Eurovision Gala

THE long lonely months spent in fidgety expectation are finally over. Draw back the curtains, disconnect the phone and unlock your parents. This is ravishing entertainment for all the family, pets too.

It bothers me how the bustling brains of the record business had previously failed to spot what must be a prime example of profitable, no-risk product.

Watch Christmas stockings get stuffed to bursting point with the joys of Eurovision as the rapidly shifting units propel the item to apex of the album charts, remaining thusly entrenched for many, many moons.

Before lunging at the vinyl, hold yourself back (I know it's hard) and cast a beady eyeball over the liner snaps. Observe Sandie Shaw's prophesy of the current Siuoxsie coiffure, remove lipstick and earring from Massiel to find a ringer for Patti Smith.

Grethe (or is it Jorgen) Ingmann set a toothy, gormless model for Mike Winters, thrill to the existential, carved-in-marble (it seems), profile of Jean-Claude Pascal, retch at the world-beating bad taste in clothes displayed by Brotherhood Of Man.

The very first first placer, Lys Assia, croons through 'Refrain' with a backing sounding uncannily reminiscent of Kid Creole's 'Maladie D'Amour'.

From here until the start of the Sixties, the victorious tunes are surprisingly pleasant, stylishly-strung arrangements, voiced in Euro-tongues: I know not what they're about, which perhaps is just as well.

Champion toon of 1963 unearths the first proof that the twangy guitar had just been discovered although the emerging beat scene is denied acknowledgement until 1965 and France Gall's tantalising mix up of strings, brass and the group sound. No doubt the quintessential Euro pop of the time.

Who needed to be in San Francisco in 1967 when you could stay at home, turn on and tune in to the Eurovision link beaming Sandie Shaw and the timeless elegance of 'Puppet On A String'?

After the best ever Brit-winner proceedings get decidedly thin. Massiel’s ‘La La La’ heralds the advent of the sickening ad infinitum chorus style. Maria Rosa Marco appears to wail “viva el blando” which would sum-up the Seventies selection except for the boldly beatific and madly stunning (especially in this context) production of Abba’s 'Waterloo'.

Not all the funds raised in the selling of this monumental testiment to our musical heritage will fall into the pockets of Polydor. By buying this record you will be, to quote the back cover message of Henrik Beer (yes!), general secretary of the Red Cross, “helping the Red Cross carry out its work for humanity and peace. We thank you for your support.”

Well, thank you Henrik and here's to the next twenty-five years (glasses raised and drained, records flung into the fireplace).