The 2025 Eurovision Song Contest pops its cork on Sunday, with a "turquoise carpet" parade featuring competitors from all 37 nations.
But the competition really begins on Tuesday, when the first semi-final will see five countries unceremoniously kicked out.
Another six will lose their place at the second semi-final on Thursday, before the Grand Final takes place in Basel, Switzerland, on Saturday, 17 May.
This year's entrants include two returning contestants, one professional opera singer, a thinly veiled allusion to sexual emissions and a dance anthem about a dead space dog.
It's a lot to take in.
To help you prepare, here's a guide to all 37 songs in the contest, which I've sorted into rough musical categories, mainly for my own sanity (it didn't work).
Left-field pop bangers
Win or lose, UK contestants Remember Monday have given headline writers a gift with the title of their entry: What The Hell Just Happened?
A souped-up, full throttle pop anthem, it cherry-picks the best bits of Queen, Andrew Lloyd Webber and the Beatles, presumably to remind voters of Britain's rich musical heritage.
With eight tempo changes, it could prove tricky for voters to grasp, but the band's stellar harmonies and sparkling personalities should carry them through.
Crucially, the song avoids the Eurovision cliches of jackhammer dance anthems and windswept balladry – something Remember Monday have in common with this year's favourites.
Sweating it out at the top are Swedish representatives KAJ, whose song Bara Bada Bastu is an ode to the restorative powers of the sauna, complete with dancers in skimpy towels.
Unreasonably catchy, it's won the approval of Abba's Bjorn Ulvaeus, whose been singing the track in his own private sauna. As you do.
Stiff competition comes from Austrian singer JJ, and his operatic ballad Wasted Love.
A timeworn story of unrequited love, it leans on his training as a counter-tenor, before exploding into an unexpected techno breakdown.
A favourite with the bookies, the song's only Achilles heel is its similarity to last year's winner, Nemo.
Distinctive in a different way is Ireland's entry, Laika Party – a 90s trance-pop anthem about a dog who was sent to space by Russia and left to die there.
Singer Emmy aims for a hopeful spin on a tragic story but, despite a peppy performance, it's a bit of a downer.
More palatable is Luxembourg's Laura Thorn, whose La Poupée Monte Le Son is a callback to France Gall's 1965 winning entry, Poupée De Cire, Poupée De Son.
Where the original was about a "fashion doll" operated by songwriter Serge Gainsbourg, Thorn's response is all about taking control.
"," she scolds. Yeouch.
Other countries sucking up to Italy
Rome must be blushing. This year features not one, but two, songs about the vibrant culture of Il Bel Paese.
The first comes, not surprisingly, from San Marino – the independent microstate that nestles inside north-central Italy.
Titled Tutta L'Italia, it celebrates everything from the county's football team and its vineyards, to the Mona Lisa (under her Italian name Gioconda).
Written by Gabry Ponte – one of the brains behind Eiffel 65's Blue (Da Ba Dee) – it's a slight, but fun, mixture of dance beats, traditional accordion playing and the folk dances of Calabria.
The staging could be its downfall, though, with Gabry marooned behind his DJ decks while the singers, who for some reason wish to remain anonymous, obscure their faces with masks.
More memorable, but definitely more unhinged, is Estonia's Espresso Macchiato.
Performed by Tommy Cash (the only Eurovision contestant to have appeared on a Charli XCX record) it's an affectionate-ish caricature of Italian stereotypes, featuring the indelible lyric: "".
Smut!
I'm trying to give up sexual innuendo, but Eurovision is making it har… difficult.
A trio of artists are trying to sneak smut past the censors, led by Malta's Miriana Conte, with a throbbing club track called Serving.
In its original form, the song's chorus revolved around the phrase "serving kant" – the word kant being Maltese for "singing" and a homophone for an English term that definitely mean singing.
It's a reference to a well-known phrase in the drag / ballroom world; but several countries complained it broke broadcasting guidelines, prompting a hasty re-write.
If the stunt was meant to generate headlines it worked, but now that Miriana has our attention, she's not letting go.
Her performance, featuring a giant disco ball pursed between two red lips, is gloriously OTT, and she has an enviable set of pipes. Too bad the song is riddled with Europop cliche.
