Iceland

Is It True? Yohanna

"There's no use in trying, no need to pretend..."

There are few riskier moves in your approach to Eurovision than to be content to be unassuming, if it can be called a move at all. The history of the contest is a musical battleground littered with the bodies not only of the kinds of songs and performances that make you wonder what they were thinking in the first place, but like as not a lot of solid and well-staged entries, secure in their MOR charm and unruffled by their inability to impress. Regardless of how good a song is, juries and especially televoters will tend to overlook it if the only reaction it inspires is "that was nice". Some manage to get beyond that and actually say something to the viewers, and that is what Iceland will be hoping to do in Moscow with Is It True?, the first real ballad of 2009.

The good news for Iceland is that Is It True? is not merely a good song: it is a textbook ballad with perfect vocals from performer Jóhanna Guðrún Jónsdóttir, who radiates artless beauty. More than that, it has next to no rivals in the 1st semi, with its biggest competition coming in the forms of of the Israeli and Maltese anthems - with which it could sweep the floor if Yohanna manages to connect with the audience and lift the song in the same way Shiri Maimon did with Hasheket Shenish'ar in 2005. Given the quality of the vocalists she is being supported by, there is little doubt the song will sound as good as it needs to; the test is in bridging the emotional gap some people have identified in her delivery and resonating with viewers who might otherwise approve of the song without actually endorsing it.

If Is It true? makes it to the final it should bode well for Iceland, with the potential for it to go on and give the country its best result in a decade. It's easy to fall into the trap of assuming that the juries will go for a ballad, but then there's no reason to assume otherwise either when the ballad in question is as seamless and multi-layered as this. Its message is also more universal than other Icelandic entries have been, meaning it may penetrate further into Eastern Europe - a no man's land of Eurovision points for the country - and receive a unanimously warm welcome. If it speaks to the audience but they choose not to respond, it will be a true loss to this year's contest. I can only hope that if left out in the cold once again the Icelandic team will be content to have given it their best shot.

Bulgaria

Illusion Krassimir Avramov

"It feels so wrong..."

Some countries seem incapable of choosing a song or singer for Eurovision without becoming embroiled in a national scandal, but none is quite as consistent at it as Bulgaria. Still a relative newcomer to the contest, none of its entries to date has managed to be selected without generating melodrama or controversy. What is particularly impressive about this year's backbiting, however, is that the Bulgarian broadcaster is almost single-handedly responsible for it. Whereas a delegation would normally deflect or defend criticism of its artist or entry, BNT was the first to level it at overwhelming public favourite Krassimir Avramov and the touché-worthy Illusion. Never before has a broadcaster been so vocal in its lack of support for and belief in its chosen performer.

And fair dos to them: rarely has there been so much scope for so many things to go even more spectacularly wrong than they already have. It's not pulling any punches to say that the term 'car crash television' seems to have been coined for Illusion; you haven't even donned your boxing gloves and slipped into your silky shorts. I'm not sure whether it's a case of delusions of grandeur where Krassimir's concerned. I'm not sure Bulgarian TV's sure either, but it's clear from even a cursory listening to the studio version that the whole falsetto thing just doesn't work. It certainly doesn't help that Mr Avramov, all bone structure and designer stubble, lays on the drama in a manner scarily reminiscent of Norway's Haldor Lægreid. His overall, overreaching approach clearly rang the alarm bells with the powers that be at BNT, and I can't see it doing anything else with the unsuspecting viewers of Europe.

Which is a shame really, since the camouflage job the broadcaster necessarily instigated has muddied what was - bar the lead vocals - a fairly decent slice of upbeat Eastern-tinged trash. The backing vocals, the ironic highlight of the original version, have been simultaneously promoted and suppressed (with Ani Lozanova, Albena Veskova and Petia Buyuklieva individually or together giving us their best Anabel Conde in La Mirada Interior breakdown), leaving little left to admire about the song than the occasional aspect of its composition. Of course, three minutes of programmed bass and synths is never going to support a performance as fundamentally undermined from the outset as Illusion's. I hope the threatened guys on stilts are insured.

