Spain

La Noche Es Para Mí Soraya

"No importa si quieres o no, porque hoy mando yo..."

You've got to wonder how much store broadcasters set by their results at Eurovision from one year to the next. Some clearly do, finding a winning formula and sticking to it, or conversely having no luck and therefore copying and pasting from more successful entries. Others tend not to notice, or at least care, content to do their own thing whatever result it produces. This year some countries seem to have reacted to the reintroduction of the juries by choosing songs more likely to appeal to them; others, in turn, don't seem to be doing very much that's different at all; and still others seem to have looked at the 50/50 results for 2007 and responded accordingly, if perhaps ill-advisedly. And then there's Spain. Harking back to their most recent equivalent to glory days (the string of top 10 results they got with uptempo Iberian trash from 2001 to 2003, plus 2004), their entry for Moscow - La Noche Es Para Mí - is geared pretty much exclusively towards the flag-waving, statement-making OGAE crowd in the front five rows. Bugger the juries.

A suitably Eurovision number to end the final on, La Noche Es Para Mí is not without its good points (the acoustic and string arrangements are great), but the focus is on the disco campness of it all. Blonde bombshell Soraya is the perfect front man for the song, delivering it with energy and attitude, and with the luck of the draw on their side - something getting the #24 spot which takes the wind out of the UK's sails rather than their own - Spain may just provide enough spectacle in closing the show to snap up the dance music votes of an audience still enthusiastic about it by the time the televoting lines open a few minutes later. Certain juries may be more disposed to the kind of music and entertainment La Noche Es Para Mí offers, too. So in theory the song could go on to give the Spaniards their best result in at least five years.

In practice, I can't see Spain doing any better with La Noche Es Para Mí than they did with I Love You Mi Vida in 2007 - a very similar song in a year we have comparable results for. The one thing it has working in its favour is that it is being performed last rather than second, but even then I suspect its chances of breaking out of the right-hand side of the scoreboard are slim. There's just something about the song that screams 'fan favourite' rather than 'audience favourite' to me, and Soraya comes across a little too much like Finland's Laura Voutilainen for me to think she'll be any more attractive as a performer. But whether or not the night proves to be Spain's, La Noche Es Para Mí will be something of a measuring stick for the 50/50 system and quite possibly indicative of the direction Eurovision will be taking in the coming years, making for interesting viewing.

United Kingdom

It's My Time Jade Ewen

"I've earned the right to show you it's my time tonight..."

Eurovision is not a big name contest. It is a massive event, in terms of the sheer number of countries taking part and the scale it now works on, but it is not one that attracts world-famous names in the music industry. Many composers and performers who are highly respected at a national or regional level do take part, and while it would be brilliant for each of the 40+ acts each year to be identifiable by the majority of the people watching, with the best will in the world the nature of Eurovision just doesn't allow it. One of the few countries who could theoretically have entered internationally renowned and/or popular artists every year (and possibly won) but hasn't is the United Kingdom, second only to the United States in providing Europe with chart-topping acts. Instead, in recent years, they have tended to go for relative unknowns with unremarkable songs, and have had their worst ever run of results in consequence. But all that is set to change in Moscow, with the BBC having somehow managed to persuade Andrew Lloyd Webber - one of the biggest household names in music in the world - to write the nation's 2009 Eurovision entry for them: It's My Time.

While promising much, the approach seemed to deliver very little, with many fans underwhelmed by the song the composer (and American lyricist extraordinaire Dianne Warren) had come up with. The idea was fine, but the execution appeared to be flawed in two basic areas: the fact that Andrew Lloyd Webber, for all his credentials, has very little in common with contemporary pop music; and that however amazing the names behind It's My Time, the song would still end up being fronted by a nobody due to its being written for Eurovision and therefore failing to interest established groups and singers. This led many viewers to dismiss eventual performer Jade Ewen* and, by extension, the entire process that led to the creation of the entry whilst choosing to overlook the fact that what emerged from the national selection show Your Country Needs You was very much a work in progress.

I'll admit I was one of those nay-sayers upon the unveiling of It's My Time. I mightn't have shot it down in flames, but it had disappointed for being so very Lloydwebberish and also, as I saw it, slightly cynical for suggesting that the names involved made its success not only a foregone conclusion, but almost a right. However, Lord Webber's obvious uncertainty about the song and Jade's ability to do it complete justice - and the BBC's determination to see both be as good as they could - persuaded me to give It's My Time the chance to improve, and that's exactly what it has done. While not the most immediate of songs, it has been reworked and remixed to make it sound more contemporary and less like a forgotten musical number, without sacrificing the ALW trademarks; and the very likeable and suitably humble Jade has, through endless national final appearances, polished her delivery to the point where, at the Russian national final (one of the last of the season), she achieved something she had utterly failed to do when performing the song originally: give me goosebumps listening to it.

Yes, you might say, but by that point you'd heard it a hundred times. Which I had, but that's just it: song and singer have reached a point where they're both pitching it just right. This is a hugely important consideration when we're dealing with a song that could so easily have fallen flat. It's My Time has a plum draw in the final, and if Jade nails it on the night she may have the same effect on the audience as she had on me in Moscow. That alone should see the song doing much better for itself than most other recent UK entries, but combined with a jury vote suddenly propels the song into top 10 or even top 5 contention, if not outright victory. Any jury determined to overlook the song would only be doing so as a reaction against the names behind it, since it is a classy piece of music. It might not be the most modern song in this year's contest, and it may seem better suited to Eurovision as it was 20 years ago, but It's My Time has come a long way in a short time - and for the first time in many years the UK has every chance of once again winning the contest it dominated for so long.

*for want of a better word; is there a single verb for loudly, repeatedly and almost always baselessly criticising something seemingly for the sake of it?

Germany

Miss Kiss Kiss Bang Alex Swings Oscar Sings!

"Extra-ordinary and oh so cool..."

The "if at first you don't succeed" maxim with Eurovision seems to go "try again, and again, and again, and if that doesn't work, try again, but reverting to an earlier try... and then try again". Countries often fall into the trap of repeating themselves when they are desperate to return to the upper reaches of the scoreboard, but generally without success, since nine times out of ten the copy is a pale imitation of the original. Some countries can get away with pulling the same song apart and putting it back together slightly differently each year, but that's because they have a sound that appeals to a broad cross-section of the audience, and some success to go on in doing so. Germany doesn't, and hasn't, and as a result is likely to find that the only title Miss Kiss Kiss Bang is in contention for in Moscow is that of least successful automatic finalist.

The thinking behind NDR's choice of Alex Swings Oscar Sings! is a little hard to fathom. The release of the combined televoting and jury results from Helsinki, which showed that Roger Cicero's Frauen Regier'n Die Welt would have fared immeasurably better under such a system, may have encouraged the broadcaster to try the same formula again; it's hard to account for their faith in Miss Kiss Kiss Bang otherwise, since it has only a fraction of the quality of their 2007 entry. A brass track alone does not a swing number make, especially when the rest of it is so blatantly programmed. It leaves the song feeling cold and soulless; more like something discarded from Madonna's I'm Breathless (the Dick Tracy soundtrack) than a true representative of the genre. Which was fine in 1990, and in context, but not when it's abandoned to a Eurovision fate without any of the cartoon appeal.

None of this is a reflection on the song's performer, Oscar Loya, who has a decent voice, although he too feels out of place singing Miss Kiss Kiss Bang, for any number of reasons. People have suggested he and his entry will pose the only threat to Greece's Sakis Rouvas in the final, drawn as they are at the three-quarter mark, but nothing about the German entry suggests to me that it will challenge anything much, let alone something as 'properly' calculated as This Is Our Night. Audiences impressed by the level of songs and singers employed on shows like Strictly Come Dancing might enjoy Miss Kiss Kiss Bang, but that doesn't alter the fact that it is Germany doing what they've done before with far less panache. As such, I can't see it finishing in Moscow anywhere other than at the lower end of the scoreboard, and a record three-from-five last place is well within the realms of possibility.

Russia

Mamo Anastasya Prihodko

"Я дождём девичьи слезы разолью..."

