Eurovision 2026 Reviews: Part 5

Another week, another batch of Eurovision 2026 song reviews! You can find the previous instalments in this series here. I really must get on with it if I want to finish discussing this year's entries before the shows themselves, so without any further ado, let's have a look at Czechia, Denmark, Georgia, Serbia and Switzerland.

Serbia: Lavina – “Kraj mene”

Last year, Serbia earned its worst-ever result at the Eurovision Song Contest. Despite being one of my favourites in the 2025 line-up, Princ failed to qualify for the final with “Mila”, finishing fourteenth out of sixteen in the semi-final. Hoping to do a bit better in Vienna will be Lavina, who are representing Serbia this year with “Kraj mene”. It’s certainly one of the more unconventional entries in this year’s competition, blending progressive metal with a melodramatic emotional core. The song feels ambitious, but I think it’s the sort of package that could be received very differently in different contexts. The studio version is tightly constructed, combining heavy guitar riffs with more atmospheric passages. Its progressive metal identity is clear, but it avoids becoming fully abrasive, instead leaning into a polished, almost cinematic soundscape. This balance makes it accessible by metal standards, though it may still alienate mainstream Eurovision viewers. The production is clean and deliberate, but arguably somewhat restrained – I have a sense that the track is holding back from reaching the full intensity its genre could allow. As a result, it feels a bit compressed, almost like it’s never quite getting to the point – this is particularly noticeable in the climax, where the emotional and sonic payoff never quite matches the build-up. Lyrically, the song explores unrequited love and emotional dependency, centring a narrator clinging to a relationship that is clearly deteriorating. Lines such as “this one-sided love still breaks me inside” encapsulate its central theme of internal conflict and self-inflicted pain. The decision to perform in Serbian adds authenticity and emotional weight, especially given that the song was originally written in English but adapted to better convey nuance. However, the lyrics themselves are not particularly original: the imagery of longing, silence and imbalance in love is familiar territory. What elevates them is delivery rather than content – there is a rawness that aligns well with the band’s aesthetic, even if the writing occasionally veers into cliché.

The official music video reinforces the song’s dark tone with a dark, brooding visual style, typical of modern metal acts. It emphasises performance over narrative, focussing on the band’s intensity rather than telling a clear story. Whilst this suits the genre, it limits the video’s memorability in a Eurovision context, where conceptual or symbolic storytelling often stands out more. Visually, it is competent but not distinctive; it serves the song rather than expanding its meaning. In contrast, the national final performance at Pesma za Evroviziju arguably elevated the material. The live setting allows the band to lean into the raw energy that the studio version only hints at. Vocally, the performance is solid if not flawless, and the staging emphasises atmosphere over spectacle. Audience and jury support were strong enough to secure victory, suggesting that the emotional immediacy translated effectively on the night. Fan reactions have also indicated that the song tends to resonate more live than in its studio form, with many noting that the package feels more authentic in performance. That said, the staging may risk appearing static compared to more visually dynamic competitors. Serbia’s Eurovision prospects this year are difficult to gauge. The song’s distinct genre gives it a clear identity in a crowded field, and Eurovision has always rewarded authenticity and diversity. Yet on the other hand, metal remains a niche within the contest, and jury appeal may be limited. Qualification from the semi-final seems likely, particularly if the live performance maintains its intensity, though I think this will largely be driven by strong televote support. In the final, I expect this to end up somewhere on the right-hand side: a top-tier finish would likely require a broader visual or emotional hook, but with a favourable draw and if the stars align, this could yet surprise.

Overall, “Kraj mene” is a bold entry, one that I respect for putting artistic integrity before mass appeal. Its strengths lie in atmosphere and authenticity, whilst its weaknesses stem from limited lyrical originality and a restrained studio execution. I don’t know whether that trade-off will pay off on the Eurovision stage.