I can't imagine what it must be like to be in Krassimir Avramov's shoes at this point: going into a competition without the backing of the very people who gave him the opportunity to do so, and whose attitude towards the situation seems to centre on salvaging what they can from it rather than making the most of it. We've seen before, with David D'Or in 2004, how quickly a performance like this can deteriorate, and that was without the overt pressure of a broadcaster instructing you to bring as little shame upon your nation as possible. In a way I'd love for Krassimir to prove them wrong by at least qualifying, but I'd say that scenario's as illusory as everything else about the entry.

Israel

There Must Be Another Way (Einaich) Noa & Mira Awad

"When I cry, I cry for both of us..."

Nothing says 'sanctimonious' at Eurovision quite like an Israeli anthem. From Shalom Olam to Leha'amin, the war-torn nation state has encouraged us to light candles with Sarit Hadad and hands-up-and-amen with Liora whilst building a wall along the West Bank and unleashing force it is happy to admit is excessive on the Gaza Strip. Every invocation to peace has rung hollow, more like an exercise in fishing for sympathy (or worse, a PR opportunity), and has only ever paid lip service to the aspect of the Israeli situation that makes their 2009 entry - the aptly titled There Must Be Another Way (Einaich) - the poignant success that it is: the fact that both sides, ordinary Arabs and Jews, are impacted by the reckless politics of their leaders; equally aware of the other's suffering; and equally desperate to effect a resolution.

Not that anyone would be so naïve as to assume that a Eurovision entry could bring about an end to an impasse as complex as the one that exists between Israel and Palestine, who are each as much to blame as the other for the ongoing conflict. Nor can the West claim innocence, but that is one of the bases There Must Be Another Way covers and one of the points Noa and Mira Awad make in the English lyrics of the song. The balance created in the fusion of Hebrew, Arabic and English is a remarkable achievement, and the importance of Israel delivering only the second song in the contest's history with lyrics in Arabic cannot, and should not, be downplayed.

Balance is something There Must Be Another Way abounds in. From its effective use of languages to its exquisite harmonies - which are every bit as complex as the situation they are employed to illustrate - and which underline the message at its heart more effectively even than the lyrics - the song bears all the hallmarks of having been carefully crafted to work on a number of levels. This can also be seen (or rather heard) in the way the composition builds, with the three parts of the song - the Hebrew, Arabic and English - receiving distinct musical 'keys' which are then combined to form an acoustic and percussive whole. The subtlety of it is impressive, to say the least.

Sadly, what makes There Must Be Another Way the subtle accomplishment it is is also likely to make it a lot harder for the song to qualify. First impressions count, and most voters will probably experience the same cynical reaction to it that I did upon its undeniably engineered victory in the Israeli national final. When you add to this the fact that it is nevertheless the least clamorous (and certainly least pious) anthem the country has given us and that it will probably be eclipsed in viewers' affections by the Icelandic ballad that shortly follows it, its chances of qualification seem slim.

And yet the mere fact that we can put the terms 'subtle' and 'Israeli anthem' in the same sentence is reason enough for There Must Be Another Way to receive a second airing. It has taken the IBA more than 30 years to produce an act at Eurovision as vitally representative as Noa and Mira Awad, and they have done so in a sublime and understated style I would never have given them credit for. As with Israel's 2005 and 2008 entries Hasheket Shenish'ar and The Fire In Your Eyes, There Must Be Another Way is easily one of the best songs of the year, and I hope against hope the audience recognises its sincerity.

Turkey

Düm Tek Tek Hadise

"Feels like there's no way back..."

What makes a cliché a cliché is the fact it's so true, and nowhere is the old maxim "If it ain't broke, don't fix it" truer than in a world of Eurovision dominated by diaspora-heavy voting where uncomplicated girly ethnopop from the south/east of the continent does so well. For large swathes of the audience it is more than sufficient; for those of us who like a little more ingenuity in our ESC entries* it leaves something to be desired. This year's Turkish delight, Düm Tek Tek, is a case in point: joining the dots very neatly, with a ruler and a proper pen and everything, but joining the dots nonetheless, it does what it says on the tin and offers nothing fresh whatsoever.

