Right, the finals is due in a few hours. Rather exciting.
Some of the more noteworthy performances from Thursday's Round Two.
Serbia.
While eager and able, one gets the impression that a mistake has been made somewhere, and the performance turned into an advert for some brand of mineral water. A sponsorship deal, perhaps. It would appear that it quite en vogue this year with beautiful men in breeches appearing on stage. Perhaps one of Greece's men got loose.
Austria.
A man, singing a song, perched on a glittering polystyrene crescent moon, bathing in a sea of stage smoke. Lovely stage-work, shame about the song. It is rather banal, it never quite gets airborne, and the smoke cannot hide that for long. Surely?
Macedonia.
A lovely, cosmopolitan little party song. Not enough on its own to move further, I fear, but we are all the richer for having made acquaintance with it.
Referring to my notes, it also says 'Sexy', underscored three times, followed by 'the best kind of'. I stand by that, were there a special award for attractive performance, this matter would be settled.
Malta.
Once more unto the breach for Malta. It is basic, it is smart. A lovely woman with a pleasant voice singing something soft and melodic. About the only bell-and-whistle is the background screen, with fleeting portraits of the singer mixed with equally fleeting portraits of what seems to be an angel's busom.
Hungary.
A delightful gypsy folk song performance. Something different, with rap, fiddle and belly dancing, oh, my. Rather reminded me of The Hunchback of Notre Dame (hopefully with a marked absence of Frollo). It is my favourite of this round, without a doubt. I am glad that someone got the 'celebrate diversity' memo in time, and remembered to put something of their culture front and centre.
The Netherlands.
Three sisters, singing a song and doing it very well. They wear different variants of black, glittery stage dress, which does make me think they must have raided Eddie Monsoon's wardrobe on the way. They have a good presence on stage, and an excellent chemistry between them. Reliable little performance, all things told.
Croatia.
A fat man with a fantastic voice enters the stage. He has endeavoured to sing for two, and does so well. It is odd, but it is a fairly remarkable one-man act. The stage also features the most rainbows of the year.
Romania.
The Romanians managed to pay the entry fee this year, although I fear that the expense is reflected in their Spartan wardrobe. Still, they are here, and will yodel the night away in happiness and joy, backed by their background screen served hot from Clipart.
Despite these budget constraints, they do a rather good job of it. It is an oddity, and a fun one at that.
Bulgaria.
Another youngster abandoned before the microphone. He is, however, a very gifted and able performer, and really takes command of the stage. Even if this Eurovision business does not work out, I do believe that he can look forward to a promising career in music.
Denmark.
Denmark goes back to the very basics, with a pleasant little pop song, performed very well indeed by the most Danish woman by mortal born. Her voice is excellent, but it is, sadly, a rather mediocre song that it is put to work with.
Ireland.
Well. Castrate Harry Potter, basically. Young boy, aboard an air balloon wreathed in smoke. Not a poorly done performance at any stretch of the word, but it is awfully soft and high in pitch. It simply gives the impression that a mistake has been made, and that somewhere, an adult pop-singer has been cast in the Children's Eurovision Song Contest.
Belarus.
White. Dazzling, blinding white, like the sun over the frozen steppe. Their clothes are white, the stage smoke is white, the plywood hovercraft that they are perched on is white, even the man's guitar has been draped in white lace. It is fitting, for it all resembles soft-serve vanilla ice cream. It is soft, airy, thick and really rather sweet. And as long as one eats it before it melts or attract flies, it is perfectly serviceable.
Norway.
I fear that a group of wanted criminals at large might be trying to use the Eurovision contest as a means to escape the law. That strikes me as a perfectly reasonable explanation as to why most of the Norwegian back-up performers are in disguise. Nice masks, mind; Daft Punk on the dole, as it were. Techno-pop with a good beat and a pleasant sound, which might very well make it to the top. Fairly significant competition for Mr. Treadmill to think of.
Switzerland.
Come with me, let us wander through the yellow and purple haze of Apollon! Let us lie down, and let the waves of high-grade popcorn pop give us a precious moment of peace and stillness.
The singer is, I must note, also remarkably beautiful, one of the few individuals who can wear a great yellow dress, while also perched on top of a yellow pillar, and make it all complement her so well.
It is my second favourite of the evening. I do not know why, I suspect hypnosis.
Israel.
Unable to afford sleeves for his shirt, the Israeli performer must manage without, but I imagine that the ventilation is welcome for his muscles. He sings quite well, so perhaps sleeves were but a dead weight that he is the richer for having shed. Some escaped lunatics in tattered strait-jackets enters the stage, possibly because they failed their try-outs to become Men in Breeches for all the other performances. Lively, jolly, futuristic hopping-pop.
Highlight Reel.
Ms. Jana Burceska of Macedonia did not pass the selection (a bit of a shame, I quite liked it), but she received a damned good consolation prize when her boyfriend took the opportunity to propose while on air in the green room. Lovely to see, absolutely lovely. I suppose such things are difficult to value, but I would say that a husband is more than comparable to a shot at the Eurovision trophy. Best hopes and wishes to the couple, of course.
They also give suitable credit to Jon Ola Sand, head chief of the whole business, and leader of the Swedish expeditionary force dispatched to help the Ukrainians run the show. I find it rather sweet, I must say.
“Tjyort vos'mi, Boris! Show is not work! Situation is slipping out of fingers!”
“Tvojio mat! We need expert chelp! Wait, I of know! I call him now.”
-Telephone rings-
“Good börk, Sviden speeking!”
Meanwhile, the Three Men in a Boat of the evening, the on-stage presenters, keep soldiering on, valiant before their lack of charm, timing and chemistry. Well, to be fair, one of the three (Timur, possibly Lenk), spends the programs banished to the “Khreen chroom”, while his two mates manage the factory floor business.
Timur Lenk tries, oh, do he try. And yet, quite a number of the performers simply cannot understand what he is saying. A meaningful exchange thus depends on how well the performer groups have mastered English. Of course, despite such problems, it is all jolliness and peace, which is precisely what this little get-together is all about.
What intrigues me this year is that the big Scandinavian Three all made it in. A bit of neighbourly competition, which could take some fascinating turns. I believe Finland will have a great deal of influence, depending on if they will give some loyalty votes (and for whom), or if they will beat their own path.
Bulgaria has thrown a rather nasty trick in the works, I must say. Very young performers tend to harvest quite a lot of sympathy votes, at least on national level. Of course, this is the finale. This is where no convention cannot be broken, and where anything can happen. We anticipate.
Of course, tomorrow, the Big Five (Germany, France, Italy, Great Britain and Spain) joins the frey. Italy has a man in an ape-suit join the stage, which is always notable. The British performance will be interesting to see. I do hope they work their way to a good spot in the table this year, or the Daily Mail readership will likely demand an exit from Eurovision, as well.
As a final note before the finale, the Portugese song seems to be strangely popular, and is a very real contender for victory. How? I cannot understand what people seem to see in it. It puts me to sleep, as lovely and... Song-y as it is. It certainly cannot compete with Mr. Epic Saxophone Man, nor with the Italian Gorilla. Surely.
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