Eurovision 2025: Ireland's entry Emmy fails to make it to Saturday's grand final
Ireland's Eurovision 2025 entry has failed to make it into Saturday's grand final in Basle, Switzerland.
It was a nail biting finish for Emmy, the 24-year-old Norway-born singer, who performed the song Laika Party for Ireland in the second semi-final of the competition on Thursday night.
The three-minute song, a manifestation of wishful thinking, was written by Emmy Kristine Guttulsrud Kristiansen (aka Emmy), her brother Erlend Guttulsrud Kristiansen, Henrik Østlund, Larissa Tormey and Truls Marius Aarra.
It is about a Soviet dog who was sent into space and became the first living being to orbit the Earth back in 1957. Although Laika's voyage ended tragically, when she succumbed to overheating and stress after 10 days, Emmy and her writing team decided to spin a tail with a happier twist.
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'I hope Laika never died and that she spins around us still / And that she has a party in the air and always will / I hope that she is dancing every night among the stars / I hope Laika is alive.'
She performed dressed in space armour and a silver skater skirt in front of a fetching pink and turquoise colour scheme topped off with cosmic graphics.
Emmy representing Ireland with the song Laika Party during the second semi-final of the Eurovision 2025. Photograph: Fabrice Coffrini/AFP via Getty Images
Emmy had hoped to replicate Bambie Thug, who last year in Sweden became the first Irish entrant to make the final since Ryan O'Shaughnessy in Lisbon seven years ago.
However, matters took a downward turn when the results of the public vote were announced, with Ireland one of six entries that failed to make it to the next stage, with Australia, Montenegro, Georgia, Czechia and Bosnia also missing out.
Emmy representing Ireland during Eurovision Song 2025 in Basle, Swtzerland. Photograph: Andres Poveda
Since the semi-final format was introduced Ireland has failed to qualify for the final 12 times and got through on seven occasions.
Twenty songs, 10 from Tuesday night's first semi-final and 10 from Thursday's second, have been chosen to join the 'big five' countries – France, Germany, Italy, Spain and the UK – as well as reigning champion Switzerland, in Saturday's final.
The countries that qualified from Thursday's show, replete with bright lights and eye-popping costumes, were Lithuania, Israel, Armenia, Denmark, Austria, Luxembourg, Finland, Latvia, Malta and Greece.
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Irish Times
5 hours ago
- Irish Times
CMAT: ‘Ireland is a really hard place to live unless you have money, which we didn't'
Ciara Mary-Alice Thompson, or CMAT as she's professionally known, says she can clearly remember writing the song that changed her life. She was 22 and having moved from Ireland to Manchester, was working in TK Maxx and, at the weekends, as what she's fond of calling a 'sexy shots girl': 'Cash in hand, £8 an hour, 11pm to 3am, teetering up and down the stairs of a nightclub in the building where Joy Division shot the video for Love Will Tear Us Apart with a tray of Jägermeister shots they'd put a bit of dry ice in – burned your skin if you got it on your hands – selling them for £3 each. Terrible job. And just getting absolutely stoned out of my bin all the time, doing whatever drugs anyone would give me for free. I had absolutely no friends.' An attempt to get her musical career off the ground, 'trying to make hyperpop because I loved Charli XCX so much', had come to nothing. She had just broken up with her 'old, weird' boyfriend and was 'completely alone in a flat in Chorlton, thinking: 'What have I done?' I got really, really, really upset. I kind of looked at myself in the mirror ...' She lets out a snort of laughter. 'I feel like there's so many film scenes where people write songs and I'm like, 'that didn't f**king happen like that', but this one did. So I'm crying, grabbed my guitar and wrote I Wanna Be a Cowboy, Baby! in like 20 minutes. And that was that. I thought: 'I know what I need to do now.'' A couple of years later, I Wanna Be a Cowboy, Baby! was one of a trio of smart, witty, country-inflected songs that catapulted Thompson to lockdown-era fame in her native Ireland, turning her into what she calls 'a big fat pop star' in a matter of months. Her debut album, If My Wife New I'd Be Dead , entered the Irish charts at No 1, its success spreading to the UK, Europe, Australia and the US. Her second, Crazymad, for Me , featured a duet with John Grant and was nominated for an Ivor Novello award and the Mercury prize . Success all happened 'purely because I've got better at writing songs', and came surprisingly easily, she says. 