Giving each of the songs in the 1st semi-final the once over - for want of a term even slightly closer to the truth - has seen a shift in my thinking that the qualifiers may represent a fairly even spread of Tuesday night fare. My bias, as in 2008, now favours the rear end of the draw.
Listening to all 18 songs together, I'm starting to wonder whether any from the first third of the show have strong chances other than Armenia. Lent the kind of performances they need, the Czech Republic and Belgium may fight it out for one of the lower qualifying spots; Sweden's chances rest on the audience's mood for an early dose of popera (or the juries once again comprising far too many Eurovision fans). I can't see either Montenegro or Belarus qualifying.
Something strange would have to happen in the middle of the semi for Turkey not to stroll through to Saturday, and I can see the reprieve-starved audience latching on to the simple charms of Iceland, but beyond that this section may also provide a dearth of finalists. I still suspect Switzerland will make it, albeit perhaps not convincingly. As inoffensive as Andorra is, it remains a contender for the lower reaches of the scoreboard.
The closing set of the 1st semi is where I see almost half of its qualifiers coming from. Bosnia and Herzegovina is as safe a bet as Turkey or Armenia, and Romania's not far behind. I can see Portugal receiving enough widespread (if generally modest) support to belie its parochial charms and move forward to the final, with Finland and/or Malta joining them if the performances strike the right note.
Which is basically what I said last year, just changing the names here and there :) It's difficult not to repeat yourself, really: predictions are hard enough to make solely on the basis of studio versions, let alone when you've had them on repeat for anywhere up to four months, and especially when it's the performances on the night that count for everything. You might get a feel for whether something's going to work generally, but you can only ever be confident about things, never certain of them. There's no point to making predictions, of course, and in fact if you don't take any I-told-you-so glee from being spot on, being proven right can be more depressing than anything else.
That said (and I will copy and paste here!), the following are the countries whose names I predict will be in the ten envelopes at the end of the night. Personal preference doesn't come into it; it's based on the assumption that all 18 performances are equally good and equally attractive in their own right; I make no distinction between the nine that qualify through televoting and the jury wildcard; and they're in alphabetical order rather than any anticipated ranking.
- Armenia
- Belgium
- Bosnia and Herzegovina
- Iceland
- Malta
- Portugal
- Romania
- Sweden
- Switzerland
- Turkey
Although thinking about it, it's pretty much a free-for-all before you've even got five. My personal preferences would see the Czech Republic, Andorra and Israel replacing Malta, Sweden and Turkey, and FYR Macedonia maybe even edging out Armenia. Or not. As ever, so much will depend on what they all make of themselves on stage. Our perspectives might change completely once the set reports start filtering in from Moscow. Can't wait!
10 April 2009
Bosnia and Herzegovina
Bistra Voda Regina
"Nemaš sutra, nemaš danas, lako je, kad ti pjesma srce nađe..."
For an institution more than half a century old, Eurovision is not especially sentimental. Ever since televoting was introduced it has sought to unite Europe in a night (then two) (now three) of harmless entertainment whose values perhaps reflect a more innocent bygone era, but televoting itself has only served to further politicise the event. Some countries - including several in this 1st semi-final - may return to points in their own lives in the contest, but few entries overall have spoken directly to the audience's nostalgia for the way things used to be. (At least not since the 1970s, when Monaco jacked it in and took such la-la reminiscing with them.) One country will be bucking this trend in Moscow: Bosnia and Herzegovina, whose entry Bistra Voda speaks to both the politics and yearning of potentially a great many of the contest's viewers.
Needless to say, this frontline starts somewhere east of Switzerland and extends more or less to the border of Kazakhstan, where anybody with an ability to influence the result will be in REM sleep long before Regina get the chance to ensnare them with their brilliantly constructed propaganda. I'll admit that the red flag-waving importance of Bistra Voda has been overplayed, but there's no denying that the style and substance of the song will appeal to a certain Eurovision demographic more than it will another. It won't hurt the song's chances that it's being performed down the road from the Kremlin, the historical heart of a doctrine whose passing an inordinate number of people still mourn. I suppose it's the ideals at the heart of the song that make it attractive, rather than the ideology it is perhaps unjustly associated with. Well, that and the fact it's a little triumph.
