Turn on the wind machines, pump out the dry ice, set the lights to “romantic” – it’s time for the slow ones.
Top of the heap, alphabetically at least, is Australia – who are sending actual pop royalty Delta Goodrem to Vienna.
She goes full Celine Dion on Eclipse, external, a song about a passion so strong it blocks out the sun. It’s scientifically unlikely, but Delta delivers the big notes with such conviction you almost believe her. It feels like a potential winner.
Equally dramatic is Danish star Søren Torpegaard Lund, who wraps his lungs around a torrid tale of toxic romance titled Før Vi Går Hjem, external (Before We Go Home).
“Kiss me, take my heart, break it again,” he sings atop a convulsive electro pulse, as dancers pull him into a transparent “sweat box” that represents the relationship he can’t escape.
I’m not a huge fan of the chorus – a simple climb up the scale of C Minor – but Lund’s simmering intensity is captivating.
Azerbaijan’s singer Jiva is much more ruthless as she dispenses with a lover on the cinematic ballad Just Go, external.
“I don’t love you anymore,” she seethes. “I will erase you from my soul.”
If you like your music windswept and overblown, this is for you – but it’s indistinguishable from every other windswept and overblown Eurovision entry that’s faltered in the semi-finals since 2020.
More affecting is Malta’s elegant and sentimental ballad Bella, external, sung by moustachioed troubadour Aidan.
One of the country’s biggest stars, he brings an air of wounded sincerity to his performance, as he pines for the titular heroine, whose name appears 20 times throughout the song.
Ploughing a similar furrow is Israel’s Noam Bettan, whose heart has been shredded by a femme fatale called Michelle, external.
Noam is “dancing with pain” and he’s “trapped in a carousel” (to be fair, that does sound like it’d hurt) and his vocals grow more and more desperate as the song progresses.
With flourishes of Spanish guitar, it’s solidly constructed but fails to connect emotionally.
Finally, we have Ukrainian band Leléka, whose song Ridnym, external without breaking Eurovision rules on neutrality, will resonate with anyone who has lived through a war.
“It’s about a moment in your life when you think everything is over and you feel hopeless,” explains singer Viktoria Leléka.
“But a small, small part of your soul is screaming, ‘No, you want to live and to breathe and to continue, despite everything.”
Delicate and understated, the song incorporates a stunning, 30-second-long high note. I feel breathless just thinking about it.