Eurovision might not be a matter of national pride for the majority of people who watch it, or even for some who take part, but it invariably is for the host country. Whatever it ends up being a PR exercise in - from mending fences to attracting long-term foreign investment - it is a chance for the previous year's winner to outdo the last lot, propagate cultural cliches in a cheesy and lighthearted way and and generally say "look at us, aren't we great/better than you expected". They also usually come up with a home entry that sees local singing and songwriting talent produce something indicative of the country, if not in their native language then at least in the international one. It comes as something of a surprise then to find 2009 hosts Russia, who redefine what it means to be nationalistic, choosing Mamo to represent them in Moscow - a song written by a Georgian and an Estonian and sung by a Ukrainian. In Ukrainian.

Well, half-Ukrainian. Of course, what all this does represent - in a way I'm happy to admit I would never have expected Russia to allow - is the multicultural hotchpotch the modern nation has become, thanks, for want of a better word, to Soviet intermingling. It would be like last year's Serbian entry having been written by a Swedish composer (who else) and a Swiss lyricist and performed by a singer from Kosovo partly in Albanian. Or not, since that's the irony of Mamo: whoever wrote it, it's one of the most quintessentially Russian Russian entries in a long time, and completely representative of what the country's music industry does so well. That is, take mediocre and frequently unattractive talent, school them in melodrama and the heart-rending ways of 'gala' television and write songs for them that both politely and sycophantically pale in comparison to the Alla Pugachova numbers they aspire to be.

Everything about Mamo is contrived, from its victory in the national final (coincidentally heavy on the Women's Day advertising) to its tragic interpreter, Anastasya Prihodko. Anyone who was privileged to hear Albanian singer Frederik Ndoci speak at his press conferences in Helsinki in 2007 about the pain of history - his own and that of his nation - will see through the catharsis of spurious sentiment accompanying Mamo instantly, however thick it's layered on. Whether it's true or not is immaterial: the Russian (and clearly also Ukrainian) love of drama twists it out of all proportion, leaving little room for sympathy. Not that Russia lacks an audience at Eurovision, but this year they find themselves no better off than they were with Yulia Savicheva or Natalia Podolskaya in 2004 and 2005 in terms of known names or songs with obvious widespread appeal. As hosts they should generate enough self-promotion to counter this effect, and even under the 50/50 system a left-side-of-scoreboard finish should be within their reach. They start with a good 100-point lead, after all.

Besides, if Mamo comes and goes and passes everyone by in all but their most fervent of supporting states, Russia can always resort to that other aspect of their national psyche: the argument that everybody is against them and that no one understands or appreciates what the country has done or ever will do. It wouldn't occur to them that with an entry like Mamo the only understanding and appreciation they're going to get is from those who already do. (That, needless to say, being the point.) Ms Prihodko and her tale of woe are Russia in miniature, with all of the angst, nostalgia, fake emotion and duality that entails. Ticking all of these boxes as it does, it is sure to do the hosts proud.

France

Et S'il Fallait Le Faire Patricia Kaas

"Je veux bien tout donner, si seul'ment tu y crois..."

It's no exaggeration to say that many great songs have been overlooked in Eurovision's history. Often the justification given by those clearly more enamoured of them than those who had the chance to vote on them is that they are "too good for the contest", whatever that means. It implies that the audience or juries are incapable of recognising quality or at least that they are unwilling to reward it, perhaps because of the level Eurovision is perceived to work on. The truth is generally closer to home: as good as a song might be, if it lacks that certain something on the night that grabs the voters and hangs on to them, all the quality in the world counts for very little. Admirable as it is, it won't win you the contest just because, and that's despite the stated purpose Eurovision serves - a lesson the French may learn in Moscow with Et S'il Fallait Le Faire.

Not that winning the whole shebang is in the forefront of every broadcaster's mind in entering the contest: many are content to contribute quality in an era when 'quantity' (i.e. performance and spectacle; more bang for your buck) plays perhaps a greater role in determining the outcome. There's certainly much to admire about Et S'il Fallait Le Faire, as a song and as an approach to Eurovision. Not only does it boast some typically wonderful French lyrics - far and away the most poetic and meaningful of the year - and an arrangement that works perfectly with what the song is saying, but in Patricia Kaas France 3 have given the contest what many, indeed most other countries either do not or cannot: one of their biggest stars. If Eurovision worked the way it ideally should, it would showcase 40 of Europe's biggest national music acts every year, with none of the cobbled together groups and 'specially written' entries that have earned the contest its dubious reputation. In this light, the fact that France could persuade a star of Patricia Kaas' stature to even consider taking part is a coup.

Which is not to say either she or Et S'il Fallait Le Faire should therefore automatically be handed victory on a plate; quite the opposite. With televoting still accounting for 50% of the result in Moscow, Mlle Kaas will have to prove to the people watching at home that she and her song are worthy of the hype that accompany them, since in any case she'll be just another singer to many. If she invests enough of herself in the performance to convince both the televoters and the juries, and to keep them convinced irrespective of the two dozen-odd songs that follow, France could well find themselves back at (or at least near to) the top of the scoreboard at the end of the voting. Which is probably a place they could have been at various times in recent years had they not failed to connect with the audience.

And let's face it, redemption is not at the top of televoters' lists of reasons to vote for a song or country at Eurovision. For Et S'il Fallait Le Faire to succeed among ordinary voters - for it is likely to fare better with the juries - they will actually have to like the song, and that may be its biggest sticking point. No song is too good for the contest, but some can be too good for their own good: an appreciation of the quality of an entry is not enough if it doesn't reach out and grab you, and move you, and make you want to hear it again. And as many people have admitted, Et S'il Fallait Le Faire is not the easiest song to like even if everything is telling you you ought to. For better or worse, Eurovision is designed to enthrall as much as it is to shine the spotlight on great music; only if the French entry does both will it achieve the result it arguably deserves.

Automatic finalists

Our five automatic finalists in 2009 couldn't be more different from one another if they tried. No two represent the same genre or are aimed at the same audience, and all are as diverse in the potential they have to do well. Or for that matter bomb.

In a break from tradition, at least two of the Big 4 entries look like they might actually do OK: France and the United Kingdom, both of which boast big names behind them, and both of which could go down a treat with the juries, if not the televoters. France in particular may struggle due to having another 22 songs performed after it; having said that, true quality ought to leave a lasting impression.

The Spanish, having chosen to perform last, must be thinking they have a chance this year, but I honestly can't see them doing all that much better than they did in the combined jury and televote in 2007 (i.e. not very). Germany is hovering in a zone that has produced a lot of recent winners, but if any of the five finalists is in for an obvious bottom five result, it's them.

Last but not least, hosts Russia are taking to the stage roughly halfway through the show, and a mid-table finish (minimum) is pretty much a certainty. The country's ability to earn enough points whatever it sends to make the top 5 due to its mammoth diaspora will inevitably be diluted by the jury votes, probably enough to see them edged out of the top 10, but not enough to demote them to the right-hand side of the scoreboard.

The different approaches the entries from the automatic finalists take is what makes them interesting this year - the first in many in which the Big 4 will actually be hopeful of not ending up yet again as the Bottom 4. Makes finding an angle for reviewing them easier too ;-) And on that note...

Vote in the prediction poll for the overall top 10!

The prediction poll for the top 10 in the final will open shortly. Please note that it is a prediction poll and not a poll of your favourite entries. You should select the 10 countries you feel will make up the top 10 in the final, remembering that the result will be generated by televoters and juries ("of music professionals") alike. The twenty semi-final qualifiers are based on the results of the earlier polls here on the blog. The poll will close in a week's time prior to the start of rehearsals in Moscow. Have fun :)

Vote in the prediction poll for the automatic finalists!

The prediction poll for the automatic finalists will open shortly. Please note that it is a prediction poll and not a poll of your favourites. You should select the one country out of the five you feel will do best. The poll will close in a week's time, just before rehearsals start. To quote LT United: "...vote!" :)

Semi 2: poll results

The prediction poll for the 2nd semi-final is now closed and the results are in - and they seem to indicate that this semi could throw up more surprises than the 1st, especially among the lower qualifiers. This time only six of the 'top ten' were voted on by more than 60% of respondents, with three others making it through with less than 50% and four countries fighting it out for the final slot. But if the poll is any indication, Thursday night's semi will see the following ten countries (in alphabetical order) qualify for the final:

- Azerbaijan
- Denmark
- Estonia
- Greece
- Ireland
- Lithuania
- Moldova
- Norway
- Serbia
- Ukraine

Lithuania only just edged out Albania, which in turn was not all that far ahead of Hungary and (inexplicably) the Netherlands. Most of the other songs got their share of support, with only Poland and Slovakia coming up significantly short. I can't see Ireland getting through and think most people are greatly underestimating Latvia, but would otherwise agree.

