We’re at the favourite a little earlier this year, it usually happens somewhere around the R’s or the S’s.
And before we get to the over-analysis, it’s worth remembering the moment last year when Israel was called to give its vote in Kyiv. It was a farewell speech, a goodbye to the Contest that the nation on the shore of the Red and Mediterranean seas had enjoyed some success in over the years as their national broadcaster was due to pop out of existence any minute. It was a tad upsetting. Nobody does an ethnic anthem like the Israelis and they’d be a sad loss from the annual line-up.
So anyway, that was 2017. Twelve months on and news of Jerusalem’s demise as far as the Contest was concerned was greatly exaggerated. So much so, they’re in the running to win the whole thing and Tel Aviv 2019 is not a foolish notion.
That’s all because of one woman, Netta Barzilai – and her funky playbox. What this woman can’t do with a vocal looper really needn’t concern us as she storms her way through this beat-laden paean to what any boy who dares take her for granted can do with himself.
With Eurovision no longer anathema to anyone who knows how to write a chart-friendly tune, the standard has shot up so much in recent years that Toy isn’t breaking any new ground in 2018. What’s important though, is how it shakes up alongside the competition in its given year.
Arguably, there’s only Czech Republic which is giving this any trouble on the way past the post. There is such joy, drama, effervescence, attitude and musicality all wrapped up in the kind of package you leave under the Christmas tree until last because it’s simply bristling with the potential to be the biggest treat ever.
There’s only one thing which flattens my falafel. The bit about the chicken clucking is becoming really tedious.
I don’t mean the fact said bock-bocking exists, moreso the way people are reacting to it.
Within the world of the song, it’s an enjoyably onomatopoeic way of explaining the situation and is over and done with swiftly. But, as per – hype has squeezed every last drop out of it until it becomes as unfunny as yet another Lynda Woodruff sketch or Del Boy falling through the bar for the umpteenth time. Then again, that’s probably just me. I hate it when something becomes a thing and people who aren’t funny/witty/interesting latch on to it purely to bathe in its reflective dazzle. It really does make me go all sulky.
There’s always one song the world talks about the day after Eurovision. For this year, it really can’t be anything else but Toy. And it’s going to be for all the right reasons.