Before we get going, we have to establish that this is an absolute toilet of a song. There is little that's more utterly cringeworthy than a white bloke trying to affect a Caribbean accent, and this lad comes over like a chubby Sting tribute act. (I'll bet he'd call it Stung, or Call The Police if he actually had one. And of course it didn't help that the video opened with him appearing to be a bit of a sex pest, and that despite that he's singing a song about his mum, but all that's by the by.
But just when you'd just about had enough and started to reach for the kettle, something unexpectedly charming happened. The camera caught sight of an old gal in the crowd having a whale of a time, and the lad began to rather sweetly interact with her. And then… Oh my, even a cynical old hack like me never saw that coming!
I won't spoil the fun for you, but suffice to say that the last minute or so distracted you from the godawful music, and just goes to show that with a bit of thought you can turn even the biggest shitehawk of a song into something utterly sweet and enjoyable.
You could hear the groans of bafflement and distain across the continent when the Portuguese people gave this their second highest mark at the second Festival da Canção qualifier last night. I could almost translate their rage. "What is this shit joke song by ugly middle-aged men in silly suits doing in my beautiful contest, and having the cheek to beat a nice lady in a big frock?!" Well hold onto that thought, because the lad Benvinda could still cause another upset.
Hugely popular from his days in the duo Virgem Suta, this South Portuguese troubadour is noted for his satirical takes on the mores of local life, and his plinky plonky pop song, written by his old band mate from the Suta and loosely translated as Bestial People, appeared to hit a chord with his nation's people last night - and also pretty strongly with a jury made up of seniors and songwriters, who surely appreciated the songwriter's craft more than the casual outsider ever would.
Were this song nestled away in the creases of Sanremo and sung by a handsome lad we'd all be going bonkers over it. But somehow we never seem to feel the same sentiment when it's coming from our cousins in the South West. And while I'd really prefer little Salvador to win next Sunday (if he's still alive), there's a part of me that thinks it would be hilarious if this distinctly local little ditty made it to a big international singing show.
Probably just me and the Portuguese then…
****STOP PRESS****
Good friends of Apocalypse, Pedro Sa and Sandra Nóbrega, have been so kind as to put me right on my slightly wonky assertations - the title standing not for Bestial People, but Amazing People for one - and translated the whole darned song for us. And that was no mean feat, according to those fine folks, as many of its finer points can only every really be understood by people who've lived in Portugal all their lives. A bit like me trying to explain Sleaford Mods to Americans. But if you want the best stab at understanding the lyric as best we can, take a look below. Cheers Pedro and Sandra! We really appreciate your efforts!
This is perfect, we are proper people
We have guts and we have done that much throughout the world
Namely and consequently
We have given many people, many things and such
We are little tufts, finally we did it
And besides what we wear everything about us draws attention
I lift the weather, the wine, Braga and the talent
To transform saudade in an export postcard
We are good people, genuine and different, swinging between being brave and a crying less bad
But mostly excluding some hair-triggers we are barely serious but we have a big heart
And coming from it we are amazing people
Since many years ago we are in the front row
We even facebook, giving our opinions is usual
I am aware that the genes of these people will survive and live beyond the Final Judgment
So I say not fearing any punishment
If not caring we are danger, in the rest there’s no exception
We are enormous, sometimes by the book
Other times in shapeless ways but with a mood
We are good people, genuine and different, swinging between being brave and a crying less bad
But mostly excluding some hair-triggers we are barely serious but we have a big heart
And coming from it we are amazing people
We are good people, genuine and different, swinging between being brave and a crying less bad
But mostly excluding some hair-triggers we are such a lucky people, we are amazing people
We are good people, genuine and different, swinging between being brave and a crying less bad
But mostly excluding some hair-triggers we are such a lucky people, we have real big lupin beans, it’s a shame that catches everything, Carnival replacing Shrovetide, barely serious and coming from it we are amazing people.
Romania offered us many delights tonight - including the most drop-outy stream known to man. But nothing was quite so knuckle-gnawingly entertaining as this. And oh boy did we gnaw!
You see, young Eduard here is a confident lad. So much so that you can see that he thought he only had to turn up to win it. But he made the common mistake of thinking that turning everything up to eleven was the only answer. From his chummy over-ennunciation of very last syllable, to the hardcore whistle interludes and that bloke banging a big of wood with some sticks, every last second was strained out like an especially difficult toilet visit.
But at the same time, we just couldn't keep our eyes off it. Every gurn, air grab and strangled lyric line drew us nearer to the screen (when it wasn't buffering), and as terrible as it was, it was still more entertaining than everything other than the yodellers - and still less embarrassing than Mihai.
So finally we get to see and hear the whole thing. A whole nation sat in thrall at the incredible stage show, but then voted for something else because they couldn't remember the tune. And hereby stand the problem.
In the real world this would have been a surefire success. You can picture this nestled in to a big stadium show, three quarters of the way through and just before the last run of big hits. The punters would have walked away and said "Euphoria was amazing, of course, but did you see that one with the flags and the handbag and the old lady? It really moved me that!" And that would have been its perfect placement.