The prediction polls for the finalists and the overall top 10 will be up shortly.

Semi 2: overview

Listening to each of the songs in the 2nd semi-final individually a hundred times over and once more all through hasn't seen me waver much in my convictions of who will qualify and who won't. Based on the assumptions that none of the performances are wonky (and that's a big assumption to make with some of them!), the obvious qualifiers still seem as obvious. It's once you get past them that it starts getting interesting.

Of the nine songs in Act One, I can't see any more than four qualifying, and only two of them are no-brainers: neighbours Norway and Denmark. Of the remainder, only Latvia and Serbia show any signs of having what it takes (i.e. an appropriate audience in a sufficient number of countries), but if they do get through I wouldn't expect either of them to do so terribly convincingly. Despite their [very different] appeal, I can't see either Croatia or Ireland making enough of an impact.

The interval act, Slovenia, will only qualify if the majority of Thursday night televoters have very bad taste.

Act Two is almost certain to give us the bulk of our qualifiers. Despite most of the last nine songs being in direct competition with one another in terms of how upbeat most of them are, they may just about all get through. The obvious exception is the Netherlands, although Albania is on shakier ground than I would have expected it to be. Ukraine is dead-set, and Lithuania is actually well-placed to stand out among everything going on around it. If there is a big casualty here it might in fact be Azerbaijan, unless their performance improves.

Rolling out the same old spiel, here then 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.

- Azerbaijan
- Denmark
- Estonia
- Greece
- Latvia
- Lithuania
- Moldova
- Norway
- Serbia
- Ukraine

Mind you, looking at it now I'm not sure I'll score better than about 7 out of 10. My personal preference would see Hungary replacing Greece (oh! how I would love for Sakis not to even qualify) (and for man's man Zoli to camp it up all the way to the bank!) but I doubt it's going to happen, or at least not at Greece's expense. A lot might change though in just a week-and-a-bit's time when the rehearsals start. Fingers crossed in some cases!

The Netherlands

Shine The Toppers

"There are so many things not right..."

The on-season is a hectic time of year for avid Eurovision fans: as if it's not hard enough keeping up with the 40+ national selections going on across the continent, many broadcasters fill the gap between then and the HoD meeting (and sometimes between then and the night of the contest itself) tweaking their entries and releasing new versions. Some countries make a habit of it for the simple reason that they don't have a lot of choice; Albania, for example, who had to compress 4-and-a-bit minutes of Më Merr Në Ëndërr into 3 minutes of Carry Me In Your Dreams for Moscow. Others do it to improve on and/or bring out the best in their entries. Others, though, make the kind of choices that do neither and that leave you shaking your head wondering what on earth they were thinking. That's what the Netherlands have done this year: taken the cringeworthy but otherwise decent Shine and remixed it into total oblivion.

What started out life as a chintzy, slightly embarrassing but well-meaning anthem by the chintzy, slightly embarrassing but well-meaning Dutch trio the Toppers has had its dated disco appeal stripped away and been abandoned to a kind of clubland minimalism whose only signature is a bassline punctuated by farty synths. Not realising that about the only thing Shine had going for it - apart from last-minute stud-muffin and Roger Federer lookalike Jeroen van der Boom - was its unabashed gayness, including but not limited to the fat female backing singers and mardi gras float feel to the performance, the Toppers and/or NOS took the decision to butch it up by employing an eminent DJ (not that you'd know) to remix it. The result speaks for itself, and only makes the trio seem more desperate and pitiable.

There's not a lot else to say about Shine. It's a perfect example of when it really is better to leave well alone in Eurovision. It has very few, if any, redeeming features. Not only is it a virtually certain non-qualifier, keeping the Netherlands out of the final for the fifth year running, but it must also be a solid candidate to come last in the 2nd semi-final, since the country has no friends and the song's appeal is limited. I couldn't predict a better result for it even if it weren't one of my least favourite songs of 2009, since it has 'loser(s)' written all over it.

Estonia

Rändajad Urban Symphony

"Kõrbekuumuses liiva lendab kui jääkülma lund..."

There's a prevailing mindset among certain Eurovision fans that if a song isn't the brainless pop for which the contest is frequently maligned by average viewers and those in the music industry, it doesn't deserve a place in the line-up. If it isn't an undemanding ballad or schlager or some other confection, and it displays a degree of intent and integrity that sees it referred to as proper music, it's pretentious. That's the label that's stuck on a handful of songs each year - particularly those which feature a string arrangement and make a point of highlighting it on stage - and the people who support them, as if entering such a thing in a popular music contest is getting ideas above your station. But Eurovision embraces a surprisingly diverse range of music, and results in recent years have shown that the televoting audience will, on the whole, recognise and reward quality whatever form it takes. Estonia will undoubtedly be hoping they do so in Moscow, since Rändajad qualifying would see the country in the final for the first time since 2003.

And the indications seem to be that Urban Symphony will in fact make it that far in Russia. Whatever the accusations levelled at Rändajad by those who prefer their Eurovision more along the lines of Carry Me In Your Dreams or Be My Valentine!, the majority of fans would appear to be behind the Estonian entry: it is one of relatively few countries tipped to almost certainly qualify from the 2nd semi-final. This probably has as much to do with the draw as it does any intrinsic quality the song has, since it stands out a mile among the last 10 or so entries and is an oasis of calm after the OTT Ukrainian number. Some have said that the risk Rändajad runs is in its reserve - the fact that it is slightly cold and aloof - but this is entirely in keeping with (a) what it's about and (b) it being Estonian. Considering the support it has gained despite being performed in a language next to no one understands, even that might not be a problem. There's just something about the song that makes it... absorbing.

Of course, the fact that Rändajad is being performed in Moscow in Estonian* may work in its favour, since the audience will be left to focus on the music and visuals. There is something utterly mesmerising about Sandra Nurmsalu and her vocals, and the rhythm of the song - its insistence and persistence; completely in keeping again with what the song is saying - pull you into and along with it in a way that is almost hypnotic. The fact that the composition is anchored around the violin, viola and cello makes it accessible to viewers all over the continent, but perhaps more importantly, the Eastern touches to the percussion and synths see the song covering all of the bases. It's no exaggeration to say that Rändajad is one of 2009's most complete and attractive packages.

On a personal level, I am extremely proud as a quasi-Estonian that our entry will be the only one in Moscow of all the former Soviet states to be performed entirely in its native language. The whole point of rejigging the national final was to produce a song [only incidentally for Eurovision] which was fundamentally Estonian, and that's what Rändajad is, right down to the way it feels and the quiet confidence with which it's delivered. It's bizarre to think that it comes from the studio of Sven Lõhmus, the same man who inflicted Let's Get Loud on Europe in 2005, but that in itself should be enough to tell those scoffing at the song that there's little about it that's pretentious: there's room for all sorts at ESC. Even if it is, I don't care: it's the best Estonian entry in a long time, one of 2009's most iconic and easily one of the year's best.

*A language a lot of people seem to agree might as well be made up ;-)

Ukraine

Be My Valentine! (Anti-Crisis Girl) Svetlana Loboda

"The charm that I possess will put you to the test..."

Making something out of nothing is a skill peculiar to certain countries at Eurovision. Many come up with entries that have you thinking "yeah, that's got potential" only to frustrate you by doing little or nothing to improve them. Others, like Malta, tend to start with the basics and work their way up from there, sometimes surprising you for their ability to knock something into shape come contest time. Then there's Ukraine, whom we have already seen take a song with very little to recommend it, give it a complete overhaul, stage it in a way that's so clever and effective it puts everyone else to shame and land themselves in the top ten in the process. 2009 sees them doing an I Am Your Queen/Show Me Your Love all over again: from the ashes of the uninspiring Be My Valentine has risen a phoenix claiming to be every last viewer's Anti-Crisis Girl.

