Last night, I attended the big Eurovision preview party at the Marcanti club in Amsterdam, where around half of this year’s contestants performed their entries. Cue much frantic, hasty and altogether “over-excited” tweeting:
Slovakia: strident, screechy, operatic.
Moldova: fab walloping diva.
Slovenia: odd string quartet, almost instrumental.
Lithuania: Freddie-aping skinny dude, in hat. (“Freddie-aping” is an exaggeration, but there was a touch of “We Are The Champions” at the start of the song.)
Serbia: hair bear and accordion, stompy.
Ireland: Vanilla Ninja meets Hepburn, rocking, worked it.
Denmark: totally smashable AOR waiter, grr! (Hmm, the beer goggles had been well and truly donned…)
Cyprus: adorable interpretìve hand movements.
Belgium: fat Shakey does Young Elvis.
Montenegro: upstaged by dancer. I think there’s something he hasn’t told her yet…
Bulgaria’s Got Talent: bizarre castrato car-crash. Many furrowed brows.
Iceland: weak, bland, forgettable.
Germany: preening, overcooked schaffel-swing.
Bosnia & Herzegovina: butcho Balkan bombast, incongruously styled in Coldplay’s cast-offs.
Ukraine: FUCKING HELL THIS IS WHAT IT’S ALL ABOUT. Demonic, fetishistic energy, with bonus beatboxed reprise. (This was everybody’s favourite, as it had been at the London Scala preview party the previous night.)
Poland: a tad too classy for this advanced hour? Grower, though.
Armenia: full blooded Eastern promise. (Actually, this was terrific. More cultural pluralism, please.)
Malta: eternal fan fave tryer tries again, impressively and adorably.
Spain: wildly popular Latino rump shaker. (slightly undermined by over-exuberantly mincy dancers)
Our Jade (United Kingdom): she’s over-selling it. Lacks sincerity. Respectful but muted applause.