My Score: 4.5

Czechia: Daniel Žižka – “Crossroads”

Czechia has been a bit unlucky in Eurovision over the last couple of years. In 2024, Aiko narrowly missed out on qualification with “Pedestal”, and last year, despite being seen as a fan favourite and likely finalist, Adonxs also failed to make it to Saturday night. This year’s Czech entry, “Crossroads” by Daniel Žižka, is a carefully crafted showcase for a young artist who stands somewhere between indie and mainstream. At just twenty-three years old, Daniel has already built a profile as a singer-songwriter and actor, with a reputation for technically refined, emotionally driven vocals. This background is crucial – “Crossroads”, to me, feels less like a spontaneous pop release than a calculated artistic statement, one that puts craft and vocal discipline above all else. The studio version of “Crossroads” is a contemporary pop ballad, similar to many introspective, slow-burning Eurovision entries. It has been compared to “Arcade” by Duncan Laurence, or either of Gjon’s Tears’ entries, and this resemblance is evident in its gradual build and emphasis on atmosphere over hooks. The production is restrained – piano-led in the opening, later swelling with layered instrumentation and percussion – designed to support a lead vocal that moves from fragile introspection to full-throttle intensity. This dynamic progression is effective, though not entirely original; the structure feels almost template-driven, hitting expected emotional beats without surprising the listener. Where the song succeeds is in its vocal arrangement: Daniel’s control and tonal clarity carry the track, especially in the climatic final minute. Lyrically, “Crossroads” aims high, with themes of self-discovery, uncertainty and the anxiety of navigating adulthood, using the title as a central metaphor. Lines referencing being “lost without a map” or trapped in a “spider web” of choices evoke a sense of existential overwhelm. There are also hints of broader commentary – environmental and societal – woven into the imagery. However, the lyrics are a double-edged sword. Whilst undeniably ambitious and poetic, they occasionally veer into abstraction at the expense of clarity. Some listeners may find them evocative, though others may struggle to grasp a coherent narrative. This tension between depth and accessibility is one of the song’s defining characteristics, and probably one of its biggest weaknesses in a competitive environment.

The official music video leans into the song’s introspective tone, favouring moody, cinematic visuals over narrative development. It reinforces the themes of isolation and contemplation, often placing Daniel in stark, symbolic environments. The aesthetic is polished and consistent with contemporary indie-pop visuals, but it rarely pushes beyond familiar visual tropes. As a result, in my view, it complements the song effectively without significantly enhancing the impact of the package. The live performance is likely to be critical for “Crossroads”. What we have seen so far suggests that Daniel’s vocal delivery translates well to the stage, with some fans praising his technical precision and ability to create an atmosphere. At the same time, I would be concerned about the song’s televote appeal; its subtle build and lack of an immediate hook may mean that casual viewers struggle to connect with it on a first listen. This puzzle is familiar in Eurovision, and “Crossroads” sits squarely within the category of jury-friendly but with potentially limited televote support. In terms of competitive prospects, I think this song is a reasonably likely qualifier with juries back in the semi-finals, and Czechia is potentially on course for a respectable final placement this year. Bookmakers have ranked the song within the top tier of entries, though not among the outright favourites. Its success will likely depend heavily on the staging: a visually compelling performance could elevate the song’s emotional impact, whilst a more static presentation may expose some of the predictability within its structure.

In summary, “Crossroads” is a polished and vocally impressive entry that demonstrates Daniel Žižka’s artistic potential. Yet it is also a song that prioritises mood and meaning over immediacy, which may limit its broader appeal. It stands at a crossroads of its own: admired for its craftsmanship, but needing a moment of transcendence to truly resonate on the Eurovision stage.

My Score: 5.5

Switzerland: Veronica Fusaro – “Alice”

Veronica Fusaro’s “Alice” is an unusually dark and concept-driven entry in this year’s field, blending indie rock textures with a narrative that is more unsettling than immediately accessible. Whilst the artistic ambition is clear, the song’s effect is a bit less obvious at this point. The studio version leans into a hybrid of alternative pop and bluesy rock, opening with a deceptively gentle, almost waltz-like rhythm before expanding into heavier guitar-driven sections. This structural contrast is one of the song’s strongest musical ideas: it mirrors the tension between surface-level intimacy and underlying menace. The production is polished but not overly glossy, allowing a slightly gritty groove to carry the track forward. However, the melody itself is not quite as immediately memorable as many other Eurovision entries. Whilst the arrangement involves in a way that is definitely intriguing, it does at times feel busy, and lacks a hook that lingers after the first listen. In that sense, the song prioritises atmosphere and narrative over instant appeal. The lyrics of “Alice” are one of the song’s most distinctive components. Written from the perspective of an obsessive, controlling figure, the song explores themes of psychological abuse and coercion. Lines such as “I know you really, really love me, don’t lie” present a chilling contrast between affectionate language and manipulative intent. The decision to silence the titular character – who never speaks – reinforces the theme of erased agency. This conceptual approach is undeniably compelling, but it also creates a barrier: casual listeners may misinterpret the lyrics as romantic rather than critical, or miss the nuance entirely. The storytelling is sophisticated, but arguably too subtle for a competition that often rewards clarity and immediacy above all else.