What Düm Tek Tek doesn't do is take into account the fact that while the way the voting in the semis works may make it a nigh-on 100% qualifier, the final is now a different kettle of fish entirely. Well, 50% entirely, with 'professional' juries from each country providing half of the catch. Performed by the Turkish émigré twin sister Helena Paparizou never knew she had, the song is certain to make the Belgian douze as unpredictable as such a thing can be when there are only two alternatives for who it will go to, but its fate in the final is yet to be determined. As the combined televoting and jury results released for 2007 showed, there is every chance that a song of its calibre could sail through to Saturday night and founder once it gets there, which I feel would be more justified in the case of Düm Tek Tek than the Armenian entry Jan Jan. But the success or failure of both will be pounced upon by all as a measure of how worthy the switch to 50/50 voting has been.

In any case, many would argue that there's little point in trying to second-guess the outcome: who's to say it will be any different just because juries are involved? After all, Düm Tek Tek is not at all incompetent: minimalist, perhaps, and unimaginative, but not incompetent. It can hardly not get the staging songs like it need, so it will probably do well regardless. But while - after repeated listens - I've grown somewhat enamoured of its relentless drive, I'm glad Turkey's playing it safe in a year when they might actually be punished for it. There's a place in Eurovision for this sort of thing (and for the Hadises of the world), but they've shown us they can do so much better.

* For which we, or they, are frequently labelled 'pretentious'

Switzerland

The Highest Heights Lovebugs

"May I have your attention, please?"

There are certain countries you expect certain things of at Eurovision. Whether it's Sweden doing schlager, Armenia doing ethnopop or Belgium doing bugger all, they fit neatly into the pigeonholes they create for themselves. Equally, there are countries we will champion at Eurovision if they think outside that box: Belgium is an example this year, and their rank is swelled by near neighbours and rival no-hopers Switzerland. While dissimilar in virtually every respect, their entries have one trait that will always stand them in good stead with me: authenticity. Like the Turkish and Bosnian entries in 2008, The Highest Heights compromises nothing in presenting itself to Europe, contrived only in the sense that it is a textbook example of what the group behind it, Lovebugs, do best.

Unlike Turkey and Bosnia, what Switzerland lacks at Eurovision is a ready-made audience to lap up (and more importantly vote for) whatever three minutes of music it offers up. This may prove to be the biggest stumbling block The Highest Heights has to overcome in the 1st semi: it might have an appeal reminiscent of Deli or Pokušaj, but without a Swiss vanguard from Reykjavik to Jerusalem to catapault it over the barricades, Lovebugs will have to try just that little bit harder to break through to the televoters. Any jury worth its salt (which is to say with any musical credentials beyond determining who is fabulous enough to warrant promotion to the final ahead of someone more qualified to be there) should save the song in the event that it falls victim to the shortcomings of the semi's voting, since it is a more solid and contemporary Eurovision entry than any the Swiss have entered from their own scene in a ridiculously long time.

That, though, is why we champion it. I think I would be speaking for most people if I said that there was no love lost with Switzerland at the contest; where they differ from Andorra, for example, who have been far more consistent at entering songs deserving of better results, is in the fact that the various Swiss broadcasters have made an unwanted name for themselves by seldom choosing anything for which a mediocre outcome wasn't completely justified. In that sense, The Highest Heights represents a watershed for the country that won the whole shebang on its very first outing but have since only made the top 5 four times in 25 years. Melodic, meaningful and sounding like something normal people would actually listen to and like, it is the kind of thing there simply has to be a place for in the final.

And barring the kind of performance I doubt a band of Lovebugs' standing would deliver, I suspect it will qualify. In an ideal world it would then go on and vie for victory, but this is Eurovision we're talking about, and indeed Switzerland. But The Highest Heights is the Swiss doing the unexpected, and doing it brilliantly, and for that they deserve to be championed as far as hopeless sentiment - and a televote or two - will carry them.

Andorra

La Teva Decisió (Get A Life) Susanne Georgi

"És el moment de corregir..."