'Whenever someone's like, 'Oh, is it really difficult?' There's parts of it that are difficult, but in general, I'm just like 'This is class, no issue at all. This is great.'' CMAT on Later with Jools Holland. Photograph:BBC Studios / Michael Leckie There's no doubt that CMAT is a fantastic pop star, and you can see why Sam Fender has her opening for him in a series of stadiums. Arriving at her record company offices direct from a photo shoot, she looks extraordinary. Her clothes are a riot of bright clashing colours, her enormous sunglasses initially hide eyes thick with glittering blue make-up: she manages to exude a certain chaotic glamour while eating a pasty as a late lunch. READ MORE She is incredibly forthright on a huge range of topics. She stands up for trans rights – 'If you think of social media as like a video game, you rack up the spoils really high when you decide to go for a group of people who are already at risk' – and confronts the culture of wellness and self-improvement or, as she calls it, 'the rise-and-grind ethic which is making people insane and making them unable to communicate with other people because they're so obsessed with focusing on themselves'. Sometimes she's too forthright for her mum, though: a recent appearance on Adam Buxton's podcast provoked a dressing down. 'She told me it made her cringe: 'That lovely posh Englishman, so well spoken, and you calling yourself a c**t the whole interview. And you're not a c**t, you're lovely.'' And yet, she concedes there has been a significant downside to her breakthrough. 'The kind of head space that good songs come from is one of extreme emotion, extreme depth of feeling,' she says, 'which has an impact on my life. I do live in that really heightened state of emotion all the time. I'm crazy and I do crazy things, and I have crazy relationships with people.' She doesn't mean crazy as in wild or outrageous, she qualifies. She means crazy as in authentically unwell, or – as she puts it with characteristic bluntness – 'mental'. Now 29, Thompson, thinks she has always suffered from auditory hallucinations, but during the making of her third album, 'I started actually hallucinating. I was in New York, writing. I didn't realise for the first two months that was what was happening, but I basically imagined the entire apartment I was staying in was crawling with insects, that I had insects crawling on my skin all the time. I was calling the landlord, letting off bug bombs, I made them throw the couch out because I thought it was covered in fleas. I was itching all the time. I was texting a group chat of friends, sending them pictures of all the bug bites on me: New York's disgusting, full of insects. And they didn't exist. I went to the doctor and showed him my bites and he said: 'Those are stress hives; you're mental.'' (Possibly not an exact diagnosis.) 'I was hallucinating the whole time.' For that reason, she worries that songwriting might not be a sustainable occupation for that reason, or that taking medication might cause the flow of songs to stop. But whatever the pains staked in writing its contents, her new album is superb. It pushes at the boundaries of her previous work's sound: into synth-heavy territory on the title track, pop soul on Running/Planning and distorted alt-rock on The Jamie Oliver Petrol Station, a song during which the constant sight of the TV chef's face in Britain's motorway services seems to bring about an existential collapse in the mid-tour CMAT. CMAT on stage at Fairview Park ,Dublin, last year. Photograph: Tom Honan It arrives in a sleeve featuring its title, Euro-Country, written in the kind of script beloved of Irish-themed pubs, above an exceptionally striking photo based on Jean-Léon Gérôme's 1896 painting Truth Coming Out of Her Well. It features Thompson emerging from a fountain in the middle of a shopping centre near her hometown of Dunboyne, Co Meath . She was born in Dublin . 'Blanchardstown shopping centre,' she says. 'For the first 10, 11 years of my life, it was like my local village. My sister, who lives in Blanch now, goes to the shopping centre every day. You drive there if you want to see other people and then you drive back home again and live in your house by yourself.' That's the reality of much of Irish life, she says. 