I listened to every Eurovision 2024 entry, so you don’t have to

This is a song that refuses to stick to one style or genre.

The first minute is mellow. Ticking clocks. Light piano chords. That kind of thing. It builds as you’d expect into a fuller chorus.

For the second verse we take a hard, left turn and drop into kick-drums and distorted synthesisers, before returning to the more chilled vibes for the chorus.

But Besa, bless her, is not done.

Why settle for two musical styles when you can have three! In the final 30 seconds we throw away what has come before and reveal a much more interesting set of instrumentation reminiscent of an 80s throwback. I can’t help but wonder if the song would have been more enjoyable if it was in that final style the whole way through.

The thing I love about Eurovision is that you get to experience other cultures through their music and performance. Were it not for Eurovision, I’d never have known that I truly love Scandipop. Or that the Polish were really into milk churning.

And this song allows me to experience something I’d never have voluntarily listened to that I presume is distinctively Armenian.

It’s a peppy, brassy and playful track.

And I’m sure this appeals to someone. It does not appeal to me.

I am pro-Australia, and pro-Australia in Eurovision. Australia remains the best winner we never had.

But after that soaring performance that was denied its rightful winner’s slot, I have been waiting for something to make me continue to believe in the “Australia is actually part of Europe” project.

I am sorry to report that this is not it. At least, it’s not the knock out song I have been waiting for.

Don’t misunderstand me. I like the song. It’s fun. It’s camp. It’s got a pulsating rhythm that makes you want to dance to it. It’s got a didgeridoo!

I am all aboard whatever bizarre rocket ship is taking me “to the planets” with “the Fleetwood Macs and the Janets”.

But this feels like a song made for Eurovision. That isn’t Australia at its best. Australia at its best is when it brings songs that sound like they are songs designed for the charts that just happen to be at Eurovision. That’s what Sound of Silence was. That’s not what this is.

I have never been to a rave, but I imagine that a rave looks a lot like that scene in The Matrix where Thomas Anderson meets Trinity for the first time in a dodgy nightclub.

My obvious lack of credentials established; this does appear to be a faithful recreation of a 1990s and 2000s rave sound. Lots of overdriven synths, laser sound effects, and – most importantly – generic, nonsensical female vocals. An ultra-high tempo three minutes.

In this mid-tempo ballad with a beat, Fahree invites us to “hold [his] heart in your hands” and asks: “do you have what it takes?”

I propose to you, friends, that this is an excellent metaphor! Do we hold Fahree’s hopes of winning Eurovision in our hands? Does his song have what it takes to win?

No. No, it does not.

You know when you can hear your neighbour playing music, but you can’t hear it properly because it’s travelling through a wall or the floor? When it’s all a bit muffled? To my – admittedly pretty poor – ears, this song’s got a weird aural-aesthetic quality to it that is a bit like that.

It’s a ballad, but with seemingly-intentionally muffled instrumentation. The singers otherwise come through loud and clear, and the lead singer has a voice that might remind you of Brendon Urie of Panic! At the Disco fame.

The shadow of last year’s runner-up entry from Finland looms large over this lyrically nonsensical crash of a song.

It sounds like it’s ripped straight out of a boss level from the 16-bit era. Think Sonic the Hedgehog on the SEGA MegaDrive, when he’s fighting Dr. Robotnik.

In 2018, Cyprus lit Lisbon on fuego with a fierce song from Eleni Foureira that almost clinched the top spot. They’ve tried that formula a couple times again since; including this year.

This is another punchy track with club-worthy, slut-dropping, chest-shuddering beats from the Cypriots.

Rock meets pop in this song. It starts at a clip, and stays high-intensity throughout.

It reminds me of a mashup of Avril Lavigne’s “Complicated” and Katy Perry’s “I Kissed a Girl”.

Aiko describes the song as a “self-love, post-breakup anthem” – whatever the hell that means – and I suppose that explains the literal (and presumably acted) argument that she has with a nameless man towards the end of a track. It’s quite jarring in what is otherwise a fun pop-rock track.

The first 10 seconds of this song had me immediately hooked, and then it made me feel like I’d been bait-and-switched. There’s purpose in those first few seconds; and then it takes almost a full minute to get back to that level of energy and excitement.

