When everyone subscribes to Brotherhood of Man's successful formula from 1976, but chooses a less bright and crazy version of it after Schmetterlinge's takedown of that formula in 1977 – you get 1978. Twenty songs, largely a mix of four- or five-piece choreographed harmonies, and exuberant lead singers in front of the classic background singing troupe. Not generally considered the most memorable of contests, there were safe choices throughout: no alpenhorns or clowns, Denmark's heart-emblazoned bass drum was one of the few sprinkles of kitsch.
"This contest, especially designed for television...", presenter Léon Zitrone opened unironically as he stared straight into the wrong camera; and postcards mundanely showing the artists' trek from green room to stage did little to reinforce his point. But a spectacular stage, with a Saturday Night Fever style light-up deck, raised platform for the backing singers, and enormous swivelling bandstand for the orchestra, was certainly a feast for the eyes. Paris also dabbled with electronic special effects during the victory presentation (not during the entries) – a flickery oscilloscope projection which would have been revolutionary for the pre-Tron crowd.
But for the colour palette, the heady and flashy days of early 70s fashion were behind us. The backdrop, as well as some 80% of entrants, were co-ordinated in demure mixes of black, white or red. White suits and large red flowers on the lapel were particularly in. The only entrant to miss this memo was the UK's Co-Co, with outfits which were conspicuously bright, obnoxious in hue, not co-ordinated with each other, and (for its two women) short – pioneeringly short, in fact, as Co-Co arguably led the way for the sexier tone that the contest took on in the early 1980s.
Paving the way for t.A.T.u. and Flo Rida in 1978 was Baccara: the Spanish duo were ring-ins for Luxembourg, fresh off the back of its 1977 hit 'Yes Sir, I Can Boogie' which is still among the ten highest-selling singles worldwide. Never before had such pre-existing stars graced the Eurovision stage. With a choreographed routine and breathy vocals (which also paved the way for t.A.T.u.), Baccara scored big from the Mediterranean juries but weakly otherwise.
But 1978's greatest gift to the contest was the "piano abandonment": Belgium's Jean Vallée, then Sweden's Björn Skifs, played (or pretended to play) their first verses at the piano, before rising to finish their songs on foot – pioneering what has become a staple of Eurovision staging. No pioneering act is without risk: Vallée – evidently unaccustomed to walking while performing – almost fell stumbling backwards over a step as he finished his song.
Following the entries, we were treated a pleasant if non-sequitur interval of prerecorded lounge jazz and fiddle music. The largely uneventful voting, which Izhar Cohen of Israel had wrapped up by the halfway point, included some patchy telephone lines to the eastern countries, the first set of nul points under the 12-10-8 system (by Norway, of course, and the suspenders-snapping Jahn Teigen), green room cuts to Izhar Cohen and Jean Vallée (the latter with cigarette in hand, a sign of the good old '70s), and infamous efforts by Middle Eastern broadcasters to conceal the Israeli victory – the first in a long line of political conflicts which have kept Arabic nations out of the contest to this day.
Few would accuse 1978 of being a classic contest, but it was very much in its zeitgeist.