Well alright, it's still called Be My Valentine, but you can't ignore the makeover the song's been given: the kind of plastic surgery Charlotte Perrelli could only dream of. Ukraine has shown itself to have a love of bombastic show numbers at Eurovision, and with their entry for Moscow they are clearly aiming to repeat their success in this area. Like the Serbian entry, Svetlana Loboda's three minutes of performance leaves itself open to accusations of taking the piss, but it isn't a novelty act per se: it's just a Eurovision entry with its tongue in its cheek, whilst completely serious in its intent to entertain the audience and win their support. The fact that it does so through grand spectacle isn't the point. Even if the promised hell machine fails to descend from the rigging, Be My Valentine! is almost certain to drive the Albanian entry from viewers' minds and leave enough of a lingering impression (given there are only two songs left in the semi after it) to stroll into Saturday night's final.

If the final itself were still an all-televoting affair, I would happily predict yet another top two finish for Ukraine, since Be My Valentine! has all of the elements a song needs to do well in the SMS frenzy otherwise known as the contemporary Eurovision democracy. But even with juries accounting for half of the result I wouldn't rule out a top three/five/at least ten placing for the song, since in musical terms it's both competent and catchy. It all depends on the extent to which the juries are there to counter plebeian voting habits as opposed to still voting on the best songs and performances overall. Not that Be My Valentine! qualifies as one of the more remarkable compositions of the year, but it's got a lot going for it however you look at it.

Back-to-back runners-up, Ukraine have earned themselves a reputation as being to modern Eurovision what the UK was to the contest in days of old. They'll undoubtedly win the whole thing again at some point; perhaps not in 2009, but it wouldn't surprise me if they came close. As long as they remain capable of turning something like Be My Valentine into Anti-Crisis Girl and retain their name as one of the savviest countries in the contest when it comes to putting on a performance, they will always be up there among the contenders. And deservedly so.

Albania

Carry Me In Your Dreams Kejsi Tola

"No strings attached..."

Whatever else Eurovision may give us, it all comes back to uncomplicated pop in the end. Countries can deliver complex anthems and multi-layered orchestration and lyrics as meaningful as some of the greatest poetry, but at some point they will recall and return to what the contest, at its core, is all about: upbeat, uptempo, straightforward songs that conform to certain criteria and are completely transparent. One country to have come full circle in this respect is Albania, who are returning to their pop roots in Moscow with Kejsi Tola's Carry Me In Your Dreams. Having cracked the top ten on debut with the similarly styled The Image Of You, they will be hoping that their restoration of Eurofabulousness takes them there once again after their wholly worthy but less successful intervening entries failed to do so, or failed to get them very far when they did.

I suspect, however, that composer Edmond Zhulali and lyricist June Muftaraj ('Mufty'?) Taylor - the same team behind Anjeza Shahini and Albania's first outing to the contest - will come away disappointed. While there's nothing wrong with Carry Me In Your Dreams, the fact that it comes fully labelled and does what it says on the tin may not be enough to sell it to the audience or the juries in a semi-final which is already hard enough to qualify from. It's destined to pick up points here and there, but I doubt it will collect enough of them to make it on its own, and the ingenuousness of the composition (in which the Albanian bagpipes seem more of an afterthought than ever before) suggests it is unlikely to win the support of any jury scoring it on depth and complexity. And in that case there'll only be one person who can change their minds: Ms Tola herself.

Unfortunately, where Kejsi is concerned it's very much a case of 'Jan Brady sings for Albania'. She has a fantastic voice for someone her age, but it's her age that's the problem: Festival i Këngës showed that while more than capable of belting out the song, she has no stage presence whatsoever. This was underscored in the preview video, in which she makes turning on the spot look like an exercise in applied mechanics. She is the quintessential ungainly teenager; one with killer vocals, sure, but however excited RTSH are getting about their Greek choreographer, there's only so much you can do with someone who makes a song like Carry Me In Your Dreams look like a gawky incident at a blue light disco. I would love for Albania to prove me wrong, since the song is one of my favourite pop concoctions in this year's selection, and unconditionally likeable, but I have my doubts.

Moldova

Hora Din Moldova Nelly Ciobanu

"Şi zi-i mai tare lăutare, să se-audă-n lumea mare..."

Eurovision wouldn't be the same if it didn't offer us at least three minutes of ethnic knees-up every year. Part of the point of the contest - albeit one of diminished significance these days - is throwing a bit of national colour at the screen and encouraging the people to dance along at home. It invariably falls to the contest's southern and eastern participants to provide such spectacle, since Western Europe fails to the see the attraction of its own folk heritage: the UK has conspicuously failed to give us any morris dancing at the contest, although Portugal came close a few years ago to gifting the audience this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DgVyjZw54u4. One country who saw the benefit of showcasing their heritage on their debut, if in a rather exaggerated way, was Moldova, and they are returning to it in Moscow - in a much purer if no less manic or enjoyable form - for their fifth entry, Hora Din Moldova.

From the moment the excitable and rather stunning Nelly Ciobanu opens her mouth, you know the song she is about to sing is not going to be your run-of-the-mill Eurovision schlager, although ironically that's pretty much what Hora Din Modova is in folk terms. Similar to the Cypriot entry in Belgrade, Femme Fatale, which was essentially a cabaret take on the sirtaki, the Moldovan entry is the nation's dance tradition set to music, right down to the wailing, the men shouting, the hey-hey! bits and the sense that somewhere just off stage the homemade vodka is flowing freely. You don't need to understand it, even if they do chuck in a bit of English; you don't even need to like it, really. Provided you're in the right frame of mind, something like Hora Din Moldova should sweep you up and take you with it whether you want it to or not. And given that a lot of people who watch Eurovision do so precisely because of songs like it, I can't see it failing to qualify, for the feel-good factor alone.

The other thing the song has going for it in the 2nd semi-final is that although it forms part of a long run of upbeat numbers, it's not in direct competition with any of them: the Greek and Hungarian entries can be seen to be rivalling each other for the audience's attention, as can the straightforward ethnopop of the Azerbaijani and Albanian entries, but Hora Din Moldova stands pretty much alone. Normally at least one other Balkan [or similar] country would roll up with something alone these lines, but the nearest equivalent in Moscow is probably the Serbian song Cipela, and there's no reason the two shouldn't coexist perfectly happily in the final*. I would certainly expect Moldova to make it that far, in any case.

What happens at that point is anyone's guess, since other factors then come into play which are harder to account for. But barring a performance where the vocals don't come together or the atmosphere is just strangely flat, I can see Hora Din Moldova returning the country to the top ten, since it is personable and professional enough to get everyone up and dancing. In many ways it represents what Eurovision is meant to be about, and ought to be embraced for that reason alone.

*Although they wouldn't want to be drawn back-to-back.

Lithuania

Love Sasha Son

"For just one moment, we all wanna be just as happy as one can be..."

The reintroduction of juries in Eurovision as a response to the increasing variance between televote and back-up results has led to endless speculation about the influence they will have on the overall result. The consensus seems to be that the input of the five-member national committees in the final will only have a moderate effect, and it doesn't alter the fact that those countries qualifying from the semi-finals still have to pretty much on televoting alone. This does present a scenario where (theoretically) semi winners could plummet to the lower reaches of the scoreboard and more lowly qualifiers fare much better, but the likelihood is not all that high since televoting will prevail in the combined scores. Anything that struggles to qualify with the public's support may find it just as hard to get anywhere in the final. On the other hand, if they qualify as the jury wildcard, they may do better than expected. We may none of us be any the wiser until after the event, but the Lithuanian entry for Moscow, Sasha Son's Love, may prefer to get the wildcard and take its chances than be promoted by the televoters in, say, 9th place.