But on a pop competition where your full three minutes count and you have to have visuals and song together in a perfect union of memorability? Not so much. And that's a sad thing, because this was a really bold and brave move. As a pure three-minute spectacle this is unlikely to be bettered for some time. But as an entry for Melfest - let alone the big show - it was perhaps a bit too intense and lacking in a memorable melodic hook.
Don't get me wrong, because I thought it was utterly splendid, and gazed with open mouth throughout. But I can quite see why it only scraped into the second chance round, now faced with the indignity of a piece of interesting art having to sing for its supper against a slew of other nearly wases. The juries will love it, of course. But will it even get that far?
These snippets keep sneaking out, and I'm surprised to say that I actually rather like this one. As a 20 second cut it offers drama, promise and some bonkers strings, a bit like if someone had dropped some dexys into ELO's tea. And it builds perfectly to a dead halt, where you just know a cheesy assed voice is about to come in and slow things down and damage all the magic.
So Croatia, this is my plea to you. Save yourself the trouble of some difficult press conferences and unwelcome Euroclub confrontations and just loop this bit nine times and send it to Kyiv. It'll be strangely mesmeric and hypnotise the masses (if they've got tickets) into some kind of dervish frenzy. It'll be fab!
Awkwardly it makes me wonder if this could actually be something of a half-decent song. But hopefully all this bluster is just the run up to a teaser video, where it builds and them he turns to the camera, his saccharine smile glinting in the spotlights before the actual dreary song begins. I hope so, because this has been one of our favourite 20 seconds of the season so far, and you wouldn't want him being actually good or anything…
Well if this isn't the teasiest of all known teasers. With practically all of the other Melfest song snippets this year you've got a pretty clear idea of how it's all going to turn out within a small handful seconds. Swedish songs are like that. Once you've picked up the groove you can take a fair guessat where it's going to end up.
Not this one though. Starting at what sounds like the actual beginning, it comes in all atmospheric, with Ms Talhaoui giving it her best meaningful vocal swirling, before it all gets a bit jagged and FKA Twigs for a second or two, then builds to a crescendo that tells you something interesting's about to happen...
And then, like the best peep shows it cuts off dead. Only this time there's no opportunity to stick another coin in the slot to raise the shutter.
So what's it going to be? The few people I've read that have heard it right through don't seem to have the musical language to describe it. One plucky trier called it punk, which makes me suspect that they've never heard punk and are only guessing. Another likened it to Nirvana. Again, I'm suspecting that they're a little far off the mark there. My suspicion in trying to translate what they think they mean is that it might have a guitar in it somewhere and get a big chuggy, but in a slightly disappointing mid tempo kind of way, judging by the build.
But please do surprise us pleasantly Lady Loreen, because I'd love the wayward guestimates to be right, just this once!
With the vast, brain-rotting complexity of the Lithuanian selection marathon, where they seem to be gradually weeding out all of the interesting ones so that Aiste can finally win the right not to qualify from her semi, it's easy to let the odd song slip unnoticed down the back of the sofa. But we're not entirely sure how this little gem passed us by.
The song itself is a standard mid tempo pop plodder of the sort that only ever seems to turn up in the early stages of this contest. But you won't notice that - not even the clearly-run-out-of-ideas lalala of the chorus. No, you'll be distracted from that by perhaps the silliest bout of dance moves of the entire season.
Well, when we say 'dance' we actually mean 'stiffly pratting about and mugging to the camera', but what an utterly delightful job he makes of it. When not literally translating some of the lyric into gestures, he stamps about like a broken meat android with a stiff neck, looking like he means every last gesture, although it's never quite apparent to the viewer what he actually did mean.
That this performance got to the seventh show of the process tells you everything about what a fantastic country Lithuania must be.
A few more rejected public submission entries from the UK process are beginning to creep onto the darker recesses of YouTube, and this one caught the eye in may ways. Now this would be a lovely little jangly interlude if it was wafting out from the corner of a folk club in the woods, or used as incidental music at a Suffolk crystal convention. And you can't really fault either the nuanced playing of the ukuleles or the delicate vocal harmonies, delivered to perfect effect by three clearly talented people. But still, what were they thinking?
In fact, I'd love to know what they were thinking. Was it: "Hey, have you seen that they're asking for songs for the Eurovision? We've done so badly the last few years with all that pop nonsense, so what the nation needs to save us is three lovely people of a certain age to lilt out a smashing little homemade folksy melody at them. We're bound to win!"?
We might mock in our sophisticated knowingness, but imagine if someone at the BBC had taken a punt on them. Imagine if some that Saturday night in May, this New Forest threesome shuffled out onto that big glistening stage in Ukraine and warbled this out. Heck, I'm actually talking myself into this!
I mean, good heavens, that girl knows how to showbiz a tambourine, for starters!
But all of this makes you wonder just what kind of stuff the poor burghers of OGAE had to listen to in the quest to find a song that got rejected from the final shortlist. If, as I suspect, this little jangler represented a high water mark, you'll be able to guess who the lucky jurors were in Kiev with their thousand yard stares and slightly distracted expressions.