Whoever wrote Bistra Voda, they know how to produce a song in about 47 different parts and put it together so that it works as a cogent whole. Anyone with an appreciation of multi-layered composition (if not politics) should immerse themselves in these three minutes and listen to them over and over again, counting off the number of new elements they discover each time. A masterclass in acoustics and percussion, it is one of the most rewarding songs Eurovision has given us in a long time, with its arrangement reflecting both the clear waters of the title and the deeper meaning of its lyrics. Juries who know their music should love it, even if the viewers on the side of the continent the song is less likely to mean anything to don't.
Along with Armenia, Turkey and Romania, Bosnia and Herzegovina is virtually assured a place among the qualifiers from the 1st semi, and in Regina's case at least I'd say it was completely deserved. Whatever its underlying message might be and regardless of whose sense of nostalgia it addresses, it is simply one of the best songs of the year. It may be hampered slightly by the fact that it takes you some time to realise this, but with juries involved in the final I certainly can't see it doing any worse than 2007 and 2008's Rijeka Bez Imena and Pokušaj. It may not recapture the glory days of 2006 and Lejla's podium finish, but every sentiment I have is telling me that in Bistra Voda we have our first sure-fire top 10 entry of 2009.
"Nemaš sutra, nemaš danas, lako je, kad ti pjesma srce nađe..."For an institution more than half a century old, Eurovision is not especially sentimental. Ever since televoting was introduced it has sought to unite Europe in a night (then two) (now three) of harmless entertainment whose values perhaps reflect a more innocent bygone era, but televoting itself has only served to further politicise the event. Some countries - including several in this 1st semi-final - may return to points in their own lives in the contest, but few entries overall have spoken directly to the audience's nostalgia for the way things used to be. (At least not since the 1970s, when Monaco jacked it in and took such la-la reminiscing with them.) One country will be bucking this trend in Moscow: Bosnia and Herzegovina, whose entry Bistra Voda speaks to both the politics and yearning of potentially a great many of the contest's viewers.
Needless to say, this frontline starts somewhere east of Switzerland and extends more or less to the border of Kazakhstan, where anybody with an ability to influence the result will be in REM sleep long before Regina get the chance to ensnare them with their brilliantly constructed propaganda. I'll admit that the red flag-waving importance of Bistra Voda has been overplayed, but there's no denying that the style and substance of the song will appeal to a certain Eurovision demographic more than it will another. It won't hurt the song's chances that it's being performed down the road from the Kremlin, the historical heart of a doctrine whose passing an inordinate number of people still mourn. I suppose it's the ideals at the heart of the song that make it attractive, rather than the ideology it is perhaps unjustly associated with. Well, that and the fact it's a little triumph.
Whoever wrote Bistra Voda, they know how to produce a song in about 47 different parts and put it together so that it works as a cogent whole. Anyone with an appreciation of multi-layered composition (if not politics) should immerse themselves in these three minutes and listen to them over and over again, counting off the number of new elements they discover each time. A masterclass in acoustics and percussion, it is one of the most rewarding songs Eurovision has given us in a long time, with its arrangement reflecting both the clear waters of the title and the deeper meaning of its lyrics. Juries who know their music should love it, even if the viewers on the side of the continent the song is less likely to mean anything to don't.
