Anti-work anthems, Boy George and controversial lyrics: A guide to all 35 Eurovision songs

The last two Eurovision winners – Switzerland's Nemo and Austria's JJ – both deployed operatic vocal runs in their songs. So, naturally, there's a whole Liszt of copycats in 2026.Best of the bunch is French prodigy Monroe – who, at the age of 17, is this year's youngest entrant.Her song, Regarde!, combines a frenetic string section, glitching drum beats and Queen of the Night vocals in a way that suggests, "Hello, I have listened to the output of Spanish recording artist Rosalía" (this is a compliment).Described as a "celebration of the richness of all of France's musical cultures," it builds to an earth-quaking climax, with stunning live vocals. With the right staging, it looks set for a Top 10 finish.Montenegro's Tamara Živković takes a maximalist approach, plonking a Greek Chorus onto a jack-hammer techno beat on Nova Zora.Co-written by actual opera singer Vesna Aćimović, it's all about women breaking free of gender stereotypes and striding towards a new dawn.Montenegro haven't qualified from the semi-finals since 2015. Could this be the song to break their losing streak?Finally, we have Latvian singer Liene Atvara, whose heart-rending ballad, Ēnā, addresses the lifelong impact of growing up with an alcoholic parent.What's not in doubt is that the song is powerful. Demonic guitar riffs churn under Căpitănescu's raspy vocals, giving the track a thrilling urgency. It's good to have Romania back after their two-year absence.Equally compelling is Swiss star Veronica Fusaro. On the surface, her waltz-time ballad, Alice, seems to be a saccharine tale of love and devotion.Dive deeper, however, and it's a horrific portrayal of abuse, written from the point of view of a stalker - an extra layer that makes a good song great.Uncomplicated bopsGetty ImagesBulgarian entrant DaraSometimes, all we need is an excuse to cut loose and dance. Luckily, Eurovision's here to help.One of my favourites this year is Bulgaria's entry, Bangaranga. Sung by Dara, a proven pop star with a clutch of Top 10 singles, it's brilliantly unhinged and full of sass."I'm an angel, I'm a demon, I'm a psycho for no reason," she sings, channelling my cat's personality over a drum sound that could shatter windows.Titled Ferto ("Bring It"), his song initially seems to be a hymn to fame: "I want glory, eternity, and cash". Then the music falls away and Akylas sings directly to his mum, who raised him single-handedly during Greece's financial crisis."[I'll] make sure we never lack again," he promises. Over in Poland, Alicja does a clever piece of misdirection on her song, Pray.Playing on the title, it opens with a big gospel organ and a massed chorus, before a handbrake turn into lip-smacking rap. Nice idea, but it's a bit of a muddle.Risking death from pore asphyxiation is Lithuania's Lion Ceccah, who performs Sólo Quiero Más (I Just Want More) covered head to toe in silver paint. Sung in six languages, it's themed around the rise of artificial intelligence, and how humans become detached from reality the more they use it.On stage, Lion re-enacts the struggle between man and machine, going from ChatGPT to ChatGP-Free. It's all a bit overwrought for my taste.She goes full Celine Dion on Eclipse, 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 (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."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, 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.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 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.Culturally loaded lyricsEBUCroatian entrants LelekAlbania's Alis has one of the year's most emotional storylines in Nân, a heart-wrenching ballad about a mother waiting desperately for their child to return home.It's a familiar story in his country where, since the fall of communism in 1991, about 40% of the population has emigrated to find a better life. Alis, a former X Factor winner, delivers the song with a sincerity and passion that's hard to match.Croatia delivers a similarly harrowing story on Andromeda.Performed in beautiful close harmonies by ethno-pop quintet Lelek, it discusses the suppression, abduction and forced marriage that Christian women endured in the Ottoman empire, and how they'd protect themselves by tattooing their bodies with symbols of the cross.Portugal's entry, Rosa, is equally gorgeous, highlighting the a capella melodies of cante Alentejano, a musical tradition that arose amongst bull-herders who sang to co-ordinate the movement of their flocks.It's performed by Senhit – a three-time Eurovision entrant, who made headlines in 2021 when she snared Flo Rida to perform on her 22nd-place track Adrenalina.This year, she's enlisted Boy George, who turns up to sing about "all the boys at the bar sipping cool champagne". Sadly, the song has all the fizz of a Capri Sun.A similar problem besets Georgia's On Replay – a generic club track with a tra-la-la chorus.It's a shame because the band behind it, Bzikebi, are Eurovision royalty, who won the junior contest in 2008 with their song Bzzz. They still put on a great show, but this song has no sting.I'm more partial to Per Sempre Sì, a throwback disco song from veteran Italian star Sal Da Vinci.Dedicated to his childhood sweetheart Paola Pugliese, it's a testament to their 34-year marriage. "A love isn't a love for life / If it hasn't faced the steepest climb."It's probably too dated to pick up the requisite votes, but Sal leaves me with a warm glow.Finally, we have Luxembourg's Eva Marija – an accomplished musician who's currently studying songwriting at London's Institute for Contemporary Music PerformanceShe says that when she played her Eurovision entry, Mother Nature, to her classmates last year, "they just hugged me and were like, 'Girl, this is a hit'."An uplifting hymn to the great outdoors, it has shades of Griff and Sigrid in its eco-friendly pop.Kooky concepts and tortured metaphorsORF/Hans LeitnerLast year's winner, Austria, are pinning their hopes on CosmóLanguage is a funny thing. Some Eurovision songs get lost in translation. Others are just odd to begin with.Take Austrian singer Cosmó, a 19-year-old with a blue star painted on his face, whose song Tanzschein literally translates as "dance licence"."You need a dance licence, I have to be strict about that," he declares over a low-slung bass riff. The song compares clubbers to jungle animals, and he's accompanied on stage by gorillas and lions. I think it's about toxic nightlife culture, unless Cosmó's accidentally stumbled into Schönbrunn Zoo?