PARIS - Over half a century, the singers have changed in style, from brilliantined lounge lizards and bouffant blondes in ballgowns to jailbait teens in hotpants, tranvestites in spandex, heavy-metal rockers in monster masks and even a puppet turkey.
The musical range, though, has been almost immutable, rarely stretching beyond the saccharine ballad and the third chord.
And the lyrical format remains just as constipated: three stanzas and a chorus in cod English, repeated so many times that sensitive listeners may feel a creeping desire to slash their wrists.
For Western Europe's smart set, the Eurovision Song Contest is the nec plus ultra of kitsch, memorable for performances that are not just bad but cringingly, stratospherically, toe-curlingly awful.
A dinner-party favourite is to name one's favourite nul points moment. Was it that Russian performer who was half-woman, half-piano? Was it that British group, dressed in dodgy British Airways uniforms, who sang "Ba-ba-da, Ba-ba-da, Ba-da-da-ba, ba-da, Duty free madam"?
Was it the Austrians who mixed Alpine brass, yodelling and salsa - a formula not tried before and not emulated since?
Against this background, it has been something of a shock for the intelligentsia to see politics, nationalism and satire edging their way into their cosy whine-and-cheese festival.
This year's 54th competition, unfolding in Moscow from May 12-16, has been tinged by fears about Russia's assertiveness, following its brief war with Georgia and a bitter dispute with Ukraine over gas supplies.
A song by a Georgian disco group that appeared to poke fun at Russian leader Vladimir Putin was pulled after the organisers, the European Broadcasting Union, said it infringed rules on political content.
We Don't Wanna Put In, sung by Stephane and 3G, has these lyrics: "We don't wanna put in, Cuz negative move, It's killin' the groove".
The performers last month announced they would boycott the competition and accused the EBU of yielding to Russian pressure, a charge that the organisers deny.
Russia won the right to host the event after winning last year's contest in Belgrade.
The achievement unleashed an orgy of patriotic fervour, led by Putin, former President and now Prime Minister, who named a top aide to stage the 2009 competition and accorded it a lavish budget.
But Moscow's sensitivity has been highlighted by a row over a Eurovision skit on Swedish television that featured gun-toting Russian gangsters, scantily clad dancers with a red star on the butts of their pants, Soviet troops and a chorus of "Do Svidanya, Putin" (Goodbye, Putin).
The Russian Embassy in Stockholm issued an outraged statement, saying the performers were "lunatics whose Russiaphobia should place them in an asylum".
Within Russia itself, there has been a row over the choice of Anastasia Prikhodko, a Ukrainian, to represent the country next month.
Prikhodko will be singing in her native tongue - and the song is written by a Georgian. "A song performed in Ukrainian can't have anything to do with Russia," raged Yusif Prigozhin, who produced the song that placed second. "Why don't we then invite Dynamo Kiev to play for Russia?" he said, referring to the Ukrainian football club.
These sharp emotions show how the young democracies of Eastern Europe do not see Eurovision as a joke, as many in Western Europe do, but as a barometer of national standing and culture.
Yet there is little risk that Eurovision will become an arena of post-modernism where wit will vie with philosophy.
The kitsch quotient is sure to remain high: this year, Germany, for example, is cleaving solidly to the bing-a-bong tradition with an entry called Miss Kiss Kiss Bang.
A wildlife association in the northern German state of Schleswig-Holstein is even capitalising on the contest by staging a Eurovision for amphibians. Fire-bellied toads from Denmark, Germany, Latvia and Sweden will have a croaking contest, telecast over the internet. The "kara-croak-e" competition - aimed at promoting awareness of endangered species - was won last year by a toad from Sweden.
Europe's unique take on the world of song was launched among seven countries of Western Europe in 1956 and expanded over the next three decades. It opened up to the new democracies of Eastern Europe after the fall of the Berlin Wall, opening up charges of "bloc voting" in which neighbouring countries in the Balkans and Caucasus vote for each other.
With the notable exception of ABBA, whose win with Waterloo in 1974 set the band on the path to global success, Eurovision is rarely a launch pad for a career.
Indeed, many established stars view it as a minefield where years of credibility can be wiped out by a low vote.
Eurovision has plans for an Asian version, with competitors from Cambodia, China, Hong Kong, India, Indonesia, Japan, Laos, Macao, Malaysia, Pakistan, Philippines, Singapore, South Korea, Taiwan, Thailand and Vietnam.
Who knows? One day, Australia and New Zealand will join the crooning crowd ...
ALL DRESSED UP BUT HEADING NOWHERE
* This year's is the 54th Eurovision Song Contest. The first was held in in Switzerland in 1956.
* Abba is the most successful contest winner. The Swedish pop band won the contest in 1974.
* Most winning songs (22) have been performed in, or have been performed mostly in, English. Next is French with 14 winning songs.
* Ireland has won 7 times, Luxembourg, France and Britain 5 times, and Sweden and the Netherlands 4 times each.
* Last year, a record number of 42 countries participated.
* Organisers estimate 100 million people watch every year.
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