'There's a kind of space that Ireland is occupying in western media culture right now, a little more fetishised and trendy than it's ever been. Americans think it's cute; English people are like, 'Ooh, I love Guinness and Kneecap and The Banshees of Inisherin , and I'm getting my Irish passport and mmm, I love potato farl.' People talking about Hozier like he's a magical, delicate fairy from the bog. It's a romanticised version of Ireland that doesn't exist. It's a really hard place to live, a really hard place to grow up, unless you have money, which we didn't. So yeah, magical, beautiful, mystical Ireland: it's a shopping centre, that's what I grew up with. A shopping centre.' I'm aware of the fact that my career is going to struggle as a result of this stuff, but I also think everyone else in music needs a kick up the hole Ireland's recent history suffuses Euro-Country, which features vocals in Irish, songs called Billy Byrne from Ballybrack, the Leader of the Pigeon Convoy and Tree Six Foive and a title track that she describes as 'a collage, a mood board' about the financial crisis that engulfed the country in 2008. 'I was about 12 and it all happened around me, it didn't really happen to my family directly,' she says. 'My dad had a job in computers, we didn't really have any money, we weren't affluent, but we were fine. Everybody else on the estate we lived in worked in construction, or in shops, and they all lost their jobs. Everybody became unemployed. Then, in the village I grew up in, there was a year or 18 months where loads of the people I went to school with, their dads started killing themselves because they'd lost everything in the crash.' Initially, Thompson thought she must have misremembered this. 'But I dug deep, did research and the amount of male suicides that happened in Ireland at that time was astronomical. When I hit secondary school, teenage boys started killing themselves as well; that was very common where I grew up. I think it was a kind of chain reaction as a result of the economic downturn. I'm not blaming anyone – no one ever purposely tries to cause that much harm. It's trying to get all this stuff together and think: 'Why did all this happen and how do we stop it from happening again?' I don't have the answer but I think we all need to keep looking at it and really f**king try to hound ourselves into a position where we're not just thinking about monetary gain all the time.' Euro-Country is a noticeably more political album than its predecessors, which tended to focus on relationships and the chaos of her personal life. Thompson says she couldn't really see anyone else in her position doing it, so decided to take it on. 'No one is dealing with capitalism as a force for bad, this really f**king horrible putrefied version of capitalism which has absolutely had a line of coke up its f**king hole since Covid, where the richest people in the world are so much richer than they used to be five years ago,' she says. 'Pop stars won't come out and say that because they'll be absolutely shot for it, because they've all done brand deals: 'Oh, I love my Dove moisturiser.'' [ CMAT in Dublin: A night of real emotion in one of the best gigs of the year Opens in new window ] Thompson was one of a number of artists to pull out of Latitude and other festivals over sponsor Barclays providing financial services to defence companies supplying Israel . She says that as soon as she removed herself from the line-up, an upcoming deal with a designer perfume brand disappeared. 'They ghosted me. I lost a lot of money. But who f**king cares? I'm aware of the fact that my career is going to struggle as a result of this stuff, but I also think everyone else in music needs a kick up the hole. Where's all the f**king artists? Where's all the f**king hippies?' Of course, another reason why musicians might feel abashed about mentioning politics is fear of a social media backlash, something Thompson knows all about. Last year, an Instagram video of her performing at BBC Radio 1's Big Weekend festival attracted so much abuse – largely directed at her weight – that the BBC was forced to disable comments. She laughed it off at the time, suggesting she should be imprisoned for the crime of 'having a big fat ass', but returns to the subject on her current single, Take a Sexy Picture of Me (it has turned into that rarest of things: a song about body shaming that has provoked a TikTok dance trend, with it-girl Julia Fox and Chicken Shop Date host Amelia Dimoldenberg participating). 'Prior to moving over to the UK I would never have thought I was plus size,' she says. 