When it gets going though, it’s great. The relentless synth-pop bass line feels like a throwback to Robyn’s “Dancing On My Own”, and Saba’s vocals cut through it beautifully.

Well, I guess we’ve found one of the joke entries for this year.

Presuming that this isn’t translated for the live stage performance, I’d encourage you to just read the lyrics in English.

Of all of the versions of Microsoft’s operating system to name yourself after, Windows 95 would not be the top of my list. I guess Windows XP was not available.

Much like Microsoft’s archaic operating systems though, this song is absolute garbage.

Drags to Recycle Bin.

This song is apparently a “love letter to European hearts” from artist Slimane.

It starts in the same way as every other self-indulgent French ballad that you’ve ever heard. It crescendos into a vocal that has a lot of strength and emotion. And yet after three minutes, I feel… nothing.

If this is meant to sway my heart, then I regret to inform; je ne l’aime pas.

I’m so used to Georgia sending whacky entries like this, or abysmal entries like this one and that one, that I usually despair just looking at the name of their country in the running order.

But not this year gang, because Georgia’s entry is a firecracker! It’s a fresh, bassy-pop banger with a locally influenced twist.

The vocals are great. The beat is great. It’s great.

“I am nothing but the average”, Isaak roars out at the start of this song. But I think he’s singing himself a disservice; this is better than average! At least, better than the average German entry in recent years.

Whilst the Germans have had success at Eurovision more recently than we have here in the UK – last winning the Contest in 2010 with “Satellite” by Lena – they’ve had a torrid time since.

Will this Tom Grennan-like track restore their fortunes? I’ve no clue, but I know I quite like it.

I am going to sound like a very old man when I say this, but: this is barely even music. It’s just noise.

There’s so much discordance in the clashing sounds and styles in this track, that it could probably induce a headache if I listened to it long enough. Thankfully – as with all Eurovision tracks – I only have to listen to it for a maximum of three minutes.

This is a generically crowd-pleasing pop track with some eyebrow-raising raising lyrics. A bright piano cuts through the four-on-the-floor drum track.

Three minutes that’ll make you want to dance around your living room.

Ireland is dangerously close to losing its crown of “most Eurovision wins ever”. Last year’s win from Sweden means they now share that accolade – as well as being the only country to produce a two-time winner.

You’d hope, on that basis, that Ireland would bring its A-game. You’d think they’d want to show up ready to win.

And then they send an artist called Bambie Thug and a track called “Doomsday Blue” that is, to be blunt, an assault on the senses.

Chaotic and contorted from the very first moment, this is a unique entry – of that I have no doubt – but it is also deeply, deeply unpleasant.

This song has apparently been shrouded in controversy. The title of the song and the lyrics have apparently been changed multiple times on instruction of the EBU, the national broadcaster and Israel’s president.

I won’t comment further on that; I am only interested in the music, and the music is… fine?

It’s a ballad. It’s a fine ballad. It’s not a bad or uninteresting song by any stretch, but it doesn’t pull on the heartstrings in the way the preceding controversy suggests it should.

For a song called “Boredom”, this is hardly boring. Maybe you should expect that from an artist with an exotic fruit in their name (are mangos even native to Italy?!).

This will hit you like a steam train. Relentless, droning beats underpin a tongue-twisting lyrical tango dancing about on top of this complex track.

It has no discernible hook or riff that’s meant to stick with you; almost as if the whole song is intended as one long verse. And I suspect that may be its undoing.

Måneskin aside, it’s a nice change from the somewhat typical Italian formulae of recent memory of middle-aged men shouting dreary ballads down a microphone.

It takes a while to warm up, but there’s a soulful and memorable riff waiting in the chorus to this somewhat morbid ballad from the Latvians.

It doesn’t have the stand out moments of previous winning ballads like 2019 winner, Arcade, but it’s enjoyable nonetheless.

Another track with a slow wind up, but this time leading to a fast-paced electronic track that reminds me a little of classic 90s tracks like Sandstorm.

Unfortunately it’s musical mist. Lightweight and little to grab on to.

The moment we’ve been waiting for: Luxembourg’s return to the Eurovision Song Contest after more than 30 years. Their last entry being in 1993.