Every contest needs an underdog, and there is no greater underdog in Eurovision than the principality of Andorra. Dwarfed by larger nations with strategically dispersed populations, it is a dot on the ESC map that barely registers with most viewers, despite almost always deserving to. It is one of very few countries left in the competition never to have qualified for the final, so after their abortive makeover last year it comes as no surprise that they are returning to the strategy which saw them come as close as they ever have to a Saturday night berth with Salvem El Món in 2007. Resting on the only crutch they have - the language card, which admittedly they can only play to Spain and, to a lesser extent, Portugal - they have once again come up with a catchy entry in Catalan and English performed by a spunky young singer: La Teva Decisió (Get A Life).

The new Luxembourg, Andorra is contemporary Eurovision's greatest importer, shipping in performers from various other European countries in lieu of what is clearly limited local talent. This year they have chosen cute-as-a-button Susanne Georgi, hailing from Denmark - who are of course in the 2nd semi, depriving her of what little support she might otherwise have relied upon to counteract as best she could the hoover effect of such rivals as Turkey and Armenia. Her gorgeous, glottal vocals are what make La Teva Decisió the attractive proposition it is. Light and poppy without lacking depth (like the composition), they add something to the song which sees it working as a package much more effectively than I would ever have expected it to. Of course, as per any Andorran entry in a semi-final where televoting holds sway, the problem is not so much the song itself as overcoming the headstart other countries have under the current system.

Being the underdog, what the principality has to hope for with La Teva Decisió is a groundswell of support not dissimilar to the one that saw the audience asking "Where is Andorra?" during the 2007 final. And it may just happen: people seem generally disposed to like the song, and given the same kind of energetic but unassuming performance Anonymous delivered in Helsinki it may just win the audience over. After all, it has the broadest appeal of any Andorran entry to date. That said, the 1st semi is the harder to pick in terms of who will qualify, and for La Teva Decisió it will be an uphill struggle from the outset. I would desperately love to see it make the final, even if it were only to come last once it got there, but I'm reticent to suggest that it will on televoting alone. The juries may decide to throw it a lifeline; I hope someone does. As underdogs go, Andorra is faithful and uncomplaining, and has more than earned its chance to show Europe what it's capable of.

Armenia

Nor Par (Jan Jan) Inga & Anush

"What can I say if ya gonna tell me nothin'?"

Reality is not something Eurovision has a lot to do with. At best what it gives us is a compromise between what is desirable and what is achievable, in television terms and where the performances are concerned. The same applies to the songs themselves, which must condense their message into a handful of minutes, like taking shortcuts to squeeze a text message into 160 characters. The songs and performances have to employ a kind of shorthand to do whatever it is the team behind them is aiming for. And our ideas of what that might be, influenced by national final renditions and promo videos, is frequently wide of the mark. All of this is true of the Armenian entry for Moscow, Nor Par (Jan Jan).

Caught somewhere between the realities of the messy live version that won the song its ticket to Eurovision in the first place and the lavish and professional treatment (and PR) it has since received, Nor Par is a bit of an enigma, and one of the hardest songs to pick this year in terms of how it will actually turn out on stage. Its ethnopop heart is worn very much on the sleeves of sisters Inga and Anush, but the static performance Armenia's 2008 entry Qele Qele was given makes you wonder whether Nor Par will get the visual fanfare a song with its drive both deserves and requires. (The vocals are another matter entirely.) Reminiscent of the nation's debut entry and its immediate predecessor in its instrumentation and arrangement, it is a more worthy and effective piece of music than it at first appears to be. We will have to wait and see whether this is reflected in an endorsement from the juries in the final, for it will almost certainly make it that far.

The reality is sure to be somewhere between two extremes - of televoting bias and jury disdain; of unpromising beginnings and developments that promise more than they are likely to deliver; of ethnic flavour and pop sensibilities. On balance the song is probably the best of the three upbeat entries Armenia has given us in the sense of what it is trying to achieve (assuming we're right in thinking we know what that is), but the country finds itself in the undesirable position whereby Nor Par will be something of a yardstick for the success of the new format. Like FYR Macedonia last year, it will only be the song's failure to make much of an impact on the [final] scoreboard that will see the naysayers agreeing the 50/50 jury/televote split is a success. But given the easy appeal of the song, will that really be the case?