The song’s music video reinforces these themes through a wedding narrative. The imagery of a bride subjected to controlling and humiliating behaviour – culminating in symbolic moments like the cake-smearing – effectively presents the central idea of abuse hidden beneath ritual and celebration. The final scene, in which Veronica embraces the bride by a lake, does introduce a moment of ambiguity: it can be read as solidarity, escape or even a queer reinterpretation of the relationship. This layered symbolism elevates the song artistically, though again I fear it risks being too interpretive for viewers expecting a more direct storyline. The live performance of “Alice” is, in my opinion, likely to be what makes or breaks it. Veronica is a confident and controlled vocalist, and her experience as a live performer contributes to the song’s sense of authenticity and pacing. The track’s dynamic build – from restrained verses to more forceful choruses – offers opportunities for impactful staging. However, translating its subtle psychological narrative onto the Eurovision stage will be a challenge. Without clear visual storytelling, the performance could feel emotionally muted or confusing, especially compared to more immediate, spectacle-driven entries. This is one of the entries I’m finding it harder to predict an outcome for this year. It is original and thematically deep, both qualities which should help it stand out in the semi-final, and juries may appreciate its songwriting and vocal delivery. However, the lack of a strong, instantly memorable chorus and the package’s complex narrative could limit its televote appeal. Various fans have noted that the song may struggle in a competitive environment, potentially feeling overcomplicated or insufficiently impactful in a single viewing.

To conclude, “Alice” is an artistically ambitious and thematically rich entry that prioritises storytelling and atmosphere over accessibility. It succeeds as a piece of recorded music and visual art, but its Eurovision fate will depend heavily on whether its subtlety can be effectively communicated on the night.

My Score: 6.5

Denmark: Søren Torpegaard Lund – “Før vi går hjem”

Denmark has struggled at Eurovision in the recent past. For four consecutive years, the country failed to make it through to the grand final, with Sissal being the first Danish artist to perform on Saturday night since Leonora in 2019. This year has given us “Før vi går hjem” by Søren Torpegaard Lund – one of Denmark’s more contemporary offerings of late: sleek, emotionally charged and carefully designed to be a full package rather than just a standalone track. The song combines modern pop elements with an intimate, late-night atmosphere. In its studio form, it’s above all polished and radio friendly. Built around pulsing electronic production and a gradual build, it leans into a restrained, almost hypnotic energy rather than opting for an explosive chorus. The production gives the song a glossy, Scandinavian pop feel, with subtle club influences that never fully tip into dancefloor euphoria. Instead, it maintains tension – mirroring the song’s emotional core. Whilst this makes it sonically cohesive, it does, in my opinion, feel slightly understated on first listen, especially compared to more hook-based Eurovision entries. Lyrically, “Før vi går hjem” thrives on emotional contradiction. Lines such as “kiss me, take my heart and break it again” capture a push-pull dynamic between desire and self-awareness. The narrative centres on surrendering to a fleeting but intense connection, fully aware that regret will follow in the morning. This tension between logic and impulse is one of the song’s strongest assets. As the lyrics suggest, it explores desire, vulnerability and the struggle between pleasure and consequence set against a vivid nightlife backdrop. The decision to keep the song in Danish adds authenticity and intimacy, even if it does slightly limit the immediate accessibility factor for non-Scandinavian audiences.

The music video complements this mood effectively, leaning into neon-lit visuals and a sense of nocturnal escapism. Whilst not radically innovative, it reinforces the song’s aesthetic close-up shots, shadowy environments and a focus on physical and emotional proximity. It feels cohesive with the track’s atmosphere, though arguably more functional than memorable – it enhances rather than elevates the song. Where the entry truly came alive, however, was on stage at Dansk Melodi Grand Prix, the Danish national selection for Eurovision. The staging there transformed the song from a subtle studio piece into something far more dynamic. The performance featured strong choreography, symbolic staging (including separation and eventual immersion into the action) and a clear visual narrative that mirrors the lyrical themes of temptation and surrender. It was convincing enough to win both the jury and public votes decisively. Fans have commented on how the live version serves to elevate the package – some viewers found it far more impactful than the studio cut, praising the cohesion between visuals, vocals and storytelling, though of course there is the key question of whether it will resonate as strongly with casual viewers. This leads us quite nicely to the ultimate question: how will this song perform at Eurovision? On paper, Denmark has a competitive entry this year. The song has had chart success domestically and sits among the pre-contest favourites. Its strengths lie in its modern production, artistic cohesion and a performance concept that feels intentional rather than gimmicky. However, its relative subtlety could prove to be a double-edged sword. Eurovision audiences often reward a level of immediacy that I don’t think “Før vi går hjem” quite manages to achieve on the first listen. It may require more than one chance to fully connect. Much will depend on whether the staging translates effectively to the much larger Eurovision stage and whether Søren’s charisma radiates on the night.

