We recently learnt that, back in 1968, General Franco bribed juries around Europe to secure top place in the Eurovision Song Contest for Spain’s entry, La La La - thus condemning our own Cliff Richard to second place with the bitterly ironic, as it turns out, Congratulations. This raises several questions.

First, of course, is: how could any statesman be so wrongheaded as to imagine that Eurovision victory would reflect well on his country? Then there is the thought: just how many songwriting teams, desperate to get a song into Eurovision, and trying to crack the formula that will appeal to dozens of different musical cultures, have had this conversation over the years? “I’ve got one. It goes: ‘La, la, la...’”; “No, mate, it’s been done.” Finally, the most important question of all: isn’t the real crime here that, 40 years on, we’re still watching a contest, theoretically designed to find the best song in Europe, in which most of the entrants continue to be the spiritual descendants of La La La and, indeed, Congratulations?

When the contest began, in 1956, its emphasis on lightweight, meaningless pop nonsense was entirely understandable: there wasn’t anything else. Yes, there was that Elvis Presley bloke, having his first hits that year, but the vast majority of right-thinking people assumed that rock’n’roll noise was just a fad. For most of its first decade, Eurovision may, indeed, have been a pretty accurate showcase for the best popular songwriting around the Continent.

In the mid1960s, however, a seismic cultural shift occurred. Pop music spawned a grown-up relative, rock music, and one of rock’s founding fathers, Bob Dylan, sent a helpful memo to the Eurovision organisers. The Times, he pointed out, They Are a-Changin’. Yet the Eurovision continued much as before, becoming an object of derision (wittily delivered by Terry Wogan). At least, it was in this country. On the other hand, from the 1960s through the 1990s, while we witnessed many rock bands who raised popular music to an art form, much of continental Europe still thought that edgy rock music equalled Johnny Hallyday. So, perhaps you could argue that the Eurovision formula, though dated to us, still made some kind of sense.

Then, in the late 1990s, another cultural shift occurred. Suddenly cool bands emerged from previously uncool countries, led by Daft Punk and Air, from - of all places - France. Again, Dylan wrote a song about it. Things, he said, Have Changed. Again, he was ignored. Surely, though, it’s time we had a proper Eurovision Song Contest, a proper cross-borders battle of the bands, a giant musical-televisual event in which great bands from across the continent compete with great songs? Why can’t we see the world’s best talent out there, instead of outdated cruise-ship fodder?

One argument against the idea is that bands with any credibility, songwriters with any talent, wouldn’t lower themselves to compete in such an overtly commercial, showbizzy arena. First, they would consider it beneath them, and second, what if they lost to a shlocky power ballad overemoted by a TV-talent-show winner? How embarrassing.

The really big Eurovision news this year, however, is not Franco’s corruption, but France’s contender. Sebastian Tellier is a long way from your usual Eurovision contestant: he has toured with Air and worked with the afrobeat drummer Tony Allen; a song of his was picked by Sofia Coppola for the Lost in Translation soundtrack, where it nestled alongside My Bloody Valentine, Squarepusher and the Jesus and Mary Chain; and his latest album is co-produced by Daft Punk’s Guy-Manuel de Homem-Christo. It’s not quite the equivalent of Thom Yorke saying “You know what would make me really happy? Winning Eurovision”, but it’s moving in that direction. Tellier is part of the modern musical world, not the showbiz time capsule that is Eurovision, and his appearance in the competition could well be a watershed moment.

Astonishingly, the French have completely missed the point. Instead of being proud to have the best Eurovision entrant since Abba’s Waterloo - the song is a frothy, fun-tabulous Beach Boys homage - they have criticised Tellier for singing in English. Tellier, being the bigger man, has agreed to add some French lyrics, although he couldn’t resist the chance to throw in a typically obscure metaphor. “The baguette won’t taste any worse tomorrow morning if I sing in English,” he pointed out.

So, now that Tellier has stuck a toe in the Eurovision waters (and proved diplomatic enough to handle the inevitable politics), will other singers and bands you might actually want to listen to follow his example? I think they just might. After all, not only do they have Tellier’s example, they have to deal with the nagging fact that nobody knows how to sell music any more, that new routes to market (or even, for that matter, old and previously unthinkable routes to market) have to be considered. A television show that is seen by millions around the world? What’s not to like?

So, a proper Eurovision Song Contest is finally possible. Who would be in it?

Ireland would have every chance of matching the success they’ve enjoyed in the old-style competition in our new all-singing, not-so-much-dancing Eurovision. Obviously, they would want to field U2, for sheer global appeal, but if Bono had too much trouble getting his sincerity/irony levels correctly adjusted for the occasion, they could fall back on Sinead O’Connor; she may not have the profile these days, but that voice is as haunting as ever and she has proved herself adept at the traditional songs if Ireland’s version of the baguette lobby want to veer in that direction. We Brits could field the diva of the moment, Amy Winehouse.

The Scandinavian countries will be strong players in the new Eurovision, and not just because of tactical voting. Sweden can choose the cool rock of the Cardigans, the cartoon rock of the Hives or the Europop of Robyn. They could even lay claim to the Shortwave Set, via their singer, Ulrika Björsne, and maybe then Danger Mouse, a fan of the band, could be persuaded to co-write a Eurovision entry. Finland, meanwhile, could be represented by the experimental Jimi Tenor, the ambient poppers Husky Rescue, the smart indie rockers 22-Pistepirkko or even the rather misleadingly named Leningrad Cowboys. Norway’s options include the elec-tronica of Röyksopp, the noise-rock ofSerena-Maneesh and the charmingly delicate pop of Hanne Hukkelberg. And Denmark’s Raveonettes are surely made for the Eurovision stage.

Although whole decades pass with little sign of activity from Kraftwerk, could they possibly resist the chance to represent Germany in this new-look competition? Inevitably, their song would be called Eurovision, and they could doubtless put together a whole album of remixes, which should keep them in pampered seclusion for another few years. If they won’t do it, or they miss the deadline, then how about the reformed krautrockers Harmonia? They could bring a touch of extended improvisation into the equation, playing havoc with the world’s television schedules. (“The rest of tonight’s programmes will be running approximately half an hour late due to Michael Rother getting fixated on an A flat chord with a diminished fifth.”) This could open up our competition to some real musical eclecticism: space-rock from Italy’s Julie’s Haircut, a capella from Belgium’s Zap Mama, general oddness from Iceland’s Sigur Ros (though they could also field Björk), Ukraine’s Gogol Bordello and the Czech veterans the Plastic People of the Universe. And we can balance this with more straightforward, post-punk-style indie rock from Holland’s Bettie Serveert, Hungary’s Zagar and Poland’s Cool Kids of Death.

Since we’re making up the rules as we go along, we’ll introduce football-style eligibility criteria, so singers can represent not only the country of their birth, but that of their parents’ birth. This allows the intriguing new singer Yoav to appear for Israel, Manu Chao to represent Spain and Cher to appear as the Armenian entrant. I know what you’re thinking: is Cher really the kind of artist we want in our new-look, newly credible Eurovision? Well, no, but we have to have her - otherwise Wogan would have no material to work with.

Read a review of Sebastian Tellier’s new album at timesonline.co.uk/music

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