One of what you might expect to be the more obvious nominees for the jury prize in the 2nd semi-final should it be overlooked by the audience, Love is a tough one to call. It is well-placed towards the end of the semi as the only ballad in a string of almost ten more or less uptempo numbers, and will certainly stand out between the Greek entry on before it and the Moldovan romp taking to the stage directly after it. Assuming the juries are the same as those employed for the final - a big assumption at this point; they could be the OGAE love-ins of 2008 all over again - the song is likely to impress them wherever it comes in the run, but wedged between This Is Our Night and Hora Din Moldova its class is sure to shine through. Whether it captures the audience in the same way depends to a degree on how the Lithuanians stage it: man-at-piano worked well for Norway's Jostein Hasselgård in 2003, and the simpler Mr Son keeps it the better it is likely to work. And if that's the case, Love ought to qualify on merit instead of needing to be rescued by the juries.

Either way, Lithuania deserves to be in the final with this song, and it will be Eurovision's loss if Love is scorned by the viewers and then slips through the safety net, too. Beautifully orchestrated and arranged, with some great vocals by composer, lyricist and soloist Sasha, it is one of the country's best entries, and one of few generally to have made such a successful transition from the original version. You've got to hand it to anyone who can fit the title of a song into its chorus 17 times and still make it sound like poetry; Pasiklydęs Žmogus certainly couldn't have, and neither does the Russian version that's materialised. Not that Love needs to pander to the audience through its choice of words: it is one of the most striking compositions of the year, which hopefully either the viewers or the juries will recognise. It might be too much to ask for both, but the Lithuanian entry succeeding would be a true indication of the success of Eurovision's new format, and a triumph for the contest.

Greece

This Is Our Night Sakis Rouvas

"We can do it, just wait and see..."

Eurovision is often accused of being a triumph of style over substance, and there is plenty of evidence to back up the claim. For a start, it has no self-avowed purpose other than to entertain, and while that doesn't require the producers or the audience to check their brains in at the arena door, the contest makes no claims to greatness, least of all musical. The fact that most of the people who watch it are looking to be entertained probably explains why many songs that might otherwise lend the contest a modicum of credibility either never make it that far or tend to be overlooked if they do in favour of something more germane. Which is not to say that such songs intrinsically have no value, or that no effort goes into them; on the contrary, the trashiest numbers can be some of Eurovision's most highly choreographed and most heavily promoted. That, though, only reinforces the contest's reputation - which will be cemented further in Moscow by the Greek entry, This Is Our Night.

Presumably with more planning per square metre and a budget higher than some of its less affluent competitors, This Is Our Night is set to explode onto the stage at the Olympic Arena and burst onto screens throughout Europe with all of the energy its synth-heavy production and plucked performer Sakis Rouvas can muster. Exhibiting the workmanlike values and ambition of every club anthem ever, the song is, I imagine, meant to tap into the average audience's love of anything upbeat and personally engaging when presented to them in the virile form of Greek man. The biggest metrosexual in the contest and one of its least naturally talented where singing is concerned, Sakis is a coiffeured, calculated means to an end. He's buff, he does backflips, and he has the ability to distract you from the blatant shortcomings in the songs he is selling through sheer force of performance alone. This is of course the whole point, but it makes him about as programmed as the material he is given to work with.

To be fair, the fact that This Is Our Night has nothing to do with real music hardly singles it out for criticism in a forum like Eurovision, and cynicism will never negate its appeal. Someone in a studio pressing buttons can push a lot of other people's, especially if that's exactly the kind of thing they expect from the contest. I don't doubt the song will deliver Greece yet another decent placing either, although its omnipotence may be diluted come the final by juries wielding influence other than the purely sexually motivated. Low-cut denims and a hint of six-pack should count for little if the song has to stand up on its own two feet, since it exists within a range of about four notes. A song doesn't have to have complex vocals or layered orchestration to earn its place in the line-up of an annual music contest whose remit extends no further than providing seven hours of colourful diversion, but This Is Our Night is the perception of Eurovision in microcosm. The triumph of style over substance has a new name, and that name is Sakis Rouvas.

Azerbaijan

Always AySel & Arash

"Finally I've found you and now I'll never let you go..."

It's funny how just the sound of an entry can dictate its fortunes in Eurovision, considering how unpredictable the contest remains at times. There are songs you hear and instinctively know will do well, such as the Norwegian entry Fairytale, and for that matter the Norwegian entry in 2008, Hold On Be Strong. Another country to have produced back-to-back entries with the same sense of going places about them is Azerbaijan. On debut in Begrade they entered something with the sort of bombast and theatre I knew would see them end top ten, and although their entry for Moscow, Always, is more restrained, it too bears the hallmarks of something bound to do well.

Or at least qualify. As the Turkish understudy in the 2nd semi-final, Azerbaijan is one of those countries with a foot in the door before it's even been opened, and their making it to the final on that alone is always high on the list of probabilities. Throw in a well-produced, catchy song with wider appeal than their first entry and qualification is virtually assured. (For an explanation of the 'virtually', see below.) Quite a number of people seemed underwhelmed with Always upon its unveiling, claiming it lacked oomph and sounded like the kind of thing that would come second-last in a Melodifestivalen semi, and though it does lack a key change where there should logically be one (at the 2:12 mark), it still sounds solid and Western™ enough to appeal to more than just Eastern Europe and the Turkic diaspora.

The caveat with Always, and the only thing I can see derailing the song's chances, is the pair singing it. Having drafted in Iranian-born half-Swede half-Azeri something-nothing Arash as producer, İTV then made the mistake of forcing him upon AySel, and a couple of half-baked promo performances later the only label being applied to them was 'gormless'. This would be a problem if we weren't dealing with a country like Azerbaijan: I can see Always being 2009's Qele Qele, going on to score well despite not receiving the performance it needs to make it truly worthy of such a result. Let's face it, Aysel and Arash would have to take gormlessness to new, Moldova- and Macedonia-rivalling heights* to shoot themselves in all four feet. When songs like this from countries like these sound like they do - one they'll probably latch onto and never let go of - some measure of success is a foregone conclusion.

*Loca, Ninanajna et al. q.v.

Hungary

Dance With Me Zoli Ádok

"It's an overload in a disco fantasy..."

There's only so long you can plough the same furrow at Eurovision before you realise it's not bearing any fruit. You can keep sowing the same seeds, or you can accept that the climate's not right for your chosen crop. You might have produced a pair of prize pumpkins over the years, but the rest have been lemons, and you're faced with a market that wants something you're not giving them. So what do you do? You follow Hungary's example: instead of the old turnip no one wanted, you offer them something the young'uns might go for. When you're told you're not allowed to do that, you revert to type and proffer something more traditional for the grown-ups. And when that's withdrawn from sale, you finally grasp that what your market wants is something altogether fruitier. So that's what you serve up. In musical terms, it's known as gay disco. In ESC09 terms, that means Ádokzoli and Dance With Me.

Described by a friend of mine as "more of a sound than a song", the Hungarian entry for Moscow is a surprisingly apt choice in a contest known for its fruity following - all the more so for the fact that it was broadcaster MTV's third. Having clearly decided to abandon the prim, old-fashioned path they took in 2008, they originally signed up twink Márk Zentai - Hungary's answer to Zac Efron - to perform the teen-friendly How We Party before being alerted to the song's having broken the rules for being sung by someone on Swedish Big Brother in 2006 (or something; it doesn't really matter what), at which they duly appointed their second choice Kátya Tompos as their Eurovision representative. Turns out the singer of the worthy if sombre Magányos Csónak would be too busy in May though, and the song was withdrawn, leaving MTV and the rest of Europe scratching their heads. With their pop departure and arthouse options squashed, where would they go next?

It's probably true to say that few people would have expected it to be the camp and kitsch route the contest has gained such a reputation from. Taking their time on their third and final reveal, MTV made sure that Dance With Me fell within the bounds of originality How We Party had not and that performer Zoltán Ádok would not be having his chest hair trimmed or his teeth bleached for those two weeks in May before unleashing the song on the world. Most people's reaction to it was positive, impressed by its expensive preview video in particular, but tempered by the fact that however original it was in terms of the Eurovision rules, it remained hugely derivative of the genre. This, combined with the retro feel of the song and Hungary's no-friends status in the contest (which would have made Magányos Csónak the perfect entry for them), has led most punters to doubt the song's chances.

