Switzerland

Era Stupendo Paolo Meneguzzi

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

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

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

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

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

Albania

Zemrën E Lamë Peng Olta Boka

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

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

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

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

Lithuania

Nomads In The Night Jeronimas Milius

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

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

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

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

Ukraine

Shady Lady Ani Lorak

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

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

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

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

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

Turkey

Deli Mor Ve Ötesi

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

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

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

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

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

Sweden

Hero Charlotte Perrelli

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

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

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

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

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

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

Iceland

This Is My Life Euroband

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

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

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

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