Along with Armenia, Turkey and Romania, Bosnia and Herzegovina is virtually assured a place among the qualifiers from the 1st semi, and in Regina's case at least I'd say it was completely deserved. Whatever its underlying message might be and regardless of whose sense of nostalgia it addresses, it is simply one of the best songs of the year. It may be hampered slightly by the fact that it takes you some time to realise this, but with juries involved in the final I certainly can't see it doing any worse than 2007 and 2008's Rijeka Bez Imena and Pokušaj. It may not recapture the glory days of 2006 and Lejla's podium finish, but every sentiment I have is telling me that in Bistra Voda we have our first sure-fire top 10 entry of 2009.
09 April 2009
Malta
What If We Chiara
"If you don't know your destination, who determines your destiny?"
If Eurovision had a favourite fish dish, it would be cod. Since the free language rule was reintroduced in 1999, every year has seen one or more countries serving up cod-philosophy in this anthem or that, many of them in cod-English. One country here has had an advantage over its competitors since well before the language requirement was dropped: Malta, the bastion of garbled English, which has been hooking audiences with cleverly disguised bait ever since it returned to the contest in 1991. With a mindset as peculiar as their use of language, they have bestowed upon Eurovision a number of dodgy anthems, adding to the list in Moscow with their 2009 entry What If We.
The fact that the song was penned by a pair of Belgians is happenstance, or perhaps serendipity, since it suits Malta down to the ground. It may well have been written specifically for Chiara, who makes another appearance at the contest having finished 3rd and 2nd on her earlier attempts. With a voice as big as her presence, Ms Siracusa is not one to underestimate: neither of her previous entries seemed particularly ambitious or set to make much of an impact prior to the 1998 and 2005 contests, but in the latter especially she proved more than capable of giving the kind of performance that will lift a middle-of-the-road song and place it within reach of victory.
That's why I'm hesitant to rule What If We out of contention simply because many feel it lacks immediacy and comes across as mediocre. Most seem to agree that it is the weakest of Chiara's entries to date, but she is not competing against herself: her chances are entirely dependent on the other fish in her basket. In that sense she is well-placed, since What If We has the lift and drive that an entry second-to-last in a semi-final probably needs to make it across the line. And the song itself is no slouch - with the vocal and musical arrangements drawn separately but working together very effectively - so any jury with a soft spot for big lasses singing well-meaning songs should lap it up.
What If We might be a throwback to Malta's la-di-da heyday of Little Child, More Than Love and Let Me Fly, but that may not be such a bad thing with Chiara at the helm. In fact it's quite possibly a dangerous combination. Let's face it, 99% of viewers will be seeing these songs for the first time on the night, of whom 99% won't care what she's singing about (however obviously missing the point it is - see quote above), so if she makes it as massive as she is, lots of people will probably go for it. Cod-anything is unremarkable though by its very nature, and as such I remain to be convinced that it deserves a place on the Saturday night table.
"If you don't know your destination, who determines your destiny?"If Eurovision had a favourite fish dish, it would be cod. Since the free language rule was reintroduced in 1999, every year has seen one or more countries serving up cod-philosophy in this anthem or that, many of them in cod-English. One country here has had an advantage over its competitors since well before the language requirement was dropped: Malta, the bastion of garbled English, which has been hooking audiences with cleverly disguised bait ever since it returned to the contest in 1991. With a mindset as peculiar as their use of language, they have bestowed upon Eurovision a number of dodgy anthems, adding to the list in Moscow with their 2009 entry What If We.
The fact that the song was penned by a pair of Belgians is happenstance, or perhaps serendipity, since it suits Malta down to the ground. It may well have been written specifically for Chiara, who makes another appearance at the contest having finished 3rd and 2nd on her earlier attempts. With a voice as big as her presence, Ms Siracusa is not one to underestimate: neither of her previous entries seemed particularly ambitious or set to make much of an impact prior to the 1998 and 2005 contests, but in the latter especially she proved more than capable of giving the kind of performance that will lift a middle-of-the-road song and place it within reach of victory.