I'll concede that Dance With Me is not the kind of thing that will necessarily do well at Eurovision, but I'm not as ambivalent about its potential as a lot of people seem to be. Ádokzoli comes across as the consummate performer, and in a run of uptempo songs where he finds himself in competition with Greece's Sakis Rouvas I'm at a loss to explain why so few people believe in his ability to pose a threat: there's no evidence he can't sing live, which we all know is Sakis' Achilles heel, and Dance With Me is not all that dissimilar to This Is Our Night. Both are as queer as folk, but at least Zoltán has no qualms about playing the role of "whopping great poofter"* the song demands. He can sing and dance at the same time, and he puts the 'Aryan' in Hungarian in a come-hither way that makes you go 'woof!'.** If that's not enough to sell the song, I don't know what is. I mean, if beanpole queen Deen could qualify in 2004 with the zesty In The Disco, what's to stop our Zoli?

*...as said friend of mine put it :)

**He may well put the 'hung' in Hungarian, too, but that's not for here ;-)

Slovenia

Love Symphony Quartissimo feat. Martina

"Out of time, out of place..."

One of the biggest urban myths associated with Eurovision is the importance of the draw in determining a song's chances, and in particular the kiss of death that being drawn 2nd is meant to deliver. Sure, the #2 spot is notorious for never having produced a winner and littering the bottom of the scoreboard with one hopeless entry after another, but it's rarely if ever the draw in isolation that seals an entry's fate. The 2008 semis were enough to show that a song can still start from the slot and impress the viewers or jury enough to get through. Whether it's drawn 2nd or 22nd, the song itself and the performance it receives will largely decide it. That's certainly the case with this year's Slovenian entry, Love Symphony, drawn 10th. But then it's also true that it couldn't have received a more appropriate draw.

If the future of Quartissimo and token vocalist Martina Majerle lies in the hands of their song alone, they probably won't be all that chuffed to have landed smack bang in the middle of the semi with nine songs propping up both sides of Love Symphony. Few entries in the past have had INTERVAL ACT writ all over them quite as large as the Slovenian entry, which starts, continues and stops in the best traditions of true muzak. Not even the bridge, pinched wholesale from Leonard Bernstein, makes you sit up and take notice. In fact the only thing worth investing any of your energy in with Love Symphony is a couple of the string lads, who stand up to a second viewing much better than their song does. Not that it's a song really: it's Hooked On Classics, only more tacky.

Given a plum draw à la Cvet Z Juga in 2007, composer Andrej Babić might find the audience still gullible enough to fall for something like Love Symphony. As it stands, he may improve on his best placing (13th from four attempts), but only in this semi. Next.

Denmark

Believe Again Brinck

"Though I look the same, I'm not as strong..."

There aren't many countries in Eurovision as dependable as Denmark. From their debut entry, 1957's Skibet Skal Sejle I Nat, through the disco days of the '70s and early '80s to the easy-listening '00s, they have always had a talent for the homespun and cosy. In recent years the supreme Danishness of their entries has only twice been denied, in the pseudo-Latino Shame On You from 2004 and the drag by name, drag by nature Drama Queen from 2007; everything else has been business as usual for the laid-back Scandinavians, and generally they've been rewarded for it. 2005 saw them return to the top ten with Talking To You, having come 3rd in the semi-final in Kyiv, a feat Simon Mathew repeated last year in Serbia with All Night Long. It's a result they could easily achieve this year in Moscow, with Brinck's Believe Again looking every bit the kind of song to earn them the top three approval of its Thursday night audience and a left-hand side of the scoreboard finish in the final.

Like most of Denmark's entries, Believe Again does nothing terribly innovative but does it very well. The country rarely has problems producing something solid, and if they do it usually coincides with a mediocre result. The slightly ironic thing about their 2009 entry is that it does sound so Danish, considering it was one-third (or more) written by Irishman Ronan Keating: it's either an achievement managing to retain the feel of the country's music, or indicative of Irish and Danish sensibilities when it comes to producing music being highly compatible. Either way it portends a good result, and not simply - if at all - because of its co-composer/lyricist. Believe Again would doubtless do well in either semi, but being in the same one as Ireland, neighbour Norway, the Baltic States and any number of other like-minded countries makes it one of this year's strongest contenders for qualification.

Then there's the fact that Mr Brinck sounds like he's modelling himself on Ronan Keating, which neither jars with the song nor harms its chances any. He even looks the part. Some people see him as the weakest link in the song, but it's easy to interpret his rattled national final performance - which was plagued by sound problems - as a lack of ability. To me at least there's a rawness to his delivery that suits Believe Again perfectly, in what is vocally a more demanding song than you might expect it to be. Besides, it's the kind of thing that will survive a wobble; he would have to turn it into a shouting match to ruin the song's chances, and coming straight after the Slovakian entry the audience is likely to be more forgiving. Certainly enough to see it make the final in any case, and at least go on to match Denmark's 2008 result. Believe Again is reliable and inoffensive without being faceless, and that's probably all it needs to be.

Vote in the prediction poll for the 2nd semi-final!

The prediction poll for the 2nd semi-final will open shortly. Please note that it is a prediction poll and not a poll of your favourite entries. You should select the 10 songs you feel will qualify for Saturday night's final. The poll will close in a week's time, when the poll for the final - based on the results of this poll and the poll for the 1st semi - will open. Enjoy :)

Semi 1: poll results

The prediction poll for the 1st semi-final is now closed and the results speak for themselves. The 'top ten' entries were all voted on by more than 60% of respondents, with only two others posing any threat to their dominance. So if the poll is any indication, Tuesday night's semi will see the following ten countries (in alphabetical order) qualify for the final:

- Armenia
- Bosnia and Herzegovina
- Finland
- Iceland
- Malta
- Portugal
- Romania
- Sweden
- Switzerland
- Turkey

Israel and Montenegro were the only two on anything resembling a borderline, but the gap was significant. Things aren't looking good for the remaining six entries, with the Czech Republic and Belarus faring particularly poorly, receiving not a single vote. I'm still in two minds about Finland making it, but would otherwise agree.

The prediction poll for the 2nd semi-final will open shortly.

Slovakia

Leť Tmou Kamil Mikulčík & Nela Pocisková

"Chvíľa straty, chvíľa strachu, keď sa nádej váľa v prachu..."

Since the expansion of the contest in 2004, Eurovision has seen the reappearance of some of its oldest participants and more recent alike, each of whom withdrew from the event for individual and perfectly valid reasons, and each of whom has returned to varying degrees of success. Serbia and Montenegro - what remained of Yugoslavia - took 12 years to return to the fold and, in the case of the former at least, has yet to not make the top ten, showing an aptitude for [and enjoying a level of support in] the contest that is undoubtedly the envy of many. Monaco, on the other hand, made a brief bid to recapture the glory days of the '70s and proved incapable of figuring out what new Eurovision was about, enjoying the support of nobody (except France and Andorra). 2009 sees another stray rejoin the flock: Slovakia, whose contribution to the contest amounts to three entries, a high score of 19 and a subsequent 10-year absence. In attempting to redress the balance, they have selected an entry that could well give them their best result to date: Kamil Mikulčík and Nela Pocisková's Leť Tmou.

After all, how hard can it be to pick up 20 points? With Leť Tmou the answer may be: very. If Hungary had returned to the contest in 2005 with their 2008 entry Candlelight rather than the shrewd and entertaining Forogj, Világ! we would have a clear precedent for how inept Slovakia's approach to their second coming has been. An entry you might have expected from the country (and the contest) in the 1990s - perhaps in one of the years the then recently independent nation was relegated for failing to impress anyone - Leť Tmou is a massive disappointment from STV, who had shown signs of getting what Eurovision today is about. Having waited this long to make a comeback, they put on a national final series which stood out for its professionalism at every level, including the technical and visual, right down to the requisite cute host pushing the core audience's buttons. Seldom has something promised so much and delivered so little.

The problems was the songs. All of the elements were there to make it look as though Slovakia had a clue, but the 50 entries the local televoters had to choose from, however impeccably produced, offered little in terms of either getting what Eurovision is about or (therefore) hope. Not that the Slovakian audience can be blamed for being out of touch, but given the selection, it was always going to come down to whoever was most popular at the time. This turned out to be the aforementioned Kamil and Nela with Leť Tmou, although how much the song had to do with it is another matter. The fact that the somewhat arbitrary jury in the national final agreed with the public's decision is probably more to do with pandering to the masses than them feeling that the song was the most appropriate choice, but even if not - and either way - it shows that Slovakia has a lot of catching up to do.