'And then I started working with fashion directors in London for photoshoots and started hearing: 'Wow, you're so lucky I collect plus-size Mugler because no one else will be able to dress you.' I thought: what are you talking about? I'm a size 14! I thought everyone was this size! Why are you being so weird? But truth be told, if someone on the internet calls me a big fat ugly bitch, I'm like 'yeah, whatever', I don't f**king care. But I started realising that other people were witnessing it and other girls, young girls, were witnessing this happening to me on a f**king huge scale – what must they think of that? How is it going to make them feel, particularly if they're bigger than me?' She brings it back to commerce. 'In day-to-day real life, if you think being fat will stop people from ever wanting to have sex with you, let me tell you that is not the case in such an extreme way. I've seen the girlies out there doing unbelievably well for themselves, right? But [because] fatness is not commercially viable, it's not in the realm of commercial attractiveness.' Online, she says, the body image discourse brings out 'weak-willed, spineless people who have been brutalised by commercial viability, criticising someone for not falling within the realms of what is easily sellable'. [ CMAT on launching her second album: 'This has been the great joy of my life to be able to do this' Opens in new window ] Thompson says she is aware that the political bent of Euro-Country is a big ask of audiences in 2025, when pop seems to largely function as a means of temporary escape from a terrifying world. 'It can be read as incredibly cringe and incredibly earnest and on the nose, right? It's an embarrassing thing for me to be asking of people. Because it's not trendy to be earnest any more. I'm aware of that, and ...' She laughs again. 'Actually I don't care. I don't care if I'm putting my foot in it, I don't care if I'm saying something wrong. We've all been too measured, too careful because we're being witnessed all the time. I think we need more willingness to fail. Even if it's futile, you've got to f**king try. Because it's f**king depressing otherwise.' – The Guardian Euro-Country is released via CMATBaby and Awal on August 29th
Irish Times
10 hours ago
- Irish Times
Timing of Hell for Leather ideal as viewers reminded why Gaelic football is GAA's code with furthest reach
Midway through the first episode of Hell for Leather, RTÉ's elegant five-part series on the history and nature of Gaelic football, we see a clip of a young boy at some kind of GAA family fun day. With his face painted like a lion, he embarks on a hectic solo run. He chips the ball over the head of the first defender and closes his eyes as he catches it on the bounce. Then tries a toe-to-hand that flies up above his head, but he keeps running, improvising as he goes, like jazz. The camera never loses sight of the boy's enraptured face and, in the slow-motion sequence, every movement he makes with the ball is uninhibited. His relationship with the game has yet to be polluted by systems and strategies and all the paraphernalia of risk management that, until recently, threatened to destroy Gaelic football. The clip is underlaid by interview footage from Juliet Murphy, the eight-time All-Ireland winner with Cork . 'With football, the skills are bunúsach ( basic),' she says, 'but they're beautiful in motion.' The opening episode focuses on football's roots. Bundled up with that are childhood memories and first feelings. Brian Fenton, one of the greatest players of the modern era, talks about knocking the pebble dash off the gable end of his family home in Dublin , in the simple act of kicking and catching. But then he talks about grown-up football trespassing on the innocence of that relationship. READ MORE 'Playing the game as a child, this is the game you love and this is all you know,' he said. 'As things got more serious – and at that elite level – you kind of lose sight of that beautiful game you played as a kid. In many ways, some of our best games were when you strip everything back and the team talk is just, 'this is the game you've played all your life. Just go out and play the game you love. Go out and play it as if you're a child again'.' A little later in the piece, Jack McCaffrey, one of Fenton's teammates on the Dublin six-in-a-row team , addressed the same theme. 'A Gaelic football match is 70-plus minutes,' he said. 