That's why I'm hesitant to rule What If We out of contention simply because many feel it lacks immediacy and comes across as mediocre. Most seem to agree that it is the weakest of Chiara's entries to date, but she is not competing against herself: her chances are entirely dependent on the other fish in her basket. In that sense she is well-placed, since What If We has the lift and drive that an entry second-to-last in a semi-final probably needs to make it across the line. And the song itself is no slouch - with the vocal and musical arrangements drawn separately but working together very effectively - so any jury with a soft spot for big lasses singing well-meaning songs should lap it up.
What If We might be a throwback to Malta's la-di-da heyday of Little Child, More Than Love and Let Me Fly, but that may not be such a bad thing with Chiara at the helm. In fact it's quite possibly a dangerous combination. Let's face it, 99% of viewers will be seeing these songs for the first time on the night, of whom 99% won't care what she's singing about (however obviously missing the point it is - see quote above), so if she makes it as massive as she is, lots of people will probably go for it. Cod-anything is unremarkable though by its very nature, and as such I remain to be convinced that it deserves a place on the Saturday night table.
Portugal
Todas As Ruas Do Amor Flor-de-Lis
"Sou a voz do coração numa carta aberta ao mundo..."
There aren't many countries in Eurovision that have been as frequently and unfairly overlooked as sunny, pine-scented Portugal. Over the years they have given the contest some of its most poetic entries, set amid swaying stalks of golden corn and along coastlines peppered with picturesque Portugueseness. No other nation has stuck as proudly to the now largely defunct requirement for its songs to exhibit some national flavour, and in doing so it has made the top 10 just nine times in more than 40 attempts and never troubled the top 5: as learners they are either very slow or very principled. Either way, 2009 once again sees them attempting to win the hearts of the European audience with a song that couldn't come from any other country: the gloriously colourful Todas As Ruas Do Amor.
Flor-de-Lis should take some solace from the fact that Portugal's best ever result at Eurovision came in 1996 with the equally charming and upbeat O Meu Coração Não Tem Cor and that its most recent crack at the top ten came in the form of their entry of two years later, Alma Lusa's similarly themed Se Eu Te Pudesse Abraçar. In fact, bookended in the 1st semi by Finland and Malta, Todas As Ruas Do Amor forms part of a trilogy that harks back to the 1990s in a number of ways. Unlike the preceding Finnish entry, which is a perfect specimen of the kind of '90s music we never got at ESC, the Portuguese song is a perfect example of the kind of '90s music that made the decade one of the more successful for the country at the contest.
Uncomplicated without being simple and straightforward without being one-dimensional, Todas As Ruas Do Amor is likely to appeal to far more viewers than just those in neighbouring Spain and Andorra. Its delightful orchestration should strike chords from the shores of the Atlantic across the Mediterranean to the Gulf of Aqaba, while standing it in good stead with juries for its effectiveness and lightness of touch. The fact that it sounds like nothing else in the entire contest - let alone the 1st semi - would suggest that if the audience are going to go for it at all, they'll go for it in a big way. With a memorable performance, Portugal may at long last be looking at its first top 5 finish.
Of course, that's precisely where Flor-de-Lis could come unstuck. Gone are the days when your Lúcia Monizes could do nothing other than be perky behind a microphone with a ukulele and expect it to translate into lots of points; not in the televoting era. And yet lead singer Daniela Varela seems as stuck for staging ideas as Alma Lusa's Inês Santos, making do with a couple of twirls and a bit of clapping. Whether this will be enough to engage an audience already treated to men on stilts and girls in hotpants is anyone's guess: we can only hope so. I'm certainly not advocating an overweening production number that detracts from the charm out of the song. As sunny, upbeat folk songs go, Todas As Ruas Do Amor is one of Portugal's best, and deserves to do well on its own merits.