That process will clearly begin in Moscow. Leť Tmou would have to be very unlucky to fare as poorly as neighbours the Czech Republic did on their debut with Malá Dáma, but just as rude an awakening is a distinct possibility. Although the song could pick up points from the likes of Poland and Russia, the chances of its histrionics winning over most viewers are remote. Nela (and to a lesser but no less grating extent Kamil) may technically be able to deliver the complex vocals in the song, which may be in keeping with what the lyrics are saying, but not in a way that makes it anywhere near as attractive as, say, the fetching pastels the pair sport. As a piece of music Leť Tmou may be accomplished, but that doesn't alter the fact that it sounds about a hundred years old and takes a minute and a half to do anything other than descend into a screaming mess.

Well OK, the songs has its merits, and it's not the worst entry we'll hear in 2009. But the simple fact that Leť Tmou is at least ten years out of time makes it, at best, a wasted opportunity. It's as though Slovakia's participation in the contest was being held in suspended animation, rather than them taking time out to collect both themselves and the entry fee. It's difficult to take heart from anything to do with the country's return other than the broadcaster having already launched its 2010 campaign, perhaps realising just how wide of the mark they are with this entry. Let's just hope they twig the way they should, because those 20 points are by no means guaranteed. This year or next.

Cyprus

Firefly Christina Metaxa

"Believe me, it's best to let go..."

A competition derided by established artists in many countries, Eurovision has gained a reputation as a showcase for new, little or no talent. While some broadcasters manage to convince popular acts to take part, a large number struggle to generate any enthusiasm for the contest among big names and end up settling for national finals populated by session singers and 'stars of the future'. At best they might persuade a known name to contribute a song, even if they refuse to be associated with it in anything other than name alone. This can lead to lopsided local victories, with the name earning the song the ticket to Eurovision rather than the song itself. All of this applies to the Cypriot entry in Moscow, Firefly: an unassuming and largely underwhelming song penned by a popular performer but entrusted to his sister, the inexperienced Christina Metaxa. It is, essentially, Junior Eurovision in disguise.

Firefly is the kind of earnest anthem you might expect from a contest heavy on the teenage entrants, with an accessible and undeniably cute central concept and a sense of urgency and import only the precocious can produce in such essays. Well, it's not that bad; it's certainly not as eye-rolling as Monaco's 2004 return Notre Planète or the Latvian lads musing in 2005 that The War Is Not Over. In fact its message and its medium have some lovely touches to them. There's just something very school-poetry-competition about the song that jars with 'grown-up' Eurovision. If it were representing Cyprus in this year's JESC in Ukraine I would have more time for it, probably; a grudging sort of respect. As it stands I only have three minutes for it, and it takes the better part of two of them to actually do anything. I don't know how they're going to stage it to (a) win and (b) keep the televoters' attention, especially after Norway's bouncy castle of a song, but that's pretty much all they'll have to rely on.

Because the biggest problem with Firefly is not the nauseating sentiment, nor the lack of incident, but the fact it's being fronted by a little girl. As lovely as Ms Metaxa is, she doesn't have the natural talent or the training she needs for a contest as cut-throat as Eurovision. Miracles will have to have been worked in the three months since February to turn her into a performer who can make enough of the song to convince the voters. CyBC may have been able to get her brother on board in a more pro-active role (damage limitation?) but there's little hope of his inclusion masking his sister's shortcomings on stage. Christina was modest enough to apologise for her nerves during the national final and promise to do better in Moscow, but we all know where good intentions alone get you in this contest. As baptisms of fire go, few burn as indiscriminately.

I think the best we can hope for from Cyprus this year - and indeed the best they can hope for from Christina Metaxa - is a solid if unremarkable performance that earns her a few points here and there other than the requisite 12 from Greece. They might be fantasising about a repeat of their 2004 result, with a well-meaning young lady doing her best on a nice song and ending up 5th, but Firefly is no Stronger Every Minute. The focus is all wrong, the singers are back-to-front and the song is so torn between two audiences that it is unlikely to earn the approval of either. It might all be sweetness and light, but Firefly's outlook is far from bright.

Norway

Fairytale Alexander Rybak

"I'm already cursed..."

For a contest in which the odds are stacked in favour of a relatively small number of countries, very few (i.e. none) of them west of the Adriatic, Eurovision still manages to surprise by producing favourites and indeed winners from countries whose names end in something other than -ia. Finland's resounding victory in 2006 showed that if a song and performance captures the audience's imagination, however gimmicky the means, it can go all the way wherever it hails from. Of course, it helps if that's somewhere the contest goes out at 10.00 pm at the earliest, since they're places that are usually guaranteed support from their neighbours and more far-fling escapees. Failing that, you have to do pretty much what Norway's done this year: come up with an insanely perky song almost everyone is enthusiastic about, with a delightful and floppy-haired fusion of east and west (and in this case north) at the helm. Give it a veneer of national flavour which sounds like it could come from just about anywhere and voila: you've got Fairytale, the song being given the shortest odds on victory in ESC history.

This is both strange and disconcerting. Let's start with the former. However much of a no-brainer it is that Norway will qualify with Fairytale and in all likelihood vie for the coveted Eurosong title, its chances of winning remain no better than 1 in 42, at least until the end of the 1st semi, when they will improve to 1 in 34, and then very probably to 1 in 25 after Thursday night. It arguably - or at least mathematically - has no more of a chance at the outset than the likes of the Polish and Cypriot entries that bookend it. And yet the bookmakers are offering the kind of odds that will almost see you paying them if it wins. Mind you, they also have Montenegro at about 3 to 1, so you've got to question their judgement, or would have to if you didn't know better. And that's the thing: on paper Fairytale might be no better placed than I Don't Wanna Leave or Firefly, but in practice we all know it has more going for it than just about any other entry this year. It has the look, it has the sound, it has the charm: it's just got that something about it that makes it favourite material.

But something still has to come second, and there are only so many points on offer. What must be off-putting for Norway and jack-of-all-trades Alexander Rybak at this point is the massive momentum that has built up around Fairytale, as humbling as it must also be. Fan favourites fall flat as often as they stroll to victory, as Sweden's Charlotte Perrelli can attest from her trip to Belgrade. Hero and Fairytale may be poles apart as songs, but their appeal is not all that dissimilar, with many fans citing the Norwegian entry's fundamental Eurovisionness as a major drawcard. It didn't work for Sweden though, and Norway must be wondering whether the status they've earned is a curse or a blessing. On balance you'd have to suspect the latter, since Fairytale is likely to appeal to viewers from his Scandinavian stamping ground all the way to his ancestral home of Belarus and beyond. Oslo 2010 probably is the safest bet in years, but stranger things have happened. This is Eurovision, after all.

Poland

I Don't Wanna Leave Lidia Kopania

"Don't you know this is meant to be..."

It's no fun being an outsider at the best of times, but it's got to be a frustrating experience in something as ruthless as Eurovision. Lonely, too, trying to fit in as best you can and being consistently shunned, until you just tag along for the sake of it or give up altogether. Not many countries fit into this category, and even some of them that do boast at least one result in the televoting era to mitigate their otherwise overlooked contribution to the contest. With Poland, if we're honest, that's been largely hit and miss: the country seems to have struggled to adjust to the demands of pleasing the audience rather than a bunch of juries, with nary a mark made on the upper reaches of the scoreboard since their (almost) all-conquering debut in 1994. They will be hoping to reverse their meagre fortunes in Moscow with the lovely Lidia Kopania and her big ballad I Don't Wanna Leave, but all the indications are that they'll be out of there by Friday morning.

Which is not a reflection on the song itself, as such. Poland has always stood out as perhaps the hardest done-by Eastern country in the contest, with very little support being shown to it even by its nearest and dearest. Under the current split semi system the hole they have to claw their way out of - while many others are still being given a helping hand - is all the deeper. They managed to last year, with the not entirely dissimilar For Life, but having gotten that far fell straight back in again, ending joint last with a handful of points thrown their way by the diaspora alone. Making the final is no small achievement, but they would have been expecting more, and will so again in Moscow. The problem they face is in getting there to start with; as nice as I Don't Wanna Leave is, there's no escaping the fact that it's horribly easy to overlook.

