I hated Jacques Houdek’s ridiculous song in two-thousand-and-thankfully-forgotten. It was bizarre beyond belief that a broadcaster thought that this was a decent shout and the press of Europe (such as it is) made its feelings clear in the pressroom by guffawing.
He’s rehashed that song, and lumped it in Roko’s lap, strapped a pair of wings to this pile of shit and said “Sing that, son”. Roko has talent. He has a voice. He has everything that should have made Jacques go: “Here’s a fine song”, but all he’s got is a shouty gimmick that looks all shades of wrong.
Underneath the layers of angelicness, there is a song, but it’s buried so deep that the televoters will see wings on a singer and switch off. If they listen to the lyric, they’ll find that the Rhyming Dictionary that Malta uses has clearly found its way to Zagreb, and has been deployed in such a way that I want to scratch my eyes out listening to the symphony of shit.
Phil’s score – Nil Points
A good looking lad with a good voice, dressed on white, singing an dated ballad that goes nowhere.
Am I the only one who has a déjà vu to Iceland 2018? – This song should have the same outcome as the one of Iceland-Last in the semi, never to be heard again.