"Sou a voz do coração numa carta aberta ao mundo..."There aren't many countries in Eurovision that have been as frequently and unfairly overlooked as sunny, pine-scented Portugal. Over the years they have given the contest some of its most poetic entries, set amid swaying stalks of golden corn and along coastlines peppered with picturesque Portugueseness. No other nation has stuck as proudly to the now largely defunct requirement for its songs to exhibit some national flavour, and in doing so it has made the top 10 just nine times in more than 40 attempts and never troubled the top 5: as learners they are either very slow or very principled. Either way, 2009 once again sees them attempting to win the hearts of the European audience with a song that couldn't come from any other country: the gloriously colourful Todas As Ruas Do Amor.
Flor-de-Lis should take some solace from the fact that Portugal's best ever result at Eurovision came in 1996 with the equally charming and upbeat O Meu Coração Não Tem Cor and that its most recent crack at the top ten came in the form of their entry of two years later, Alma Lusa's similarly themed Se Eu Te Pudesse Abraçar. In fact, bookended in the 1st semi by Finland and Malta, Todas As Ruas Do Amor forms part of a trilogy that harks back to the 1990s in a number of ways. Unlike the preceding Finnish entry, which is a perfect specimen of the kind of '90s music we never got at ESC, the Portuguese song is a perfect example of the kind of '90s music that made the decade one of the more successful for the country at the contest.
Uncomplicated without being simple and straightforward without being one-dimensional, Todas As Ruas Do Amor is likely to appeal to far more viewers than just those in neighbouring Spain and Andorra. Its delightful orchestration should strike chords from the shores of the Atlantic across the Mediterranean to the Gulf of Aqaba, while standing it in good stead with juries for its effectiveness and lightness of touch. The fact that it sounds like nothing else in the entire contest - let alone the 1st semi - would suggest that if the audience are going to go for it at all, they'll go for it in a big way. With a memorable performance, Portugal may at long last be looking at its first top 5 finish.
Of course, that's precisely where Flor-de-Lis could come unstuck. Gone are the days when your Lúcia Monizes could do nothing other than be perky behind a microphone with a ukulele and expect it to translate into lots of points; not in the televoting era. And yet lead singer Daniela Varela seems as stuck for staging ideas as Alma Lusa's Inês Santos, making do with a couple of twirls and a bit of clapping. Whether this will be enough to engage an audience already treated to men on stilts and girls in hotpants is anyone's guess: we can only hope so. I'm certainly not advocating an overweening production number that detracts from the charm out of the song. As sunny, upbeat folk songs go, Todas As Ruas Do Amor is one of Portugal's best, and deserves to do well on its own merits.
Finland
Lose Control Waldo's People
"I don't wanna live a lie - is this my reality?"
Given the 1990s were by and large a barren wasteland of popular music in Eurovision, it's no surprise that some countries are still playing catch-up. With your choice of genres limited to about three by ideas of what would appeal to the juries, anything resembling contemporary chart material stood out at the contest, and was generally frowned upon, only making a breakthrough towards the end of the decade when the focus shifted to televoting. One country that tried - and failed - to break the mould sooner was Finland, whose 1994 entry Bye Bye Baby was sapped of all strength by the orchestra and finished a miserable (if uniform) 22nd. With the bass blasting and few if any concerns about the music being messed up in Moscow, our 2007 hosts will be hoping to fare better with Waldo's People and Lose Control.
Drawn at the tail end of the 1st semi, one in which they have very little direct competition, you'd have to think Finland's chances of qualification were fairly high. Ironically, Lose Control is almost as conspicuous in this field as Bye Bye Baby was in the ballad-heavy line-up at the Point Theatre, which may work in its favour considering it is followed by three comparatively demure entries and is likely to receive as vocally solid a performance as it did on each of the many occasions it was repeated in the national final. Its only real rival is Bulgaria's Illusion, but taking into account that song's chances of going pear-shaped, Finland could trounce them convincingly. Even if you're not a fan of the '90s revival they're peddling, you can't deny the ease with which the chorus sticks in your head after hearing it just the once.