It's a rare event, and only happens maybe once or twice a year, maximum. But once in a blue moon a song will pop up on a national final that leaves both me an Mrs Apocalypse open-jawed and silent on the sofa. And it's never, ever happened via Portugal. Until tonight.
But in the first semi of the FDC, a young lad who appeared to have crawled out of a skip crept onto the stage unassumingly and captivated the pair of us with his angelic voice and idiosyncratic delivery. Every other act on the bill tonight was a singer reciting some words. Young Salvador here was an artist interpreting a vision, and what a beautiful job he did of it, too.
If they don't pick this lad to go to Kiev they want shooting. And if he doesn't even make it to the semi, I'm coming round to take all their first born after the next available flight. Seriously Portugal, this is your one golden hope from the last 20 years of trying. Do the sensible thing.
I missed the start of last night's Ukrainian qualifier, as I was out at a football match. But upon my return I had a list of messages telling me that I just had to see this song, without telling me quite why. This is often a good sign.
Slightly annoyingly I couldn't find a clip until just now, and oh boy am I glad I tracked it down. Because during this song something quite unique and powerful happens. And I'm not going to tell you what it is. But you'll thank me.
Else otherwise, this is a pretty serviceable indie rock song, with a very agreeable wigout bit in the middle that proves that they're not just pretty boys going through the poses. But it's the incident that elevates this above the masses. If this band are as big as their pre-vid suggests, their name could be written on their hometown trophy. Decent but diferent act who's going to make everyone sit up and take notice, but who are in no danger of winning? Surely that's the perfect host entry.
But in a nation where merely saying hello to your next door neighbour is a highly politicised act, are they really going to risk choosing this? I certainly hope so!
United Pandaz seem to have removed all evidence of this event from the internets, the grumpy ursines. We'll let you know if it pops up again, meanwhile, try the link above now and again, just in case!
When we saw the act were going to be called United Pandaz, we never begun to imagine that there would be actual pandas on view. Well, they weren't ACTUAL pandas, but they were pretty decent representations, stood there all cool in their pop star military garb, waving tiny flags and having it large behind the decks.
And it was a bit of luck there was something to distract us from the tune, because it was even more similar to Swedish House Mafia's Don't You Worry Child than that Cascada somg from a couple of years back. But luckily for their lawyers they just about ducked out of every seventh note, therefore causing themselves any further worry.
Well, that and the fact that so few people liked it that it couldn't drag its bones to its own national final. I think it's probably for the best...
Well, I don't think anyone was expecting this. When Tosca Beat were announced as taking part in the Slovenian semis, we all assumed that it was going to be another slice of ill-advised popera that was doomed to early failure.
What we didn't reckon on was them suddenly becoming a post-industrial Laibach tribute act!
Surely this can't be an accident? Militaristic outfits, megaphones, situationist statements, stompy marching music and a deeper-than-mines voice croaking out between the high pitched choruses. It's Slovenia's biggest ever international musical export, toned down and made (slightly more) palatable for the Friday evening TV crowd. It was really quite the thing.
It wasn't actually all that good, lacking a bit in power and menace, but we still rather hope it does OK. And if Laibach don't mean anything to you, get yourself to YouTube immediately.
This is what you want from Sweden. Less of your ever-dimishing Schlagerpop and sweary imps, give us more 87-year-old men mumbling out and old time pre-Elvis era rock and roll tune!
Just when you think Christer's going to let you down, he provides you with the goods. Can't wait to see this one live - if Owe makes it that far!
Now here's a proper oddity. I always love it when you, dear reader passes us on a tip, and good friend of the site Robyn G has uncovered a right doosy here. It starts off like a regulation man ballad, all pianos, plods and earnest angst, as you'd expect. But when it gets to about the minute mark you suddenly realise that this isn't another of those dozens of regulation love songs that try to crowbar references to Europe in as a way of luring the votes.
Oh no, because it all takes a considerably darker turn when you realise that it's quite possibly being sung in the voice of a refugee about to hop on a midnight boat to an uncertain, and quite possibly short, future.
But even here it's not like the usual Save The World fodder, as it offers no hope or suggests no schmaltzy outcome. Instead it just leaves you hanging in the gloom, throughly depressed and hopeless, feeling like you've had a tiny part of torn out of you.
Every years there's a couple of those songs that you really shouldn't find yourself enjoying, but you somehow just can't help yourself. And this is one of them. Admittedly I've always had a bit of a soft spot for 90s Europop singalongs, so I was always likely to be sucker punched by this one. But despite it having all the ingredients for a total disaster of a song, it somehow kinda works, despite itself.
I'm not sure if it's the Christmas chord changes, then Nordic nautical shanty-fuelled chorus, or the fact that I wouldn't fancy taking the band on in a fight, but it's crept under my skin and I just can't get it out. Anybody got any ointment?
One suspects that it'll be just that tad to cheesy for those serious Norwegians, but I wouldn't begrudge it a berth at the big show if it did somehow win. And those gals look like they are aware of what it is to party, too.
