable. One of the most notable is the Belgian entry Sanomi, the runner-up in 2003 in one of the closest contests in Eurovision history, which was penned in an imaginary language. Perhaps televoters appreciated the fact that finally someone had realised you didn't have to sing in English to speak to the audience; perhaps they appreciated the fact that they were free to interpret the lyrics in any way they pleased, or not at all; perhaps they just liked the music. In any case, the song proved that you could perform in any language at Eurovision and still do well, even one that meant nothing (arguably making it no different to most pop). The Netherlands tried it in 2006 with considerably less success, but then Treble's Amambanda was in an altogether different league: a much lower one. And now, undeterred by their neighbour's fate and perhaps looking to reverse their fortunes and set a precedent by capitalising on their own success in the genre, multilingual Belgium is returning to the Eurovision stage with another folk song in a made-up language.

I have my misgivings about this approach. For a start, countries rarely if ever repeat the success of former winners (or in this case near-winners) by coming up with their own versions of them. Apart from anything else it shows a lack of imagination, on the part of the viewers or committees who select it as their nation's entry if not the performers or composers themselves. And although I have nothing against them per se, I am not a great fan of imaginary languages: while they profess to give people the freedom to interpret them as they choose, you invariably have to take the lead set by the music. With a clear framework in which to make of them what you will, your what-you-will options are in fact rather limited. While this was not so much the case with Sanomi, it is very much so with O Julissi: by its nature - and its stated intent - it does not lend itself to any interpretation other than pure Pollyanna.

Not that there's anything wrong with that. While at first it may not appear an obvious candidate for the title, the Belgian entry is one of the most upbeat songs in this year's contest. I say not obvious in the sense that it almost doesn't have a beat at all: like Y Así, the 2005 Austrian entry, it is unusual to come across a song in which rhythm is so effortlessly provided by an array of instruments that (for the most part) includes no drums. On those terms - purely musical - I find O Julissi very attractive and easy to listen to: the arrangement is wonderful and full of character. My problem with it is that while it is only two and a half minutes long, it still outstays its welcome. Like the Dutch entry in Athens, it believes it has something to say long after the audience has realised it doesn't, and as a consequence feels like it goes on forever. If it is lucky it will make enough of an impression on televoters in its first minute and a half to outweigh the tedium the remainder may inspire and still get them to vote for it.

The question then arises as to who will be likely to vote for it in the first place. Fans of the genre, possibly; those who like the occasional throwback to a more sedate musical era, perhaps; viewers with a penchant for the prim and proper. It strikes me as something that western Europe would be more inclined to vote for, though I may be wrong. If I'm right, it may be helped by the fact that however fanciful its lyrics are meant to be, there is a distinct Slavic sound to them which was absent from the more universal Sanomi. I may be seeing more than is actually there, and in any case it would require me to believe that language does play a decisive role in whether people will vote for a song.

So is someone in, say, Croatia going to be swayed to pick up the phone for a song just because it has a line in it that sounds a bit like something they might say in their language if they wouldn't have voted for it based on music and performance alone? Probably not. Where then does that leave the Belgian entry? In the semi-final, I suspect. Aspects of the song are certainly likeable, but the overall sense is of something that could easily and rapidly turn from appealing to irritating. If it does prove me wrong I expect it will do so convincingly.