The big challenge facing Waldo's People in Moscow is related to a Bulgarian entry, but not this year's: similar in sound and style to 2008's DJ, Take Me Away, the problem Lose Control may have is overcoming the audience's all-too-obvious apathy for pretty much anything which emulates another era. Since they have a more memorable song, Finland will have to hope that the televoting masses aren't so dismissive, but the general lack of support the country receives means it is probably the worst-placed of the last five in the 1st semi to make it to the final. Should they fall at the first hurdle, I hope it doesn't discourage the Finns from trying different things: having exhausted their hard rock potential with their last three entries, they should be looking to bring something new to the contest. Even if 'new' only means 'the nineties we never had'.
"I don't wanna live a lie - is this my reality?"Given the 1990s were by and large a barren wasteland of popular music in Eurovision, it's no surprise that some countries are still playing catch-up. With your choice of genres limited to about three by ideas of what would appeal to the juries, anything resembling contemporary chart material stood out at the contest, and was generally frowned upon, only making a breakthrough towards the end of the decade when the focus shifted to televoting. One country that tried - and failed - to break the mould sooner was Finland, whose 1994 entry Bye Bye Baby was sapped of all strength by the orchestra and finished a miserable (if uniform) 22nd. With the bass blasting and few if any concerns about the music being messed up in Moscow, our 2007 hosts will be hoping to fare better with Waldo's People and Lose Control.
Drawn at the tail end of the 1st semi, one in which they have very little direct competition, you'd have to think Finland's chances of qualification were fairly high. Ironically, Lose Control is almost as conspicuous in this field as Bye Bye Baby was in the ballad-heavy line-up at the Point Theatre, which may work in its favour considering it is followed by three comparatively demure entries and is likely to receive as vocally solid a performance as it did on each of the many occasions it was repeated in the national final. Its only real rival is Bulgaria's Illusion, but taking into account that song's chances of going pear-shaped, Finland could trounce them convincingly. Even if you're not a fan of the '90s revival they're peddling, you can't deny the ease with which the chorus sticks in your head after hearing it just the once.
The big challenge facing Waldo's People in Moscow is related to a Bulgarian entry, but not this year's: similar in sound and style to 2008's DJ, Take Me Away, the problem Lose Control may have is overcoming the audience's all-too-obvious apathy for pretty much anything which emulates another era. Since they have a more memorable song, Finland will have to hope that the televoting masses aren't so dismissive, but the general lack of support the country receives means it is probably the worst-placed of the last five in the 1st semi to make it to the final. Should they fall at the first hurdle, I hope it doesn't discourage the Finns from trying different things: having exhausted their hard rock potential with their last three entries, they should be looking to bring something new to the contest. Even if 'new' only means 'the nineties we never had'.
07 April 2009
Romania
The Balkan Girls Elena Gheorghe
"I'm gonna start my weekend with gin, tonic and lime..."
While the 'all this' focuses on the pop credentials and potential of The Balkan Girls, the 'and more' bit refers to the fact that the song is just as canny a piece of music as any that has seen Romania in or taken them to the final in each of the past seven contests. One of the greatest strengths of the country's entries since they joined in 1994 is that even those positioned or perceived as less serious (in terms of contention or delivery) have had foundations as strong as their more successful stablemates, and this year's entry is no exception. It would be simple to scoff at a song whose message is no more complicated than "going out is fun" if the way it was packaged was just as brainless, but there's too much to like about the way The Balkan Girls is put together to dismiss it that easily.
In fact there are elements of subtlety to the song that are in stark contrast to the more direct approach taken by some of its predecessors: the bridge in particular, but also the vocals, and the arrangement as a whole, which offers you more each time you listen to it. Not that I'm expecting a country like Romania to play down the partyfabulousness of their entry; their flair for a memorable performance will undoubtedly be on display. If the vocals aren't massive, the visuals probably will be, and should Elena be clad in anything other than high heels, glitter and little else bar a Farah Fawcett hairdo, I'll be shocked and appalled.