Ultimately, “Før vi går hjem” is a stylish, emotionally intelligent entry that puts atmosphere ahead of instant impact. If executed perfectly, it has clear top ten potential – and possibly more. But in a competition driven by first impressions, its success will hinge on whether that quiet intensity can cut through the noise “before we go home”.

My Score: 8.5

Georgia: Bzikebi – “On Replay”

Eighteen years ago, three Georgian children took to the stage at the Junior Eurovision Song Contest dressed as wasps, and took home the trophy with the eccentric, nonsense-driven “Bzz…” Those children were Bzikebi, and, now adults, they are returning to represent Georgia at ‘big’ Eurovision this year – a rare trajectory that invites both nostalgia and scrutiny, and means that their entry “On Replay” arrives with a layer of built-in intrigue. This comeback single attempts to bridge the gap from 2008 to 2026 with a polished, contemporary pop sound, though the results are perhaps mixed. The studio version of “On Replay” is an energetic electro-pop track built around a brisk tempo and a glossy, club-ready production style. Giga Kukhianidze – a prolific figure in several Georgian Junior Eurovision successes – is handling the composition and production, and his fingerprints are clear: tight structuring, prominent hooks and a willingness to rapidly shift between musical ideas. The song cycles through multiple sections – verse, pre-chorus, chorus and bridge – with noticeable transitions that keep it dynamic, if occasionally fragmented. Whilst the beat is undeniably catchy and engineered for instant recall, it also leans towards a formulaic EDM-pop template that lacks a distinctive sonic identity. Compared to the quirky originality of Bzikebi’s 2008 entry, this feels comparatively safe. The weakest component of “On Replay” is arguably its lyrics. Lines like “Step left, step right / Neon lights, they ignite” and the repetitive “Keep me on replay, okay” chorus emphasise rhythm and memorability over depth. There are hints at broader themes – self-expression, defiance, even a vague resistance to artificiality (“Can’t digitise our thunder, no code, no clone”) – but these ideas never feel like a clear coherent narrative. The result is a patchwork of club imagery and abstract empowerment slogans. This ambiguity could be interpreted as stylistic looseness, yet it more often reads as underdeveloped songwriting. The heavy reliance on “la-la-la” refrains, whilst effective for audience participation, reinforces the sense that lyrical substance has been sacrificed for immediacy.

The official music video complements the song’s aesthetic with a neon-lit, performance-focussed concept. Visually, it leans into sleek choreography and stylised lighting, evoking a club or digital nightlife environment. The trio present themselves confidently, shedding their childhood novelty image in favour of a more mature, polished identity. However, the video does little to expand the song’s themes; it functions more as a visual extension of the beat than as a narrative or conceptual enhancement. Whilst visually competent, it lacks a standout moment or memorable motif that might elevate the overall package. From a Eurovision perspective, “On Replay” sits in a crowded field of upbeat pop entries. The strengths of the package lie in its immediacy: the hook is easy to grasp, the rhythm is danceable and the performance potential is high, However, its weaknesses – particularly the unfocussed lyrics and somewhat generic production – could limit its impact, especially with the juries. Early indications have suggested that it may struggle to stand out among more distinctive or emotionally resonated competitors. Qualification from the semi-final is definitely plausible, but a top-tier finish seems out of reach for Georgia without a particularly compelling live staging.

To sum up, “On Replay” is a competent yet unremarkable return for Bzikebi. It demonstrates professionalism and a clear understanding of modern pop trends, but falls short of delivering the originality or emotional resonance needed to truly stand out. As a comeback, it reintroduces the group effectively – but as a Eurovision contender, it risks being memorable only in passing, rather than on repeat.

My Score: 7.5