And they’ve brought us a song that could have been ripped out of an early 1990s Eurovision, but with a modern-francophone twist.

It’s got up-tempo plucky guitar, tongue-twisting lyrics that flick between English and French, and a funky beat.

But after three decades away, I have to ask: is this all Luxembourg’s got?

Malta is once again bringing the party, with a track reminiscent of 2021 entry, Je Ma Casse.

It’s a club-floor filler with a strong female vocal, thumping drum and bass track, and it oozes with sass and sex.

This song has a peculiar audio mix. Peculiar enough that the vocals seem to be lost in the middle of the otherwise over-powering instrumentation.

That’s not necessarily a bad thing. The vocals don’t appear to be particularly notable and the song itself – a mid-tempo ballad – isn’t especially notable.

Well. This guy knows exactly what he’s doing with a song called “Eurodaddy”, doesn’t he? Filth.

I’m not sure this joke really lands in its native tongue, but the lyrics, translated from Dutch to English, are a fun read for this one.

Bear in mind that I don’t watch the Eurovision album; I listen to it. And if you do the same, you won’t get why this song is called “Wolf Pelt” until the chorus. Then it’s really obvious.

This is a rock song with howling. It’s not a very good rock song with howling, but maybe watching it, not just listening to it, is the key?

LUNA reminds me a bit of MUNA; an American indie pop band. That’s no bad thing. I like MUNA.

This is a pleasant enough jaunt through three minutes of pleasing melodies and four-on-the-floor rhythms. It lacks the heady heights of, say, Pink Light, but it’s fine enough.

For a song called “Shout”, I dunno, I was just expecting a little more… Oomph?

There’s only one, half-arsed, fleeting moment of robustness in this entire dreary ballad. Boring. Next.

I believe the technical term to apply to this song is “Wall of Sound”. There is a lot going on in this frenetic, heavy rock track.

It’ll be a bold wake-up call if – as is likely – it’s surrounded by some lacklustre ballads.

At risk of turning into a meme; not another one.

As ballads go this year, I don’t think this is the worst one, but it’s not far off. This one is almost like a funeral dirge at the start, and it drags on for so long it could be used as a cure for insomnia.

This “dark alternative pop song” is certainly dark, certainly alternative and definitely has pop!

It has a slow wind up, but once it hits its stride there’s a fighting vocal and pulsating soundtrack to accompany it.

Let’s go back to the 80s, kids! This is cheesy as hell, reminiscent of the ill-fated Danish entry from 2021, Øve os på hinanden and I love it.

Whilst the instrumentation has all the sparkle and shoulder-pads of an 80s classic, I’m disappointed by the vocal, which is comparatively underwhelming.

It’s another highly-polished and poptastic entry from the Swedes. But what more did you expect from a country that is the undeniable powerhouse of Eurovision?

It pales in comparison to some of Sweden’s greatest former entries, but you don’t have to be outstanding to win, you just have to be better than the competition.

It’s certainly unique, with tinges of Daft Punk and Swedish House Mafia underpinning it, and stands out amongst a crowd of mediocrity this year.

What to make of this. It’s got flashes of theatre productions like Phantom of the Opera and Hamilton. It’s got dance beats. It’s got falsetto abound.

So its pop, meets hip-hop, meets musicals, meets opera. Do you follow?

I’m not really sure what to make of it.

The choral backing vocals might give you a small clue that the “Teresa & Maria” referred to in this song’s title are apparently a reference to Mother Teresa and the Virgin Mary.

It’s an interesting song, with some floaty vocals, foot-tapping beats, and lots of layers.

Every year I cheat at this blind-taste test of Eurovision: I always listen to the UK entry as soon as I hear it’s been announced. This year was no different.

This year’s entry is from the front man of pretty-big-deal group Years and Years. Now performing in the singular, Olly Alexander brings us Dizzy.

Clearly inspired by It’s a Sin by the Pet Shop Boys – a song Olly has already covered – it borrows the same synth chord progression right from the jump.

Out of context, it is a good song with a strong ear-worm in the chorus. In context of the other songs in this year’s Contest; dare I say it?

I think he’s a contender.