As a proper Saturday night song, the only hurdle to qualification I see The Balkan Girls having to overcome is convincing the Tuesday night audience that they should make an early start on the G&Ts. Given this is Eurovision we're talking about, though, that shouldn't be a problem. Allying herself with her dancefloor-loving sisters from Bulgaria to Montenegro* (and by televoter extension to the Iberian peninsula), Ms Gheorghe putting in an even more bombtastic turn in the final is pretty much a formality. And though it might not help them much in terms of votes when they do turn up, we'd be hard pressed to find a better contest opener. After all, if Elena's hips are ready to glow, who are we to get in her way?
* I guess The Carpathian Girls wouldn't have scanned. Isn't Romania claiming Balkan status in Eurovision about as tenuous as Austria suggesting it's still interested in the contest?
"I'm gonna start my weekend with gin, tonic and lime..."In making the transition from old school Eurovision to 21st century showmanship few countries have abandoned half-measures with as much alacrity as Romania. Be it with booming vocals or bombastic visuals (or both), they have turned their back on the sedate start they made to the contest and consistently accosted viewers with songs and performances where the emphasis was clearly on making a mark. From cartoon striptease through blue-collar warehouse disco to caricature sketch comedy, the country has proven remarkably apt at ensnaring the audience's attention, one way or another. They have also revealed a penchant, on the whole, for top-shelf Eurotrash. Not surprisingly, their entry for Moscow - Elena Gheorghe's The Balkan Girls - showcases all this and more in three minutes of hotpants hedonism.
While the 'all this' focuses on the pop credentials and potential of The Balkan Girls, the 'and more' bit refers to the fact that the song is just as canny a piece of music as any that has seen Romania in or taken them to the final in each of the past seven contests. One of the greatest strengths of the country's entries since they joined in 1994 is that even those positioned or perceived as less serious (in terms of contention or delivery) have had foundations as strong as their more successful stablemates, and this year's entry is no exception. It would be simple to scoff at a song whose message is no more complicated than "going out is fun" if the way it was packaged was just as brainless, but there's too much to like about the way The Balkan Girls is put together to dismiss it that easily.
In fact there are elements of subtlety to the song that are in stark contrast to the more direct approach taken by some of its predecessors: the bridge in particular, but also the vocals, and the arrangement as a whole, which offers you more each time you listen to it. Not that I'm expecting a country like Romania to play down the partyfabulousness of their entry; their flair for a memorable performance will undoubtedly be on display. If the vocals aren't massive, the visuals probably will be, and should Elena be clad in anything other than high heels, glitter and little else bar a Farah Fawcett hairdo, I'll be shocked and appalled.
As a proper Saturday night song, the only hurdle to qualification I see The Balkan Girls having to overcome is convincing the Tuesday night audience that they should make an early start on the G&Ts. Given this is Eurovision we're talking about, though, that shouldn't be a problem. Allying herself with her dancefloor-loving sisters from Bulgaria to Montenegro* (and by televoter extension to the Iberian peninsula), Ms Gheorghe putting in an even more bombtastic turn in the final is pretty much a formality. And though it might not help them much in terms of votes when they do turn up, we'd be hard pressed to find a better contest opener. After all, if Elena's hips are ready to glow, who are we to get in her way?
* I guess The Carpathian Girls wouldn't have scanned. Isn't Romania claiming Balkan status in Eurovision about as tenuous as Austria suggesting it's still interested in the contest?
FYR Macedonia
Nešto Što Kje Ostane Next Time
"Da ne si ti, bi nemal so što pred lugjeto da se pofalam..."
Unfortunately, brothers Martin and Stefan Filipovski take it, and themselves, seriously. Where Wig Wam revelled in the camp entertainment value of In My Dreams, the Macedonian lads - and that's precisely what they are: they must have a combined age of about 12 - are like a tribute band to everything that was wrong about 1980s rock music, right down to the big hair and flannelette styling. I can't help but think that if only they were prepared to send themselves up rather than play it straight, your average Eurovision viewer might just be inclined to go along with it.