'For the majority of it, you're just working like a dog. And the fact of the matter is, it's not enjoyable. But getting a ball in my hand, looking up and thinking 'let's go' – that's exciting.' The feeling that McCaffrey describes was captured by the boy with the lion painted on his face. At so many levels of the game, not just at the highest level, Gaelic football had lost contact with that feeling. It had become a fearful game of percentages and safe passing and suppressed imagination. Everybody was indentured to a plan that reduced the possibility of losing. For many teams, winning could only be considered after not losing was mastered. This philosophy had left the game in a bad state. Football is inherently more portable than hurling and more accessible The timing of Hell for Leather couldn't have been more opportune because this has been the most spectacular football season in living memory. The new rules have injected the games with excitement and scoreboard summersaults and an element of end-to-end sparring that had been absent for many years. The game had been kidnapped by coaching actuaries obsessed with the bottom line. To bring football back to life, it needed to be brainwashed. In a staggeringly short space of time, the new rules seem to have accomplished that mission. If this series had been broadcast last summer, the tone of love and celebration that courses through the interviews would have felt utterly at odds with a game trapped in a cycle of self-rebuke and black introspection. The synchronicity of the tone and the timing adds something vital. In Hell for Leather , some of Gaelic football's biggest stars talk about their first sporting love. Photograph: RTÉ The challenge for a series such as Hell for Leather is to explore something we already know and somehow make it feel like a new acquaintance. Gaelic football covers more of Ireland than any mobile phone network. When something is under our noses, how closely do we look? In the first episode, there is a terrific piece about the islands tournament that is played off in a blitz every summer. It comes and goes without any notice beyond the players and supporters who animate it. Just like with any sport, Gaelic football connects with people and communities in a million micro ways, but because football exists wherever Irish people are found, it bends to each habitat. Football is inherently more portable than hurling and more accessible. Hell for Leather is conscious of an audience that might only watch a handful of big games on telly every summer, but the passages about the origins of the game will be fascinating even to fanatics. The game had ancestors in rural Ireland, but no codified rules. One of the GAA's first big jobs was to make them up. 'As for the tackle,' says the historian Mark Duncan, 'you couldn't headbutt.' It seemed like no other holds were barred. The first match under the GAA's rules was played in Kilkenny and ended scoreless. Don't forget that Kilkenny won two Leinster football titles in the first 25 years of the GAA and contested four other Leinster finals. They don't talk about it much. [ Dean Rock: Armagh are now in an unbelievable position Opens in new window ] Hell for Leather is made by Crossing The Line, the same production house that delivered The Game, the acclaimed series on hurling. In every sense, it has the same texture: it is glossy and cinematic and earthy and soulful. In an exhaustive trawl, more than 80 interviews were conducted over five years. The filmmaker, Gerry Nelson, spent up to three hours with many of the subjects, and you can tell from the short, sharp snippets that appear on screen that Nelson kept digging beyond surface thoughts. 'When you think about football, life comes with it,' says Shane Walsh, the Galway footballer. Had he ever said that out loud before? This is an important portrait of a precious strand of Irish life. Just when football discovered the joy in life again. Hell for Leather, RTÉ One, Monday, 9.35pm
Irish Times
10 hours ago
- Irish Times
Feel the heat: Ten great restaurants that cook over fire
allta 1 Three Locks Square, Grand Canal Dock, Dublin 2; allta: Cromane oyster, sudachi and bergamot. Photograph: Nick Bradshaw Always evolving, Niall Davidson's allta is returning to a tasting menu format for both lunchtime and dinner which is designed to showcase the restaurant's journey over the years from Library Place, Setanta Street and now the Dublin docklands. With an unwavering commitment to Irish produce in both the main restaurant and the buzzy allta bar, the punchy wood-fired cooking is well worth the trip. Joanne Cronin Coppinger 1 Coppinger Row, Dublin 2; 01-6729884, Conor and Marc Bereen, the brothers behind Coppinger. Photograph: Alan Betson Ever since reopening, Coppinger has captured the buzzy and fun vibes of the original