Can this woman affect the EU's future? Tonight more than a cheesy music prize may be at stake

Peeter Rebane is feeling the pressure. At 29, this affable yet rather frazzled Estonian is the youngest producer of the Eurovision Song Contest.

Working 18-hour days, Rebane is struggling to make sure a stage that moves in three different directions, Europe's biggest lighting rig and temperamental performers from 24 countries all work together coherently.

"I'd never bothered to watch the song contest before," he said, propping himself up against a bank of speakers. "I had to find some tapes of previous competitions to see how it worked and you know, it's actually very complicated."

Still, the young concert producer, whose CV includes the recent Metallica and Iron Maiden gigs in Estonia's capital, Tallinn, has more on his mind than just making the microphones work. "It's not just a singing competition," he says. "If it goes well and we make a good impression, I think it will make Estonians more enthusiastic about Europe."

Europe has certainly become enthusiastic about Estonia. Tallinn has already established itself as an ideal destination for weekends of drunken-discovery. Much cheaper that most Scandinavian cities, English rugby clubs and Swedish hen parties make use of countless "Irish pubs", cocktail bars and "art clubs". A medieval maze of cobbled streets and ancient churches seduces the coach and boat cruise crowd as well. Beyond the scrubbed-up centre of the capital, however, the picture changes. The narrow streets give way to rickety wooded buildings and Soviet-era tower blocks. Estonia's public face is Tallinn but its people, for the most part, live elsewhere.

In body and mind, many Estonians remain detached from Europe. This small Baltic country of 1.4 million people is the most Eurosceptic of the 12 countries negotiating to become part of the club in 2004. A poll conducted by the EU's statistical unit. Eurobarometer, in January found that only 33 per cent of those asked said joining Europe would be a "good thing" for their country – which compared with 80 per cent in Romania. For the politicians in Tallinn and the bureaucrats in Brussels, that is a real problem.

Estonia is regarded as one of the star pupils for EU membership. After winning its independence in 1991, the government cast off the remnants of Soviet rule at a furious pace. A "sink or swim" economic platform was unleashed – trade tariffs and state subsidies were slashed, the state's holdings were privatised at a stroke. With impressive growth rates – for example 5 per cent this year rising to 6 per cent in 2004, and an official unemployment rate of 12 per cent – Estonia is the proverbial sure-thing, certain to be welcomed into the EU.

That leaves the small matter of a referendum. The terms of membership must be put to the people and senior figures involved with the negotiations say that as things stand at the moment, the outcome of the vote is impossible to predict.

In the Eurovision Song Contest, however, Estonia's elected politicians may have found their secret weapon. When Estonia won the contest last year with the song "Everybody", support for EU membership began to shift upwards.

Evald Mikkel, Eastern European specialist at Tartu University, calls it the Eurovision Effect. "You just have to look at the stats," he says. "Support for membership was absolutely rock bottom when Estonia won last year but from that point on it has risen steadily." Mr Mikkel says the election of folksy former communist Arnold Rüütel as president last October also helped to account for the rise. Mr Rüütel has come out in favour of the EU and is popular with rural and older voters; two groups seen to be particularly Eurosceptic.

But it is generally recognised that Eurovision will play a crucial factor in the referendum campaign. "We thought it was a joke at first," said one senior EU official. "But Eurovision seems to have made Estonians take a new look at Europe." He added a word of caution, however. "It is extremely important that the competition goes well – it takes years to build up what a few minutes can destroy."

There is no doubting the fact that Estonians approach the prospect of joining the European Union with a genuine reticence. Just up from the Star Salong erotica shop, and right next to Hi-Fi Klubi, stands the main European Union Information Centre in Tallinn. Without an information seeker in sight, the centre's director, Helina Lokotar. admitted that getting people interested in the EU was not the easiest job in the world.

"Estonians are sceptical about everything. It's in their nature and their history. They are the silent people," she said.

Over in the main town square, Toomas Maitnen and Indrek Kodwere were enjoying the spring sunshine. In their mid thirties, both men work as computer software designers. They met as teenagers when they were sent away to serve in the Russian Army – an experience that has profoundly influenced them. "We've just spent 50 years in one Union and now our leaders want to stick us in another one," said Mr Maitnen.

"Freedom is the main thing for us," his friend added. "The EU has the money, sure. But we don't want the rules – 'You can't smoke here, you mustn't drink there'. To me the EU looks like the Soviet Union."

That view is endorsed by one of the few high-profile figures in the country to come out against EU membership. Egor Grazzin, dean of Tallinn's Nord University Law School, has made himself unpopular with Estonia's political class by questioning its integrity. "Nobody asks why we are doing this," he said. "There is a feeling among the politicians that it's just too late. The train is rolling and we can't stop the negotiations, so we might as well squeeze out a few concessions if we can – and that really frustrates people."

This divergence between the political orthodoxy and a substantial section of public opinion is not the only thing fuelling Euroscepticism.

On the western outskirts of Estonia's second city, Tartu, a sleek Scandinavian-designed building is slowly taking shape. From a distance one would be forgiven for thinking it a rather nice hotel. However, it is Estonia's first EU-standard prison. The press has called the 500-bed facility "The Europe Prison" and it has made local people angry. "It will cost 10,000 Krone (£400) a month to house each prisoner here," says Mr Mikkel. "When a fully qualified doctor scrapes by on two-thirds of that amount it makes people question whether the priorities of the EU are compatible with our immediate concerns."

The debate about Europe is just as intense within Estonia's sizeable Russian-speaking community. They are a third of the total population and make up almost the entire population of cities such as Narva, which sits on Estonia's eastern border with Russia. Lying directly opposite, across the swiftly flowing Narva river, is the impoverished Russian town of Ivangorod. Just over a decade ago, they were effectively the same town in the same country. But a cursory glance now suggests that Estonian independence has brought real benefits to Narva. The very fact that the referendum is expected to be close challenges western European assumptions about the supposed desperation of countries on the outside trying to get in. As do many citizens of the EU, both ethnic and Russian-speaking Estonians question the ability of politicians in Brussels to improve their daily lives. That leaves pro-EU Estonians praying for the Eurovision Effect.

Eurovision's producer, Peeter Rebane, says he can cope with the pressure – but when asked how he thinks it will go, he is not entirely reassuring. "I think we have, er, a good chance of making it work."

John Sparks is a journalist at Channel 4 News