Which is not to say that they won't anyway, to some extent at least - even if Next Time do deliver Nešto Što Kje Ostane with the kind of professional earnestness usually reserved for bands twice their age desperate to cling onto their youth - because the song itself is as solid as any FYRoM has given us at ESC. In fact it is a bit of a departure for them: to date they have cornered the well-produced R'n'B and well-produced ethno ballad markets, and now they can add well-produced (if slightly slavish) retro rock to the list. They don't put a foot wrong where the music is concerned: the song provides everything you would expect one of its ilk to. That, though, only makes you wish they wouldn't treat it all so soberly.
Indeed, the approach the former Yugoslav republic is taking with this entry is a bit hard to make out. Seemingly determined to make it as authentic as possible and thereby running the risk of alienating the part of the audience who'd rather they weren't taking it that seriously, they then choose to present Nešto Što Kje Ostane in its original Macedonian, further sealing themselves off in their own little world. Now I'm not one to advocate the use of English for its own sake, but here it might help. As borderline qualifiers in even the worst case scenario you have to wonder at their tactics.
All of that aside, I really like the song. It has a great hook and a neat arrangement, and as disconcerting as it occasionally is, a genuineness you've got to admire. Can't see it qualifying though.
"Da ne si ti, bi nemal so što pred lugjeto da se pofalam..."Yeah yeah! There's not much point to a rock song at Eurovision if it hasn't got a decent hook, is there. If you're lucky, like Turkey, you can do something perplexing and wonderful like Deli and rely on the diaspora to give it the result it deserves; if you're unlucky, like Iceland, you can come up with something as powerful and poetic as Valentine Lost and watch it sink like a stone. Alternatively, you can do a Belarus and give the world, unblinking and unfazed, something as unfashionable as Eyes That Never Lie. But in musical terms, what Macedonia are doing in Moscow is essentially a Norway 2005: Next Time's Nešto Što Kje Ostane is the solid slice of rock from another era with a decent hook that should, by rights, see the audience cheering them on for all they're worth.
Unfortunately, brothers Martin and Stefan Filipovski take it, and themselves, seriously. Where Wig Wam revelled in the camp entertainment value of In My Dreams, the Macedonian lads - and that's precisely what they are: they must have a combined age of about 12 - are like a tribute band to everything that was wrong about 1980s rock music, right down to the big hair and flannelette styling. I can't help but think that if only they were prepared to send themselves up rather than play it straight, your average Eurovision viewer might just be inclined to go along with it.
Which is not to say that they won't anyway, to some extent at least - even if Next Time do deliver Nešto Što Kje Ostane with the kind of professional earnestness usually reserved for bands twice their age desperate to cling onto their youth - because the song itself is as solid as any FYRoM has given us at ESC. In fact it is a bit of a departure for them: to date they have cornered the well-produced R'n'B and well-produced ethno ballad markets, and now they can add well-produced (if slightly slavish) retro rock to the list. They don't put a foot wrong where the music is concerned: the song provides everything you would expect one of its ilk to. That, though, only makes you wish they wouldn't treat it all so soberly.
Indeed, the approach the former Yugoslav republic is taking with this entry is a bit hard to make out. Seemingly determined to make it as authentic as possible and thereby running the risk of alienating the part of the audience who'd rather they weren't taking it that seriously, they then choose to present Nešto Što Kje Ostane in its original Macedonian, further sealing themselves off in their own little world. Now I'm not one to advocate the use of English for its own sake, but here it might help. As borderline qualifiers in even the worst case scenario you have to wonder at their tactics.
All of that aside, I really like the song. It has a great hook and a neat arrangement, and as disconcerting as it occasionally is, a genuineness you've got to admire. Can't see it qualifying though.
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