(Click here if you can't see the video panel above, then rub your eyes in disbelief…)
Do you ever watch a performer embarking into a song and start thinking "No mate, stop, Please stop. For your own good, just back out now!"? We do. Fairly often, in fact. But probably none more just lately than this little beast of an appearance. Seriously, we got just five seconds in before the collective citizens of the Apocalypse sofa started shouting "Noooo!", and "Make it stop!" (that last one was Mrs A, mostly). But somehow, like a car accident or a bad wig, we just couldn't stop staring at it, wondering how it could possibly get worse. But it always did.
To be generous, we can see what Mr Nobre here was trying to do. In the right hands, that whole manic preacher thing could really work in this sphere. In the right hands. But this felt more like you were being accosted at 2:35am by a bloke in a back street dive bar who'd barely said a word all night but who suddenly wants you to join him on some epic adventure - although he can't get as far as the toilet door without stumbling into some tables and knocking all the drinks off.
But what do we know, eh? The lad has dragged his way into the FdC final, somehow, and has been tasked with opening the show… which we fear could be a risky move for RTP if they want to keep hold of a few viewers for the quieter, less barnstorming songs that follow it. It's not as if we weren't warned though. A look at the fella's back catalogue suggests that he's been part of musical aggregations with cringe-making names like Funky Messengers, Mister Lizard and Funk do Boi, so all the signs were there. I mean, we wish him well and all, but really. At least it'll be over quickly on Saturday night.
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