venue. Listen to the cocktails shaking while you browse the Mediterranean-inspired menu which uses the best of Irish ingredients over a barbecue grill. Everything is delicious, especially when it's the incredible value 'menú del día,' available Wednesday-Friday, which offers two courses for €15 or three for €20. Where else would you get it? JC Daróg Wine Bar 56 Dominick Street Lower, Galway; 091-565813, Daróg Wine Bar: Line caught mackerel, fennel emulsion, crispy parsnip. Photograph: Joe O'Shaughnessy Small plates, bigger tables, better chairs – Daróg in Galway has sharpened up without losing its edge. The cooking leans into smoke and charcoal, from grilled white asparagus with lovage hollandaise to dry-aged lamb with confit leek and swede. There's a five-course tasting menu at €55, or you can build your own from the blackboard, where more than 40 wines by the glass change weekly. Run by Zsolt Lukács and Edel McMahon, with Attila Galambos on fire in the kitchen. Corinna Hardgrave READ MORE Elbow Lane 4 Oliver Plunkett Street, Cork; 021-2390479, Ronan Sharpe runs Elbow Lane Brew and Smoke House, Cork There are two main features to the diningroom at Elbow Lane, the open charcoal grill right in the middle, and the stainless steel microbrewery tanks to the rear. Put simply, it's all about the grilling and the beer here, although the cocktails are pretty damn good also. Start with the intensely flavoured pork belly with fish sauce caramel, followed by the signature slow-smoked baby back ribs or wood-grilled steaks. JC Lottie's 7-9 Rathgar Road, Rathmines, Dublin 6; 01-5585969, Lottie's, Rathmines Flame-finished mains hold their own at this neighbourhood spot. Andarl Farm pork belly, crisped and tender, pairs with radicchio and hazelnuts, while monkfish is perfectly charred. For €29, the prix fixe (5–6pm Wed–Fri) offers a snack, main, and glass of wine – perfect pre-cinema. Otherwise, settle in for grilled lamb or free-range chicken, all cooked over live fire. CH Mister S 32 Camden Street Lower, Dublin 2; 01-6835555, Mister S, Camden Street, Dublin. Photograph: Dara Mac Dónaill At Mister S, they proudly state that all mains are cooked over charcoal and wood. But, to be honest, every piece of produce that enters the kitchen is in danger of finding itself over the glowing embers. The smell of smoke permeates the entire room and everything is delicious, from charred leeks with romesco and smoked mozzarella, to piri piri chicken, or their incredible beef sourced from Co Donegal. Everything gets a turn on the embers. JC Neighbourhood 1 North Main Street, Naas, Co Kildare; 045-954466, Neighbourhood, Naas, Co Kildare Cooked over live fire on an Ox grill – tomahawk steaks, Black Angus chateaubriand, and porterhouse steaks are the stars, with pizzas from a full pizza oven and flatbreads to round it out. The recently renovated 'secret garden' provides a relaxed outdoor setting. Set menus (€34.50 for two courses, €39.50 for three) make it easy to dive into fire-cooked flavours, while a revamped cocktail bar adds a finishing touch. CH The Fern Grill at Knockranny House Hotel Knockranny House Hotel, Knockranny, Westport, Co Mayo; 098-28600, Knockranny House Hotel and Spa, Co Mayo The tomahawk for two (€79) is the headline at The Fern Grill – a slab of Hereford beef, carved at the table and kissed hard by the Basque Josper grill. Seamus Commons fires Black Angus, lamb and daily fish with the same precision, but nothing matches the depth and smoke of the beef. CH The Glass Curtain Unit A, Thompson House, MacCurtain Street, Cork; 021-4518659, Flavour is at the heart of everything that chef patron Brian Murray does. Under Darren Kennedy, the kitchen turns out smoke-kissed plates built for sharing, using local seasonal ingredients. The signature milk buns with cultured butter are mandatory, then try grilled cuttlefish with leeks and smoked aioli, or lamb saddle and belly with smoked carrots. A second live-fire restaurant, Birdsong, is coming soon to the Coal Quay. JC Vaughan's on the Prom The Promenade, Lahinch, Co Clare; 065-7081846, Vaughan's on the Prom in Lahinch, Co Clare. Photograph: Paul Sherwood Denis Vaughan runs this newly refurbished spot on the prom, firing meat and shellfish over a Spanish Josper to exacting effect. The menu is tight and fire-driven: barbecued Aran Island monkfish with a hazelnut crust, roasted chicken supreme with satay crust and fregola, and aged Irish Black Angus steaks with bone marrow butter, beef jus and dripping chips. It's about proper fire cooking, heavy plates and the freshest fish he can lay his hands on. CH