This is unfortunate, if not ironic, since the song stood out in its national final (to me at any rate) as the obvious choice. But the transition from its cosy local setting to the European stage robs it of much of the power it has, especially given its draw and followed by the overall favourite for victory. It doesn't help that Ms Kopania has yet to give anything other than a merely competent performance of the song; the ballad I Don't Wanna Leave is requires more to truly sell it than she appears capable of delivering. Mind you, that's what I said about the Cypriot entry in 2006, and look at the power Annet Artani poured into that. (She had fantastic gospel-lite backing vocalists though, which is what Poland desperately needs this year.)

But the fact that Why Angels Cry fared so poorly, despite the vocal wonders worked on it, in front of what was the nearest thing to a home crowd Cyprus has ever had at Eurovision, doesn't bode well for the Polish entry. I Don't Wanna Leave might not have the same imperious anthem pretentions, but its narrower focus might not help either. It's in a bugger of a semi-final to qualify from when you're on the outer pretty much every way you look at it, so I expect Lidia and the delegation will be having to make their farewells well before the final. They might not want to leave, but the televoters and juries might not give them any choice.

Serbia

Cipela Marko Kon & Milaan

"Hvata me panika..."

Considering the nature of Eurovision, what it represents and the profile of your average [avid] follower, it's surprising how conservative a lot of fans of the contest are. Give them an entry that ticks all the boxes - whether it's a traditional ballad like Iceland's Is It True? or outright trash like Montenegro's Just Get Out Of My Life - and they'll nod sagely, approving its place in the line-up for adhering to expectations. But throw in a few props and a kooky hairdo and suddenly it's a novelty entry (which are just as much a part of the modern contest as any genre). It's a label that's all too flippantly applied, often when it shouldn't be, as is the case with this year's Serbian entry Cipela.

And again it comes back to the packaging: the nation's third solo entry in the contest is not nearly as awkward as the Latvian song that precedes it, but dressed as it is has people scratching their heads and asking "so if it's not a novelty entry, what is it?". Cipela, while by no means your run-of-the-mill ballad, is actually a fairly straightforward song about missed opportunities, and could easily have been taken down a more obvious route. But that doesn't make it an oddity: it just means they've been more inventive in their approach. Singer Marko Kon's appearance might not rate in the strait-laced stakes, but Cipela is no more a novelty because of it than it is for its tone, lyrics or arrangement. Or for the accordion or the suitcase. I mean, Hungary's 2007 entry Unsubstantial Blues had more glaring props.

What Cipela is, in fact, is a catchy, upbeat number that's a major detour from Serbia's previous entries, and that might be what's throwing people most. Whether it throws the audience as well remains to be seen, although I suspect not: the majority wouldn't take that much notice. It will, inevitably, be interpreted as something of a novelty act by most viewers, so Serbia will have to hope they don't drift away from it as realisation dawns that it's not the piss-take they may have been hoping for. If the televoters are as conservative as some of the fans they could just fall for its simple charms, since it has a sound that should appeal to a broad slice of audience. The novelty in Cipela would be its not qualifying, probably, and although that's a possibility, it ought to entertain enough viewers - whatever their expectations - to take that extra step.

Latvia

Probka Intars Busulis

"Nyeprastaya eta zabava..."

Awkward is not the thing to be at Eurovision. Awkward artists earn the wrath of the audience, and awkward songs tend to go nowhere. An awkward approach rarely gives you the result you're looking for, and awkward packaging only confuses people. It is bizarre to find then that there isn't a single entry in 2009 more awkward than Probka - not because of the song as such, but because it comes from Latvia, a country that in recent years has shown itself incapable of selecting an entry that isn't twee and/or tacky and/or well-attuned to the needs of the contest. From its timing to its tortuous route to Moscow, Probka seems neither designed nor destined for Eurovision success - and is bound to be misunderstood and underappreciated by virtually everyone.

Suffice it to say that is also what makes it so brilliant. It is complex and meaningful, but better than that, it is entire: a complete package of music, lyrics and performance. Like the Lithuanian entry Strazdas, it is fated to be written off by people who lack the inclination to try to appreciate what a dense and clever three minutes it represents. The fidgety signature and shifts in aural focus are perfectly in tune with what the lyrics are saying, a trait the song shares with its forerunner, the equally quirky Gonki from the 2007 Latvian final. The vocal approach Intars Busulis takes to the song is again very much in keeping with the feel of Probka and what it is saying, as is his ADD style of performing. If the staging and lighting designers don't go a bit berserk on this, they're missing the point.

But fair dos, the point of your average Eurosong is not to require deconstruction for general appreciation. Nor though is their any reason to snub quality because you don't get it. If you don't like it, fine, but here in particular Probka - or rather the Latvian team behind it - is shrewdness itself. Choosing to perform in Moscow 100% in Russian (the only country to do so) might seem like an odd move for Latvia to have made, but it in fact makes a lot of sense: blessed with a draw in which they are surrounded by their neighbours, the home base of a large proportion of their diaspora and various other countries in which Russian or similar is spoken, they may hoover up votes with an efficiency that takes everyone by surprise. Well, everyone bar those who have thought about such things and think it's fab enough to deserve to, anyway.

In political terms, however, the language issue with Probka remains the most awkward thing about the whole song. Latvia might be on a firmer footing with Russia than its neighbours, and might have a higher number of Russian speakers among its resident population, but you've still got to wonder how your average Latvian feels about being represented by a song in the language of the power that oppressed them and their own for so many years. Mind you, the fact that Sastrēgums even survived to become Probka and make it to Eurovision at all might see them grateful, as I would be for a song of its quality to be flying the flag for my country. I'd still rather it be in Latvian, but you can't fault their strategy. And it is essentially a sponsored entry, so the man on the street probably doesn't get much of a say in the matter.

For any country to produce a song as integral as Probka at Eurovision is achievement enough; for it to come from Latvia, in a year when it could so easily not have come at all, makes it all the more impressive. Awkward it is, but you can give me something this stimulating over the likes of the more two-dimensional Irish entry any day. Sauraj Latvija!

Ireland

Et Cetera Sinéad Mulvey & Black Daisy

"I've heard that oh so many times.."

You should never underestimate the importance of knowing your audience at Eurovision. A phenomenon with a disproportionately large gay following it may be, but the core of the target audience in an era where televoting holds such power is the text-addicted teenage market, predominantly girls. With the reintroduction of the juries, composers now also have to take the arguably (or at least preferably) more mature tastes of music professionals into account, or provide them with something they'll feel relatively comfortable with. Striking a balance between the two cannot be easy, despite the permutations, but the team behind this year's Irish entry Et Cetera have done a pretty good job of it - giving the kids a song with all the appeal of High School Musical and going totally eighties on the rest of the audience at the same time.

A crossover entry in a number of ways, Et Cetera has a world-weary pubescent attitude to it that will nevertheless resonate with anyone ever jilted in their formative years (especially if they coincided with the female pop/rock explosion of the mid-to-late 1980s). Given a fun, confident performance by Sinéad Mulvey and the slightly dowdy, slightly wooden Black Daisy - one which flicks a great big 'whatever' in the direction of all two-timing arseholes everywhere - the audience may just urge them on. Quite apart from which, there is enough about Et Cetera to also grab your average Eurovision fan, with a simple melody that sticks in your head almost instantly and a quintessential key change.

And yet they are the very reasons I'm doubting its chances. As competent as Et Cetera is, it is far from groundbreaking, and it is the kind of song that could very easily fall flat if it doesn't come together in precisely the way it should. Ireland haven't been helped by the draw either, coming this early on and followed immediately by the just as noisy but more offbeat Latvian entry. The fact that one third of the ESC line-up of Black Daisy is Lithuanian might secure the song double digits from Vilnius (repaying the compliment for once), but thereafter support may dwindle. It will come down to how well attuned Et Cetera is to its Thursday night audience, and how sympathetic they are to its plight. It is, after all, a song we've heard many times before.