Belgium

Copycat Copycat

"He's too dead to rock'n'roll..."

Well into its 50s, Eurovision has long mirrored the musical habits we all fall into in our lives. At an early age it was too young to have developed its own taste in music, and so existed for many years listening to the kind of stuff its parents preferred. By the time it was old enough to have hit upon its own style it was still impressionable enough to have it stick, and has often since been accused of looking down its nose at 'modern' music in favour of something it feels more comfortable with. The upshot of this is that although the contest was born into an era dominated by rock'n'roll, it has rarely embraced the genre (at least in Western Europe), and barring one startlingly familiar-sounding German entry in the '50s, never at the time. It is both ironic and appropriate then that Belgium - arguably the least perceptive of the longer-standing countries in terms of what kind of music works at the contest - should redress the balance with their 2009 entry Copycat.

When rumours surfaced that Belgian broadcaster RTBF were planning to enter an Elvis impersonator as their Eurovision entry for Moscow, it's fair to say that the general reaction was one of weary skepticism. Renowned for poor choices (whichever broadcaster made them) that have only very occasionally paid dividends, the country has a reputation in the contest which - when combined with the selection of deliberate pastiche in a style that has seldom worked in the Eurovision context - meant that the hearsay did not bode well. And yet to the surprise of most, Copycat is fun and clever in a way that is completely unpretentious, exhibits exemplary production values and is very catchy. It is arguably the best Belgian entry since... well, since rock'n'roll was at the peak of its popularity.

Which is not to say that it will necessarily go down well with a different audience half a century later. One thing we've seen in the contest is that there is only really one country that seems able to get away with consciously emulating a bygone era, and that's Sweden (and even then recent results have suggested its ability to do so is slipping). What stands Copycat in good stead is the way it is delivered: its humour, and the fact that it is not taking itself in the slightest bit seriously, is accessible to everyone, and while clearly stylised it is not pretending to be anything other than what it is. Unlike the Montenegrin entry that opens the semi, the Belgian entry feels authentic.

If Patrick Ouchène & Co. manage to convey that sense of genuineness to the audience without labouring the point, Copycat could well surprise a lot of people not only by qualifying for the final, but once there edging into contention for a place on the podium. Belgium has done it before, with a song that was just as credible and yet just as largely overlooked, and which harked back to another era; they may well do it again. Potentially giving the contest the winner it ought to have had 50 years ago in the process.